#but something is off and i hope the show can find its stride

[just-absolutely-super]

i don't dislike S3 yet, i'm trying to give it a fair chance

but idk man something isn't hitting right like the previous one

[keij0h]

⌗ LOVE ON THE BRAIN ┆ s.coups

Your husband's ideas can be so bizarre, yet you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like them.

CAUTION : profanities. smut warning. mirror sex. breast play. blowjobs. creampie. husband!cheol. afab reader. not proofread!

“Baby, what?”

That was your initial answer to Seungcheol’s question as he walked in your shared bedroom. Usually, you’d take some time to consider something like this, but unfortunately, the man you married can be so full of ideas sometimes.

And tonight, he’s taking you by surprise with another one in mind. You were in the middle of your nightly routine, when Cheol suddenly strided in, dropping the question with a straight face.

“I said, can I fuck you in front of the new mirror?” he repeats, looking eager for your approval.

All you could do was stare, processing the way he said it so casually. Although you weren’t against it at all, considering it’s been a while since you had time for yourselves, and well.. you suppose the mirror you ordered could be useful.

You scoffed, a small smile creeping up your face as you faced the vanity once again, your back now facing your husband by the door.

“Baby..” he mumbles as he approaches you from behind, sliding his hands between your shoulders, his lips finding its way to the crook of your neck, bribing it with soft kisses.

“Cheol..” you countered, mocking the way he said it. “You’re sulking again.”

“Please,” he urged, practically hearing the pout on his voice. “It’ll be fun, I promise. You can even lead the way..”

You chuckled at this, discarding his arms away as you turned around, now face to face with a pouty Seungcheol. You cradled his face with both hands, leaning in to quickly peck his lips, only for his pout to intensify.

“And I highly doubt you’ll ever let me be in charge.”

“I can make exceptions,” he suggested, nuzzling his cheek between yours, in hopes you’d just agree as he pressed his lips on your ear. “We’ll film it, if you want.”

Your eyes shot up as he said that, grabbing ahold of his shoulders to push him back, only to be met with a smirk on his face, his dimple subtly showing as you rolled your eyes.

“Where is this even coming from?” you huffed, letting him pull you closer to his chest, feeling the vibrations as he laughed.

“That’d be so hot, don’t you think?” Cheol mused in a low tone, his bribery only increasing each time he spoke. “Come on, just- just trust me, it’ll be so good, babe..”

You bit your lip, sighing. “And what do I get from this?”

“Free porn?”

Right.

The thing about you is that you could never say no to Seungcheol, not when he’s so skilled at making you want it. So who were you to refuse now?

“Easy,” you panted, holding onto his biceps as he attacked your neck with sloppy kisses. The part where he said you could take control? Long gone, along with Cheol’s shirt that laid on the floor.

Just like he promised, the semi-large mirror was settled on the floor, by the foot of the bed; just right for Cheol to see the view of your curves and back. And by the nightstand, was his phone, steadily recording every bit, mainly highlighting your front.

In a swift motion, your nightgown was off, revealing your plump breasts, watching as Cheol’s eyes dilated at the sight, mouth slightly agape as you straddled him.

“May I?” his voice was low as he kept his hand busy, fondling with your hardened buds, slowly rubbing his thumb against it. With no hesitation, you nodded, eager.

“Oh, god.” you breathed out as he took you in his mouth, squirming underneath him, slowly creating friction between his clothed cock.

You looked towards the device by the nightstand, seeing your twisted expression as Cheol sucked on your breast, toying with the other. Subconsciously, your hands found its way towards his back, gently digging your nails into his broad figure as your chest heaves.

Seungcheol hums in delight, the way his voice vibrates sends a wave of heat to your core. He pulls away with a pop, hazily looking at you with a smirk. He looks down, spotting your hand palming against the prominent bulge on his pants, you swore you could hear his breath shudder as you softly squeezed on it.

“Wanna take my cock, baby? Hm?” he coos, tilting his head to the side as you let out a small hum as a response.

Frantically, you pulled the fabric down, his length springing up, subtly spotting the leaks of pre-cum spilling out of the tip. Seungcheol reached out, grabbing the phone on the dresser, flipping the camera to get a view of you fisting his cock.

You gulped. Despite being together for years, you still often wondered if it would ever fit in your mouth.

He gazes towards the mirror behind you, biting his lip at the sight of your ass on display, letting out a groan as he groped on it with a small slap. His thoughts were already running wild with how good you’ll look from behind when you’re full of him.

You worked with so much intent, stroking your hand up and down as you pucker your lips, keeping your eyes at him while slowly taking his tip in.

“Oh, f-fuck.” he groaned, placing a hand on your head to push you down further. You hollow your cheeks, the girth gradually filling your mouth.

“Shit, taking me whole, yeah?” His phone was shaking with how much pleasure he felt, the sound of his groans and heavy breaths most likely dominating the whole video he was filming.

Soft moans emitted from you as you bobbed your head down in a rhythm, not taking your eyes off of Cheol’s pleasured state, eventually feeling the tip hitting the back of your throat.

Seungcheol grabbed a fistful of your hair, his hips almost perking upwards as you whimpered, fresh tears now threatening to fall down to your cheeks as you could feel him twitch in your tongue, a signal

“So— ah, fucking good f’me, baby.” he babbles, head thrown back, unware about the phone slipping from his hand as he felt his orgasm approaching.

Teary eyed, you caught the way his breathing hitched, signaling he was close. With one final stroke, you quickly pulled away, not giving him a chance to release his load as his height of pleasure disappeared.

You watched as his brows furrowed, fluttering his eyes open to you wiping the side of your mouth with a smirk, his fluids still on your chin.

Seungcheol scoffs, running a hand through his slightly disheveled hair. “Fucking tease.”

As much as how dainty he looked while you sucked him off, you knew better than to let him finish so easily. Besides, you had something better in mind.

“I want it inside.” Such simple words, yet it was enough to rile the man up, wasting no time in grabbing your arms, gently pushing you off his lap, now on his knees.

“On your fours.” he instructed sternly, to which you obliged immediately, only to be met with your own reflection on the mirror. You stared, following the way Cheol’s body leaned towards you, lips right on your earlobe with his eyes on the mirror.

“So, so pretty..” he hissed, scattering wet kisses on the side of your face, his free hand purposely leaving ghost touches on your aching entrance, teasing you.

“Cheol—“

“Shh.. relax, baby.” he coos, grabbing the tip of his cock, teasingly rubbing it against your glistening slit, expression full of pride.

You bit back a moan, your back arching at the sticky sensation. You hear a breathy laugh coming from Cheol, seemingly enjoying his way of torturing you for not letting him finish earlier.

“Seungcheol, please— ah..” you whined out, feeling him enter you so abruptly. So deep. Exactly the way you want it.

“Eyes up here,” he snapped his fingers, making you look up to the mirror. “Be a good girl and watch me fuck you, yeah?”

God. You swore you could cum just by hearing that. You intently watched as he moved, that firm grip on your hips never leaving as he pounded into you.

“Shit! I- just like that!” you could barely keep your eyes open as you screamed out, Seungcheol’s grunts overlapping with the lewd noises you were making. “Oh, god! So.. big.”

“Ah, baby, you’re gonna make me cum.” he twitched, suddenly feeling your walls clenching around him. You couldn’t see yourself properly with how dazed you are, though you were certain you looked pathetic.

But who could blame you? He was hitting all the right places, it’d be a total pain to stop now.

“‘m close.. so close, Cheol,” you muttered, barely a whisper but enough for him to get your signal as you uncontrollably clench around him.

“Gonna fill you up so good.” he hums, picking the pace up.

With a final whine, you released, right on his cock as he kept chasing his high, not missing the way he trembled before shooting his load inside of you, not letting a single drop go to waste.

“God..” you sighed out, collapsing face flat on the mattress, faintly feeling the load of cum leaking from your entrance.

“Hey,” you heard Cheol from behind, grabbing ahold of your shoulders to lay you right beside him. Regardless of everything, the glint in his eyes remained the same, together with that stupid smirk on his face.

“Did I wear you out?” he chuckles, placing a hand on your cheek. Your heavy breathing remained, weakly turning your head towards the mirror in-front of the bed, now getting a better view of your unkempt state.

From the reflection, you could see Seungcheol biting back a smile. You turned to land a glare at him, while his exhausted smile just widened.

“At least you still look good.”

“I hate you.”

a/n : it's friday then, it's saturday, sunday, WHAT???

[imaginedisish]

The Only Exception (Din Djarin x fem!Reader)

A/N: Hey guys!!! Ahhh here is the Din Djarin x reader fic I said I’d post. This has been sitting in my WIPs since late November/early December. This is what I was working on before I got sick. I’m so happy it’s done. I’m pretty pleased with how it turned out, although I may have written something similar to this already. It’s very much inspired by “The Only Exception,” by Paramore. I’m hoping I didn’t use this song as a title yet....Oh well. ENJOY!

Summary: Din has been wildly overprotective of you lately, but maybe it’s because there’s something lying deep below the surface that’s been threatening to bubble over...

Warnings: SMUT!!!!! 18+ Please!!! Oral (f!receiving), fingering, PIV sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), cursing, canon typical violence, Jedi!reader, Razor Crest still exists (and it’s def bigger in my head than it is in the show), praise kink, friends to lovers, angsty but fluffy and smutty dw, I only proofread like 2 times so it may be bad (it’s 3:16am...so...we die like men!), AFAB reader, uhhh I think that’s it...

Word Count: 3,078

“I swear to the Maker, if you don’t get back on the Crest now, I’m gonna-,”

Din is cut off by the sound of your lightsaber clashing through the plastoid armor of the stormtrooper to your left. You swing your saber around, showing off more than you need to. You throw it down the alleyway, feeling through the force as it cuts through another stormtrooper before finding its way back to your hand.

“You’re gonna what?” You say, tilting your head to the side. You point your saber to the stormtroopers scattered around the alleyway. “I just saved you.” You close your saber and cross your arms cockily.

Din shakes his head, his gaze refusing to meet yours. “And where’s the kid? You just left him on the Crest?” You roll your eyes, turning your back towards him as you remove your cloak from your shoulders. There, in perfect condition, is Grogu, secure in a little carrier on your back.

“You really think I’d be that dumb?” Your words have a callous edge to them. Din had been far moodier than usual over the past few days, and with that came a strange overprotectiveness that you hadn’t seen before. It was starting to feel as if he thought you were going to mess up, that you couldn’t take care of yourself. “You think I’d put the kid’s life at stake?”

“That’s not what I meant.” The anger in his voice has all but melted away. You’re shocked by how defeated he sounds now.

You inhale deeply, taking a moment to calm yourself down. “So what did you mean, Din?”

“We don’t have time for this now.” He’s curt and almost a bit cold, his modulated voice echoing off the walls of the alleyway. “We need to get back to the ship.”

You hate the way he’s brushing you off, ignoring you, pushing you to the side. You didn’t need this; you didn’t need to put up with his shit. Not anymore. “What is going on with you?” The words come out louder, more aggressive than you meant them to.

Din takes a single stride towards you, his broad figure practically shoving you against the wall in the process. “We are not doing this here.” The feeling of him being so close to you clouds your mind. You can’t form a coherent thought, never mind a sentence. You want to say something, to stand up for yourself, but you can’t. “Now cut the shit so we can get back to the ship.” There’s that anger again, that finality in his voice.

In the distance you can hear stormtroopers chatting, whispering your name, mumbling on about Grogu, warning each other about the Mandalorian. Din was right. There was no time to hash this out here. You nod, finally caving in. Din takes a step away from you, immediately grasping your wrist in his hand before making a break for the Crest, just on the other end of the alleyway.

Somehow you make it without being seen. Din lets go of your hand, motioning for you to get on the ship. You make a b-line for the back and carefully remove Grogu from his carrier, placing him in his crib. You stand frozen in place in front of it, watching his eyes flutter open and closed as he slowly drifts off to sleep.

You don’t want to move. You rather watch the child you had come to care so deeply for sleep peacefully than deal with a massively enraged Din. The oncoming fight would most definitely wake Grogu, so maybe it was best for you to hide in the little corner that you had come to call Grogu’s bedroom, completely unnoticed. But obviously, that’s not an option. You begrudgingly step towards the end of the hull and decide to keep your hands busy by organizing the tiny stock of food that lined a makeshift shelf along the far wall.

You can hear Din’s heavy steps on the other side of the ship, presumably heading up towards the cockpit. After a few seconds and many annoyed grunts from Din, the ship is lifted into the air and away from danger.

You try your best to bring yourself to get angry at him, to yell some explicative across the hull of the ship and spit a curse in his helmet-covered face. You wanted the consequences, for him to storm over and scream back. But you couldn’t – because things weren’t normally like this. Din had always been kind, caring, protective even.

He'd leave the cockpit to grab a blanket from his cot when you fell asleep in the co-pilot’s chair. He’d come back and gently, yet silently, tuck you in with it. It was the only blanket he had. Sometimes you’d wake up in his bed, having been carried into it at some point during the night. He’d be awake, taking care of the child, flying the Crest, making sure nothing and no green baby woke you up.

You’d be lying if you said his doting behavior didn’t draw you to him, that it didn’t make you crave him. Every soft touch on your shoulder, every time you pretended to be asleep just to feel his arms wrap around you as he brought you to his cot. You’d let your stares linger a little too long from time to time, pushing past your reflection in his armor, searching for some sort of sign that maybe he feels the same.

You wanted him to come up behind you, rest his hands on your hips, squeezing softly at the exposed inch of skin where your top and your pants just can’t seem to meet, and whisper in your ear in that husky, modulated voice that he’s sorry, that he’ll make up to you by-

“Never, ever, do anything like that again.” You practically jump out of your skin at the sound of his voice. You quickly turn around, not realizing how close Din had gotten to you. His chest is practically flush against yours, the proximity causing you to stumble back against the shelf, threatening to bring it down with you.

Din immediately snakes an arm around your waist, keeping you from falling against the cold metal floors below. Your arms instinctively reach up around his neck to stabilize yourself. You’re glued to him now, and you don’t particularly want to let go. You swallow harshly, intimidated by the way the beskar clad man seems to tower over you, by the way you can smell him, by the way his forehead practically touches yours.

You take a deep breath, furrowing your brows and doing your best to collect your thoughts despite the fog that the moment seemed to create in your brain. “Do what? Save your ass?” You spit, instantly regretting the harshness of your words, even if he deserves them.

“You weren’t supposed to leave the ship.” He’s stern, his voice somehow punishing. “You were supposed to stay here with the kid.”

You shake your head, feeling far too much like a child caught playing in the front seat of their parent’s speeder. “You needed my help! You would’ve died out there without me! And I can handle myself,” You yell, trying to ignore how you could feel the rise and fall of his chest against yours. “If this is about risking the kid’s life, I promise you I wasn’t. I would never put him-,”

He cuts you off, “I know you wouldn’t, that’s not what this is about.”

What? You think to yourself, confused beyond belief. If this wasn’t about the child, then what could this possibly be about? “So then what’s the problem?” You ask, more aware of the way that Din is holding you against him now than you were before.

You can hear Din inhale deeply through the modulator. “You.” A shudder rolls down your spine. “You could’ve gotten yourself killed.” There’s still an edge in his voice, but he’s calmer now, almost pained, as if considering your death in some dark corner of his mind.

“Sorry that my death would be such an inconvenience for you,” You say sardonically. “It’ll be hard trying to replace me with some other force-wielding wizard that’ll be willing to babysit for you, since clearly that’s all I am.” You wanted the words to sting him, to hurt him, and maybe they did, but it felt like a punch in the gut to simply think them. You wanted to grab the words from where they still hung in the air and shove them back into your mouth, to swallow them so that they could burn in the acid of your stomach.

Din tilts his head down, crushed, defeated. Your heart winces. Fuck. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” His stare finds yours again, and you quickly look down at his shoulder, too embarrassed to have him look you in your eyes.

You shake your head. “But Din, that’s the problem,” You say, somehow finding the courage to meet his gaze. “I don’t know what you mean. How am I supposed to know what you mean if you won’t kriffing tell-,”

“Fucking hell, I don’t want to lose you!”

Your eyes widen. “What?”

Din looks around the hull, as if the words he was searching for were hiding, wrapped somewhere around its silver walls. “I can’t lose you. And before you ask, no, it’s not because you train the kid or whatever the hell you think it is.” You can feel the pain in his voice, guilt quickly filling your gut. “It’s just…” He trails off, silence hanging heavy in the air.

“Well…what is it?” You mumble, struggling to force down the lump in your throat. You wish you could see his face, to get a sense of his expression, an inkling as to what he was really feeling.

“You,” He says, as if those three letters held some secret, omniscient being or meaning. To him, they did. It was you. You were the thing that kept him up at night, the thing that made him want to show every facet of his being for the first time in his life.  “You’re reckless and careless and sometimes you drive me absolutely insane.”

You scoff. “Wow, what a glowing review of my services!”

Din shakes his head. “You don’t fucking get it. You’re so much more than that, because even though you drive me crazy,” He pauses; the modulator picks up his breath as it catches in his throat, “I know I’d never be able to spend an entire lifetime without you in it.”

You’re speechless. An entire lifetime? “Din I-,”

“Close your eyes.”

“What? You just said all that and you want me to close my-,”

“Just close your eyes. You trust me, don’t you?”

Of course I trust you, smart-ass, You think to yourself. So, you do what he says, shutting your eyes firmly. Then there’s a hiss, and then something clunks loudly against the floor. And then…

It’s warm, and soft, and smooth, and all those other perfect words someone would use to describe the perfect kiss. He has a mustache under all that metal, and now you know, because it tickles ever so gently just above your upper lip. His hands squeeze your hips just a bit tighter, pulling you further into his chest.

His lips press deeper into yours, hungrier. You keep your eyes closed tightly, your hands sliding up and into his hair, combing gently. He moans into your mouth at the touch as he guides you away from the shelf and towards his cot.

“D-Din,” You stutter in between gasps.

“What is it, mesh’la?” He presses a chaste kiss to your forehead.

You can feel the heat pooling at the bottom of your stomach, but there’s something stopping you, something telling you that there’s no possible way this could ever be real, that it wasn’t a set-up, that it wasn’t a dream. “Do you really want this?”

“More than anything.” You can hear the smirk in his voice, and you silently wish to yourself that you could see it. “Do you?”

You nod, repeating his words, “More than anything.”

His lips find yours again, his knee nudging in between your thighs as he pushes you down onto his cot. He’s on top of you now, his hands on either side of your body. “Wanted you for so long…” He whispers in your ear. “Wanted you this whole time.” Fuck, he was going to kill you.

Din presses sloppy kisses into the crook of your neck, leading up to your jaw. His hands stretch under the hemline of your shirt, his fingertips gliding across your stomach and towards the edge of your bra. You shudder as he reaches underneath, slowly inching towards your chest.

Something was changing within him, and that something was you. You made him want to throw his Creed away, to ignore all he had been taught his entire life. How could you ever possibly be something he shouldn’t have? He needed you.

More than anything. And you needed him.

“Please,” You beg. “I need you Din, please.”

And just like that, something within him finally switched.

“Open your eyes, cyare,” He’s so quiet you almost miss it. His fingers dip underneath your bra, rolling a nipple between his thumb and forefinger teasingly before doing the same to the other. “’Want you to look at me when I make you come.”

Panic rises to your chest. “W-what, are you sure? What about the Creed, what about-,”

“It doesn’t matter, not if it means I can’t have you.”

You wait a moment, giving him time to change his mind, but he doesn’t. You let your eyes flutter open, his curly hair and brown eyes flooding your vision. And Maker, there’s that smile, the smile you’d only heard through laughs and sarcastic, snide quips. You swear your heart skips a beat, maybe even two. He was perfect. Of course he was fucking perfect.

“You’re beautiful,” You whisper, your hands finding their way to his cheeks, his neck, your fingertips carefully running over his lips. His forehead rests down on yours, his eyes closing softly, reveling in the intimacy.

Din lifts himself off you and makes his way down your body, settling in between your legs. His fingers hook the waistline of your pants, tugging them down and throwing them somewhere in the hull. He feels your core through your soaked panties.

“So fucking wet for me, pretty girl,” He coos, practically ripping your panties as he pulls them down your legs. “Need to taste you.”

“F-fuck, Din,” You breathe sharply as his tongue laps at your clit, your hips lifting off the mattress. Din presses an arm across your hips, keeping you down against the cot, his free hand spreading your slick, teasing your entrance.

“’Tastes so good,” He rasps, his voice vibrating deliciously against your core. “Doing so good for me sweet girl.”

His mouth sucks harshly at your clit, taking the small bundle of nerves into his mouth, lapping at you like he was starving. You wanted more, needed more.

“N-need you, Din,” You whine, your hips fighting against the arm that held you down. He pushes you down further into the mattress, his mouth pressing even deeper onto your core.

“Not done with you yet,” He grunts, pushing two fingers into your entrance, pumping in and out, fast and hard. You could feel yourself growing closer with each thrust.

You moan his name like it’s a prayer, and in this moment it is. “Din, please, I, just…” But you can’t finish your sentence. It’s all too much, his fingers, his tongue, his voice, him. He was everywhere and everything all at once. And yet you needed more.

“Use your words, sweet girl,” He says patiently, nonchalantly.

“I want…” Your words fail again. “I…need you to f-fuck me, please.”

But he doesn’t stop, he keeps going. “I said I wasn’t done with you yet.” You could feel your walls fluttering around his fingers, teetering just on the edge.

“I’m so close,” You pant in between ragged breaths.

And then, abruptly, he pulls away, leaving you cold and empty. Before you can even think to sit up or reach out for him, he was back, his hips resting against yours, his pants and armor now somewhere scattered to the side. You could feel his cock throbbing against your inner thighs. He lines himself up with your entrance, teasing you.

“Din,” You whimper. “Plea-,”

He buries himself inside you, cutting you off, stretching you out. “So fucking tight,” He praises, pulling all the way out before thrusting back into you, filling you up again. “So soft, so perfect.” His fingers find your clit, circling the nerves roughly.

His forehead rests on your own as his left-hand searches for your right one. His fingers intertwine with yours just above your head, keeping you from drowning, cementing you there with him. It all feels so good, each pump, each circle at your clit. You can feel your walls clenching around him.

“Taking me so well,” He soothes, rocking into you. “Such a good girl.” It was all too much, his words, his cock.

“I-I’m gonna-,” You choke, white heat flooding your vision. You know Din isn’t far behind, his hips stuttering against yours.

“Come for me, sweet girl, that’s it,” Din moans, sending you over the edge. You feel yourself shattering underneath him, falling apart into a million pieces, only to be put back together again. His name slips off your tongue as he comes inside you.

His hips roll slowly against yours, gently rocking into you a few more times before pulling out.  

He shifts a bit so that you can comfortably lay on his chest. After all that, there’s only one thing you can think about.

“You wouldn’t be able to live without me?”

You look up at Din. His smirk stretches into a smile. He presses a kiss to your forehead. “I wouldn’t, no.” He says it so matter-of-factly, so simply, as if it was common knowledge. “I need you. I always have.”

“I need you too.” He was the only person you had ever needed, the only exception. You didn’t need to tell him. He knew. Always has, always will.

You are the only exception

You are the only exception

And I'm on my way to believing

Oh, and I'm on my way to believing

[kusakiguzen]

Hello 👋 um I don't know if your request is open, but could you do yandere Shanks x female reader headcanon. Like how Shanks meet the reader, how he got obsessed, etc. (Can you make it where shanks crew is obsessed with the reader too, not in a romantic way and helps shanks)

A/N: It took me a while to get a good enough idea and i have two. I feel this is soul less but i did my best with my degrading mental health right now. I hope you enjoy.

I'm not really familiar with the crew except Benn so i did include him. I don't think this is my best work and i honestly hate it and will probably try again once in a better headspace.

I apologize if its not up to your taste

Warning: Has a shit ton of grammatical mistakes, I'm so sorry

Thank you for stopping by

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden glow over the Red force. Laughter and the sounds of clashing swords filled the air, a reminder of the crew’s relentless spirit. You were nestled in a corner of the ship, blissfully unaware of the darker truths that surrounded you. As Ben Beckman’s little sister, you had grown up sheltered from the harsh realities of the world, always finding comfort in your brother’s protective presence.

Your first encounter with Shanks was a vivid memory. It had been a fateful day when your brother brought you on the infamous captain aboard the Red force for a visit. You had been playing with a few of the younger crewmates, their laughter echoing around you, when Ben approached, his usual calm demeanor slightly overshadowed by a hint of excitement.

“Y/N, come here! I want you to meet someone special,” he called, ushering you toward the main deck.

You followed, curious and eager. As you stepped into the sunlight, your eyes landed on the man with red hair, his grin wide and inviting. “Hey there! You must be Ben’s little sister. I’ve heard so much about you!”

Your heart raced at the sight of him. He was everything stories had described—a charismatic figure whose presence lit up the room. “Hi! I’m Y/N,” you said, beaming.

Shanks smiling while holding your hand, his playful nature shining through. “I hear you love adventures. How about we have one together? I could use a partner in crime!”

You giggled, completely taken in by his charm. “Really? That sounds amazing!”

That day marked the beginning of your bond with Shanks. He took you on a mini adventure around the ship, showing you the ropes and regaling you with tales of his travels. You listened, wide-eyed, as he spoke of battles and treasures, unaware of the underlying dangers that came with such a life.

As you laughed and explored, you felt a sense of warmth and safety that enveloped you. Little did you know that Shanks, even then, had been captivated by your innocence, seeing you as a light in a world filled with shadows.

Fast forward to the present, and Shanks was still a constant figure in your life, always by your side, watching over you with a mix of affection and an intensity that you couldn’t quite place.

“Hey, Y/N!” Shanks called out one afternoon, striding over with that signature grin. “What are you up to?”

“Just watching the waves,” you replied, your eyes sparkling with innocence. “It’s so peaceful!”

Shanks’ heart raced at your words. He loved how you saw the world, so untouched by the dangers lurking just beyond the horizon. “You know, the world isn’t as safe as it seems,” he said, his tone shifting ever so slightly. “But I promise to protect you, no matter what.”

You giggled, brushing off his concern. “I know! Ben would never let anything happen to me.”

At the mention of your brother, Shanks’ expression softened. Ben was fiercely protective, almost possessive, and the crew had come to share that sentiment. While they all adored you, their affection had a darker edge, something you remained blissfully unaware of.

“Ben’s always looking out for you,” Shanks agreed, stepping closer. “But sometimes, you need to rely on others too. Like me.”

You smiled, oblivious to the way his gaze lingered on you, filled with intensity. “Of course! You’re my favorite big brother figure!”

Shanks chuckled, though a hint of frustration bubbled beneath the surface. He wanted more than just the role of a guardian; he longed to claim you as his own. But he also understood that you were naive to the world's cruelties. That innocence was something he cherished, and he’d do anything to keep it intact.

Meanwhile, Ben watched from a distance, arms crossed, his eyes narrowed. He’d seen the way Shanks looked at you, and though he trusted his captain, an unsettling feeling gnawed at him. He would always prioritize your safety above all else, even if it meant keeping you sheltered from the crew's darker inclinations.

“Y/N!” Ben called, stepping forward. “How about a game? Just the two of us.”

You perked up, grateful for your brother’s attention. “Sure! What should we play?”

As you wandered off with Ben, Shanks watched, his expression conflicted. He loved you dearly, but he knew that your brother's presence would always be a barrier. Later that evening, as you prepared to settle down for the night, Ben and Shanks found a moment to speak privately.

“Shanks,” Ben began, his tone serious. “We both care about Y/N. We need to keep her safe.”

Shanks nodded, his expression hardening. “I agree. The world is dangerous, and we both know it. But together, we can protect her.”

Ben’s eyes narrowed. “We need to be vigilant. No one can get to her without going through us.”

“Exactly,” Shanks replied, a determined glint in his eye. “We’ll make sure she never sees the darkness of this world. We’re in this together, Ben. We’ll keep her innocent and happy, no matter what.”

Days passed, filled with laughter and adventures on the high seas. Yet, as you explored, the crew’s obsession grew, entwining around you like a vine. You remained blissfully unaware, believing the crew’s protectiveness stemmed from love and friendship. Little did you know, their hearts were tied together by a darker thread, one that bound them to you more tightly than any affection could.

One night, as the stars twinkled above, you sat on the deck, lost in thought. Shanks approached, leaning against the railing beside you. “You okay, Y/N?”

“Yeah! Just thinking about how lucky I am to be with you all,” you replied, your eyes shining with sincerity.

Shanks’ smile faltered for a brief moment, replaced by a more serious look. “You have no idea how lucky you are… or how dangerous this world can be.”

You tilted your head, confused. “I mean, I’ve heard stories, but it doesn’t feel that way here.”

“Exactly,” Shanks said, his voice low. “And that’s how it should stay. As long as we’re here, you’ll always be safe.”

You grinned, completely missing the intensity behind his words. “I know! You all make me feel so protected.”

As the night deepened, Shanks’ hand brushed against yours, an electric jolt that sent a thrill down your spine. You looked up, meeting his gaze, still unaware of the storm brewing within him.

The next day, Ben noticed the lingering touches and exchanged glances. He felt the urge to intervene, to remind Shanks of the boundaries. But deep down, he understood the allure of your innocence—the way it made everyone around you feel alive, almost compelled to keep you close.

“Let’s go on an adventure today!” you suggested, breaking the tension.

“Count me in,” Ben replied, masking his unease with a smile. Shanks nodded, but a flicker of possessiveness gleamed in his eye. He wouldn’t let anyone take you away from him.

As you laughed and played with your brother and the crew, you remained blissfully unaware of the intertwining shadows of yandere love that surrounded you. The Red-Haired Pirates had claimed you as their treasure, and they would go to any lengths to protect you, even if it meant shielding you from the very truths of the world that would shatter your innocence.

In the embrace of their twisted affection, you danced on the edge of a dangerous precipice, blissfully ignorant of the love that could turn to obsession at a moment's notice. And so, the sweet story of your life with the yandere Shanks and Ben continued, a delicate balance of joy and darkness that only time would reveal.

A/N: I didn't particularly like this piece but i still posted it.

Umm i hope you enjoy reading it @wereallmadhere666

Masterlist

Stay Safe, Healthy and Hydrated

[sluts4matt]

Could you make a fic where its Chris (or Matt) and you forget something in the tour bus because you were busy trying to find a top to match your pink fresh love sweats (He is also wearing sweats ofc 🤭). he is a little upset/mad at you and he starts walking to the bus and you run after him to help find it. you have a small attitude when he says he doesnt need help finding it. he gives you a little attitude adjustment and the both of you walk out of the bus with what you forgot but you got caught afterwards because somehow you put on the opposite pants

i cant write for the life of me but if i could i would make this so toe curling and sheet gripping

ty @mattsfavwh3re ily

BACK OF THE BUS - CHRIS

pairing: dom!chris x latina!reader

summary: as if you taking a while to get fully ready didn't irritate chris enough, the small attitude you catch with him when you forget something on the bus pushes him over the edge.

warnings: SMUT, p in v, spanking, hair pulling, dirty talk, pet names (use of ma and princess), semi-public, degrading, rough sex, praising if you squint.

word count: 1457

author's note: this is why i sucked in school because deadlines were not my strong suit. back of the bus is finally here though, so i hope you enjoy reading it.

the tour bus had arrived in salt lake city a few hours before the third day of the show. your boyfriend christopher had invited you on his, nick, and matt's tour 'the versus tour'.

the boys each had an associated color and would be going against each other in mini games. "hurry up, ma," he huffs, pressing a kiss to the side of your head as he zips his camo pants up.

the two of you were in the back of the bus, getting dressed. "i can't find a top," you pout, crossing your arms over your chest. your bright orange bra standing out against your tan skin. after all, you had to wear your boyfriends color.

"what about this?" you sigh, holding a small black top up to your body. he glances at it, nodding his head. "yep, just hurry, i'll be out here when you're done," he gives you a quick kiss, before sliding the door open enough for him to squeeze out.

he slides it shut once again and you huff, pulling the black top over your head. it landed just below your boobs. you slide on a pair of white and black nikes, sliding the door open.

"you ready?" the three boys ask in unison, their attention on you. you nod your head, humming at your friends.

the four of you were walking through the parking lot to the venue. the three boys had been talking and messing with each other the whole way, you had just been walking behind them quietly, texting.

chris nudged you with his arm, "who you texting?" he asks, raising an eyebrow. "my mom," you mumble, shivering slightly as the wind blows. you shut your phone off, wrapping your arms around you.

"cold?" he asks, wrapping an arm around you. you nod your head before feeling around your pocket for your lip gloss. you patted each leg, frowning when you didn't feel the tube.

as a safety measure your hands go to your boobs, squeezing them. chris looks at you funny, "i left my lip gloss on the bus," you state, a pout on your lips. he sighs, rolling his eyes slightly.

"your strawberry shortcake one, correct?" he asks, already turning to walk away, not waiting for an answer. "yes," you say, quickly catching up with him, which was quite hard because his long legs were taking such large strides compared to your small one.

"i can go get it," you breathe, finally catching up. "don't need your help," he huffs, continuing to the bus. "but it's my lipgloss," you state, rather confused, though there was slight attitude in your tone.

chris stops, causing you to bump into him. he turns around, his hand gripping your jaw. "watch who you're copping an attitude with ma," he growls. you bite your bottom lip, looking up at him.

you bat your eyes innocently. "yeah?" he asks, tilting his head to the side, "gonna listen? or do i need to teach you a lesson?" he asks.

"teach me a lesson," you say, an innocent smile on your face. he harshly tugs you closer to the bus, tugging you up the stairs to the back where the two of you got ready.

he bends you over, your hands going to the wall to steady yourself. his hand collides with your ass, rubbing at the pink fabric. his other hand pulls down the fabric, revealing the thin fabric of your matching orange thong.

his hand collides with your ass, a moan falling from your lips. his hand goes to your ass cheek, rubbing it, trying to soothe the pain. "daddy's little pain slut," he mumbles, making a makeshift ponytail with your hair.

his hand connects with your ass again, causing a moan to leave your lips. his hands land on either side of your hips, his bulge pressing against your ass.

"please, daddy," you whimper, wiggling your hips against his. he hums, leaning down to place open mouthed kisses on the back of your shoulder. "daddy's little slut, so impatient," he says, his teeth tugging at your earlobe.

he tugs the thong off your hips, letting it fall down your legs, resting on your shoes. he spits onto his hand, rubbing the spit all over his cock.

his hand collides with the soft, tan, skin of your ass again, a moan escaping your lips.

his cock pushes into your warm hole, a gasp leaving your lips. "so big," you whine, pushing back into him. his hands grip your hips, a low grunt falling from his lips.

"i'll never get tired of that," he groans, beginning to thrust into you. "you like that baby? when my cock stretches your little pussy out?" he asks, his thrusts beginning to become faster.

a series of moans and whimpers fell from your lips, his thrusts bringing tears to your eyes. "yeah?" he asks, grunting, his grip on your hips getting tighter, "gonna cry? gonna be daddy's little slut and cry?" he asks.

you nod your head, whining. he smirks, his hands moving to the small of your back. he leans forward, his head pressing into the side of yours. his thrusts become rougher, his grunts sounding through the bus.

"so pretty and tight for me baby," he groans, his head dropping against the nape of your neck. you gasp, feeling his cock hit deeper inside of you. "d-daddy," you whine, his cock hitting against your g-spot.

"c-cumming," you sob out, your body shaking. your orgasm washes over you, a loud cry falling from your lips. "good girl," he mumbles, pulling out. you think you're done before chris is spinning you around, hoisting your body up.

your legs wrap around his waist as the tip of his cock prods at your soaking entrance. "you're so beautiful," he mumbles, thrusting his entire length into you.

your head falls against the wall, a low moan falling from your lips. "feel so good baby, so wet for me," he says, his mouth pressing against the side of your neck, his teeth biting and nipping at the skin.

your hands grip his shoulders, "cum in me," you moan, your head thrown back, giving him the perfect access to your neck. "yeah? want me to fill this pretty cunt?" he asks, his voice deep, vibrating against your skin.

you nod your head, biting down on your bottom lip. "use your words, ma," he grunts, his cock thrusting in and out of you. "mm, g-god," you squeak, not able to form them.

he tsks, a frown appearing on his face, "i know you can speak baby," he coos. "use. your. words," he grits out, his thrusts becoming rougher with each word, a cry escaping your lips.

"yes," you pant, his cock hitting against your g-spot, another orgasm washing over you. a high-pitched scream falls from your lips, your body shaking.

he doesn't stop thrusting, the overstimulation making your thighs shake, and a pool of heat settle between your legs. "yeah?" he asks, thrusting particularly rough, another scream coming from your throat, black mascara-stained tears stream down your cheeks.

"d-daddy," you moan, your nails digging into the fabric of his shirt. he leans forward, pressing a kiss to your tear-stained cheek. "almost there baby," he mumbles, his forehead pressing against yours, his eyes fluttering closed.

his cock twitches, warmth filling your stomach, a low groan leaving his throat. you hum, wrapping your arms around his neck, your head falling against his shoulder.

his cock pulls out of you, the mixture of your cum dripping down your thighs. he held you against the wall as your legs twitched, still coming down from the high.

"you did so well ma," he mumbles, setting your legs down. your knees buckle, being able to feel his cum dripping down your thigh. he grips your waist, holding you up. he walks you to the couch, pulling a new pair of panties from your bag.

he slides them up your legs, kissing his way up. "gonna walk 'round with my cum in you, yeah?" he asks, a smirk on his lips.

he slides your pink pants up your legs, helping you stand before fumbling with the button. "so pretty," he mumbles, pressing his lips to yours. he grabs you a jacket, to which you gladly except.

he grabs your lip gloss and your hand, pulling you back out of the bus. he stops when you get to the last step. "get on my back," he tells you, knowing your legs were probably sore.

you climb onto his back, wrapping your arms around his neck. his arms come under your thighs, holding you up.

he begins walking again, not paying mind to the crowd of screaming girls.

tag list:

@hysteria-things @tillies33ssss @soimightlikeoldmen69 @sturniolossss @freshsturns @etvar12 @sstvrnioloo @junnniiieee07 @sturnioloa @chrryclouds @sturniolho @sturniolowhore @imwetforyourmom @novasturniolo03 @spencerstits @junovrsmp4 @breeloveschris @skyslondon @stars4chratt @monkeyscientist22 @sophssturn @hearts4chris @l5ka @strombolilovr @blahbel668 @sturncakez @livvy4realll @raysmayhem-72

[cherrye]

sweet things

oikawa tooru x gn!reader

a/n: had to dump this b4 my brain explodes

there’s something about you that makes tooru just want to sit you on a beautiful throne and offer you all the love and possessions he can give you. maybe it’s the way you get flustered with every sweet thing he does, or the way you give your all in showing him the love he deserves — it’s apparently an innate desire to see you glowing with joy and love.

case in point, while he likes to act as if he were only doing it because it looked like your spine was about to deform from the weight of your bag (it really wasn’t heavy), he likes to insist on carrying your bag, especially when you’ve been adjusting its handle or strap on your shoulders. even if you do decline the offer, you’ll find yourself smiling when you feel the bag lighten a bit (it’s definitely not because of him lifting the bag from the bottom).

another thing is keeping you out of harm’s way. whether or not you’re a clumsy person, his spider senses activate as soon as you do something that may potentially harm you.

something fell under the table? he’s immediately covering your head with his hands when you crawl down to get it back.

filming the beautiful scenery? tooru already has his hands on your waist to keep you from bumping into people or tripping over your own feet.

but, what if you’ve already hurt yourself? he’s already on his way to fulfill his duty as your nurse… after he finishes laughing, of course.

lastly, while his job as a pro player takes up most of his time, he does his absolute best to make time for you. and, during those day offs he gets to spend with you, he’s paying full attention to you.

he loves hearing you talk about your day, especially when you go into full detail like how the music you were playing was coincidentally matching a random pigeon’s stride, or even how a little pebble in your shoe somehow threw off your luck for the day.

what he loves the most though is when you sit him down on the bed to watch you try on everything you bought that day. tooru’s fully engrossed in the try-on haul and acts as if he was invited to paris fashion week, watching models strut down the runway. he even goes as far as acting like a photographer and going into all sorts of weird poses to “get the best angles” when you model by the doorway.

and during those days you feel as if you’re truly unworthy of the treatment he has been giving you, he’s quick to wrap you up in his arms and remind you that you deserve everything in this world and so much more than what he can offer you.

“i love you, y/n. everything i do for you is because i love you and you love me. i don’t care if you think you don’t deserve it because it’s my choice, and i believe you deserve it and so much more. you are a person worthy of unconditional love and care, i hope you will understand this. it doesn’t have to be right now, but i hope it’ll be in the near future, my love”.

[hero21us]

Gold Reigns Supreme

Brody, a dedicated member of the Golden Army soccer team, has always admired Trey’s track and field prowess. He follows Trey’s career closely, inspired by his relentless dedication and impressive achievements. However, recently, Brody heard unsettling rumors about Trey’s sudden disinterest in his sport and his peculiar obsession with a black rubber polo shirt. This strange behavior reminded Brody of his former teammate, Christian, who had disappeared soon after obtaining a similar shirt.

Brody decides to reach out to Trey.  Trey agrees to meet at a local outside gym.  Trey is sitting alone on a bench, lost in thought when Brody catches sight of him.  Taking a deep breath Brody walks over, his heart pounding with anxiety and anticipation.

“Hey, Bro,” Brody begins, trying to sound casual. “Thanks for meeting me.  I heard about your experience with a black polo shirt.  How are you doing?  Trey looks up, his eyes filled with a mixture of relief and apprehension. “Brody, thanks for reaching out.  It’s been tough but I’m okay.” 

“Trey, Brody begins, you may remember that the Golden Army brought on a new wingback, Christian #55, a few months ago.  Wanting to prove himself during his first game he did not stay in his position or listen to our captains’ instructions ultimately costing us the match.  His life became hell after that match.  One day he showed up to practice wearing a black rubber polo just like the one you described. 

He began handing out the polos to the team saying that we would win if we became one, obey and serve.  Some of the team seeing his focus and intensity accepted the shirts. They all quickly stopped caring about the team and our matches.  All they wanted was for everyone to start wearing the polos.  When no one else on the team would accept the polos, Christian and those who did all vanished.”

Brody continues, “Reading the stories about your experience I am hoping you might have some information or insight that can help me to find out what happened to Christian and the rest of my teammates.”

Trey takes a deep breath and begins to share his experience. “It all started when I received a package from 009, filled with advanced workout gear. Each outfit seemed to enhance my performance, but the last item was different—a black ‘Fred Perry’ rubber polo shirt. When I put it on, I felt an incredible surge of energy.  I was able to focus, increase the intensity of my workouts and be more synchronized with the team while running the 4x400 relay.

One night after a great workout two men in black came up from behind and put a gas mask on me.  The gas did something to change me.  I no longer had a will.  I existed to obey, serve, be one with my brother drones in the collective.  Our command was to make all men one, united in the black rubber polo.  I was specifically commanded to not wear the polo but to spread the love of all things rubber and polo.  I was to put the shirt on at night along with a gas mask.  The tight rubber shirt on my skin combined with the gas was intoxicating.  It was so powerful and overwhelming that it became impossible for me to act normal.  I needed the rubber and the gas.  I needed to be one with the collective at all times.” 

“I couldn’t have broken free without my friends.”  Trey continues.  “They physically tore the polo off of me and destroyed the gas mask.” 

As Trey and Brody talked a figure emerges from the shadows striding toward them.  Its movements are unnervingly precise, its body clad in black rubber with a black “Fred Perry” buttoned up polo with gold accents and a laurel leaf on its left pec.  Most striking of all was the gas mask obscuring its face, the lenses dark and impenetrable.

It carried another gas mask in its hand.

“Trey,” the figure states in a voice that is deep, monotone and eerily robotic, yet disturbingly human. It is less a voice and more a command programmed to sound alive. “You are required to wear this.”

Trey jumps up, a chill running down his spine, a look of terror on his face.  He remembers the nights he spent under the influence of the gas, how it clouded his mind and made him act against his will. "What the hell? No way! Never again!” "I won't go back," "I’m not a puppet, and I won’t let the collective control me."

But the drone persists; "Resistance is futile. The collective will prevail," he drones, reaching out to place the mask on Trey with mechanical precision.  "You must return to the collective. Your purpose is to spread the unity of the collective." “For your safety. Resistance is prohibited.” 

Brody steps forward; his tone confrontational. “Hey, back off! You’re not forcing anything on him.” 

The polo drone’s head tilts slightly, as if recalculating its approach. 

"Resistance is futile. The collective will prevail." It states matter-of-factly as it suddenly lunges at Brody, attempting to secure the mask over his face. Brody dodges, shoving the polo drone back. Trey joins the fray, grabbing the drone’s arm and pulling it away from Brody.  The gas mask it is holding falling to the ground.

The battle is fierce, each moment filled with tension and determination.  The polo drone displays remarkable force, but its movements seem pre‑programmed, predictable. Trey manages to lock its arms behind its back while Brody reaches for the polo drone’s mask.

The polo drone fights like an animal; its desperation palpable. It claws and thrashes, trying to reclaim the gas mask and put it on Trey. But Brody and Trey hold tight, their combined strength overpowering the drone's frantic attempts.

“If there’s someone under this, we’re pulling them out!” Brody yells, his fingers prying at the mask’s straps.

The polo drone’s muffled voice protests. “Unauthorized action. Cease immediately.”

“Yeah, no thanks,” Brody grunts. With a final tug, the mask comes free landing on the sidewalk, and the two friends stumble backward.

Beneath the mask is a pale, sweating face. The man looks disoriented, his eyes blinking rapidly as if waking from a nightmare.

“Who... where am I?” the man stammers, his voice trembling.

“Christian!” Brody snaps. “Is it really you?”  You just tried to force that gas mask on me!”

Christian looks at the two masks on the ground and begins to reach out for one before Trey stops him.  He reaches for it again becoming more agitated.  Brody holds him tight.  Christian’s attempts become more frantic, his addiction driving him wild. But Brody keeps an iron grip on him determined to keep him away from the mask.

"Look into my eyes Christian. “You will be okay,” Brody states, his eyes beginning to glow gold, while offering Christian a big hug.  “We are here for you!” 

Slowly Christian begins to calm down.  He stares at his own trembling fingers.

“Where have you been for the past few months?” Brody asks.

“I—I don’t remember. The last thing I recall, I was at Pulse waiting for Cap.  He arrived with someone else who I didn’t know. Then... nothing.” 

While explaining and continuing to stare into Brody's gold eyes and the aura of gold that now completely surrounds him, the gold begins to return to Christian’s eyes.  Slowly the black polo is absorbed into Christian’s skin as his gold jersey reemerges bringing a clarity to his mind. 

In a trance like state, Christian continues; “Bros, after I f*cked up during the match I went into a deep depression.  I lost all my confidence.  When cap put the polo on me, I felt my focus, intensity and ability to synchronize with the team return. It was empowering.  Then the gas mask was put on me and all that focus changed to obeying, serving and growing a collective. Nothing else mattered.”

“What are you saying?”  Brody asks.

“It was not the polo that made me fight for the collective but the gas.  I can still feel the polo within me.  It is now part of my being.  It has united itself to the gold within me to sharpen my focus and intensity in order to support the golden army.”

Impulsively Trey decides he must destroy the gas masks. Spotting two kids walking through the park on the way to baseball practice, he runs toward them and grabs a bat from one of them. Running back, he is about to smash the masks.

"Stop!" Brody yells. Trey freezes in place. "What?"

Without a word Brody grabs a mask, and to the horror of Trey and Christian, places it over his face. He becomes frozen and blank his individuality beginning to drain as the mask blacks out Brody's gold eyes. At that exact moment a group of polo drones emerges and surrounds the three men holding polos and gas masks repeating: "You will submit. You will obey."

Brody is standing frozen in place lost to the gas. The drones are approaching. Time seems to have stopped for Christian and Trey not knowing what to do.

Brody's head twitches slightly. It begins to shake. The back eye sockets start to glow. Brighter and brighter as a gold spiral appears. Brody's gold aura shines brighter than it ever had before. His jersey becomes metallic in nature and shine. The entire mask turns gold and a gold gas seeps out from the edges of the mask.

The polo drones freeze mid step.

After what seems an eternity to Christian and Trey, but is only a few seconds, Brody removes the gas mask as if nothing had happened.

The eye sockets of all the polo drones surrounding them have become gold spirals. A gold gas can be seen swirling behind the lenses. They stand erect facing Brody and in unison intone: "We are one. We obey gold. We serve gold. Gold is supreme. Awaiting commands."

"Gather all drones to the pitch where team management will provide instructions," Brody commands. The drones turn and walk away in unisan.

Brody, Christian and Trey, all exhausted and overwhelmed, leave the park supporting one another to find a place where they can rest and process all they have just experienced.

A few months later Trey wins Olympic gold in the 4X400 wearing his gold proudly wanting nothing to do with polos or drones. Christian rejoins Brody and the team on the pitch wearing his black rubber polo during the day filled with confidence, focus and intensity while easily shifting into his gold jersey which shines brighter and stronger than it ever had before. The polo drones remain mindless and obedient to every command of the collective which has become gold. The collective supports the Golden Army in all things. It only assimilating members of the golden family who willingly submit. The polos obedience being reinforced by wearing the black rubber polos and the gold gas flowing through their masks.

[deceptive-daydreams]

Lost Like a Kid In a Supermarket - E.M.

Eddie x fem reader

3K Words

Eddie comforts you and does what he can when he sees that you’re doing bad again.

Warnings - depictions of mental illness, mentions of issues with eating, I think that’s it

Masterlist

Feeling like you’re getting bad again because living starts to feel like a chore more than usual.  The simple act of getting yourself something to eat is impossible, every time you open the fridge you’re met with overbearing anxiety that almost has you in tears.  

Fatigue has its claws latched onto you, no plans of loosening its grip anytime soon.  Messes are becoming more prominent, the pile of clothes in the corner growing bigger with every passing day and your patience wearing thin, wishing it would put itself away.  The dirty dishes make themselves at home in the sink and you feel them stare you down with every pass through the kitchen.  Guilt bites at you like a mosquito and yet…

You walk away.

A temper tantrum builds in your mind only for your physical being to remain expressionless, stagnant.  You are a shell of the person you were days ago and you mourn how naive you were then.  It usually comes in waves and you can normally sense when you’re about to go under but not this time.  This time it swallowed you whole without warning.  The pile of unopened mail begs to be opened and the lampshade across the room demands to be tilted back into its upright position.

Houseplants plead with you to water them, to at least open the curtain for some sunlight.  The chair you usually occupy at the dining room table wishes to be pushed in.  Your greasy, unkempt hair desires to be washed and unknotted, teeth only hoping to be brushed.  There is so much to be done and yet…

You continue to walk away.

Your beloved Eddie shows up unannounced for the first time this week, working at the auto shop occupying him all week up until now.  His gaze catches the numerous blankets littering the couch and the half drinken glasses of water scattered on the coffee table, the mess of crumbs on the counter that would otherwise drive you insane and be swept away immediately.  The bags of takeout flooding the trash can, spill over from when you did finally have an appetite.  You’d either overeat or not eat at all.

Big brown eyes turn sad when they land on your curled up figure, practically one with the couch.  Your eyes are puffy and accompanied by dark bags that indicate the amount of sleep you’ve been getting.  Complexion dull and devoid of any glow, you mindlessly stare at the TV playing a rerun of Friends.  You look as good as you feel and you wouldn’t blame him for walking out.

He stays.

Your gaze travels to him standing in the doorway, a gentle smile playing on his lips despite the melancholy scene before him.  A silent way to let you know he’s happy to see you.  All you can offer is the most subtle upturn of your lip that is gone just as soon as it arrives.  Toeing his shoes off near the front door, he strides over and perches himself next to you, everything Eddie invading your senses in the moment, giving you a brief second of relief from the hell you’d been subject to.  The smell of his shampoo lingering from his freshly washed curls fills your nose, the green apple one you’d picked out for him and he continued to buy, his cologne that had hints of cinnamon.  If a look of sympathy crosses his features, you’re too far gone to notice.

A brush of his hand against yours with a soft ‘hi’ makes you turn to look up at him next to you.  He would surely get disgusted by you eventually and leave, right?  Become so fed up with your mental illness that he’d decide to find someone worth giving the time of day to.  Someone who could leave the house without a second thought, someone without so many issues.  There was no way he could love you with all of your baggage, your copious amounts of baggage.  But up until this point so far…

He’s stayed.

Unable to form a coherent word, you try another smile but it doesn’t reach your eyes, barely even reaches your lips.  And he just knows.  It’s obvious he knows, your apartment is in shambles and your appearance is gruesome.  How could anyone not notice how far gone you were at this point?  But unlike just anyone, he also knows how to help, how to pick you up while in such a frail state, and how to manage the demons that plague your every thought.  He understands all too well  just how suffocating it can all become, how isolating the dark corners of your mind can be—his own brain subjecting him to the same torment at times.

And rather than leaving or turning a blind eye like everyone else, he coaxes you up from your divot in the couch, despite the small protests coming from you.  Hand gripping yours while he tugs you up from the couch, he looks at you with such concern, such care behind his gaze—love, unconditional love in spite of the horrific disaster that is you.  “I missed you.” He speaks quietly as you stand in front of him, longing for your spot on the couch.  A gentle upturn of his lips has you cursing yourself for being unable to find the words he deserves, your nonverbal state all you are able to offer with the billions of thoughts swarming your mind and the crushing pressure of life dragging you down.  So you wrap your arms around his waist and rest your head against his chest, a ‘thank you’ in the muted language he’s come to learn from you.  Your grip on the back of his shirt is tight, your way to communicate ‘I missed you too’.

A ringed hand brushes against your cheek, knuckles just barely kissing your skin as he ever so slightly pulls back to look at you again.  Big Bambi eyes scan your face, no doubt spotting your sunken eyes and worn out expression even closer up.  Biting his lip in some kind of anticipation while inhaling slowly, he speaks again.  “Have you been eating?” His tone is gentle, treading lightly among the heavy topic, not wanting to cause you more grief over yourself though his eyes are the slightest bit glassy.  Now staring at the floor, you inhale shakily before forcing yourself to at least whisper—that much he deserves.  “Sometimes.” You answer truthfully.  On the nights that you did eat it ended up being half of the actual meal, sometimes a third depending on when it began to make you feel nauseous.  There were a few days in between you’d overeat only to also feel nauseous.  The key factor being you would only eat one meal a day, a snack at most on some days.  His features are sad, brows knit together and frown painted on his lips.  And yet his reply says everything.  “Okay.”

A hushed voice in the dim lighting of your apartment displays nothing but empathy.  Though it’s only one word you hear several.  No judgement.  Only the vow that he’s there for you even when you weren’t there for yourself.  He’s nodding his head as he takes another glance around the room before focusing back on you.  Again, he speaks.  “Okay.”  As if he’s decided on something.  “C’mon.” He whispers, fingers interlocking with yours while leading you to the bathroom as he usually did when things got bad.  Turning the shower on, taking care to turn the knob to the exact temperature you like, he begins lifting your oversized sweatshirt over your head, your chosen wardrobe for the past week.  You know the drill, stripping off your remaining clothes as you hop into the shower but instead of standing under the steaming stream of water you sit with your knees tucked into your chest, water trickling down your skin.  Soon after the warmth of Eddie’s skin is on yours while he tucks himself behind you, his hair dancing over your shoulder while he curls his body around yours, his chest to your back.  “I’ve got you.” He mumbles against your back, lips caressing your skin.  Gentle kisses make their way up your back, over your shoulder, to your jaw, and finally your cheek where he nuzzles his nose into you softly.  Muted ‘I love yous’ scattered along your skin.  

The intimate act of washing your body always made him feel honored, suds lathering under his fingertips and the smell of your citrus body wash consuming the small space.  Washing your hair was a daunting task but not for him, he was patient as he worked his way through it, concentration etched into his features.  Everything you couldn’t do for yourself in the moment, he was glad to take over.  “Turn around for me, baby.” He talks quietly.  You oblige and face him, you crisscrossed in between his legs.  His curls are soaking wet, becoming longer with the amount of water filling them, bangs pushed to either side of his temples for a better view.  He grabs your razor from the little shelf on the wall, smoothing his hand over your leg.  He knows you don’t shave for the appearance but because the feeling of your legs rubbing together when you’re laying down makes you nuts.  He could tell it was getting to that point by the way you itched at your leg in the living room earlier as you always did when you desired a clean shave.  And so he carefully drags the razor along your leg, collecting the little hairs and tapping it off into the drain behind you, repeating until he moves onto the next leg.  The simple act of him assisting in keeping up with your hygiene made you want to cry for many reasons.  The main ones being that he shouldn’t have to fucking do this for you and that you never thought anyone could be this sweet.

While you’re standing in nothing but a towel in the middle of the bathroom, Eddie is gathering some comfortable clothes for you.  And sure enough he comes bearing one of his T-shirts—one of the many that he keeps in one of your drawers along with a pair of his boxers for you to wear.  He even goes as far as to dress you, finishing it off with a peck to your nose.  “Will you have dinner with me?”  He asks genuinely, eyes pleading while his hand finds yours and he presses an endearing kiss to your knuckles.  While you don’t have much of an appetite, the least you can do is try.  For him.  For all he’s done for you without a single complaint, a single hint of hesitance.  Only true and undeniable love, no intent to gain anything other than a smidge of your happiness.  You nod.  “Yes.”

That night he cooks you something safe, something he knows that even if you won’t touch a lot of it right now, it’ll be in the fridge for you to easily heat up with no extra steps.  He even goes as far as to light a candle on the countertop between you two as you sit on the bar stools nibbling at your dinner.  Anything to make the environment a little more serene for you, a striking comparison to how it’s been the past week.  One of your shared favorite shows plays on your laptop on the counter as well, giggles coming from Eddie every now and then while he eats.  A few from you as well every now and then.

His attention shifts to you and it’s evident that you’re poking around at your food after only taking one bite.  You feel his elbow bump yours, the sudden contact surprising you while you quickly turn to look at him.  He eyes your food, then you, then your food again.  A telltale sign that he’s begging for you to eat.  “I’m no chef but I didn’t think I fucked it up that bad.”  He jokes, worry still filling his chocolatey irises.  You mumble a ‘sorry’ while looking down at your plate ashamed.  “Sweetheart, don’t ever be sorry.”  He ducks his head down to catch your gaze.  “I don’t want you to be sorry, okay?  Just want you to eat and be healthy.”  He further explains.  His tone is pleading.  You nod and try again.  For him.  This time you’re able to stomach a few more small bites, leaving some food still on the plate but Eddie is satisfied with the progress.  

Your mind starts going into a frenzy after dinner, switching from being ignorant to the mess that is your apartment, to now being hyper aware of every misplaced item and dirty dish, every crumb left behind on the kitchen counter and every wrinkled up blanket that had been living on the couch.  The way your laptop sits on the countertop now has you cringing, it’s one more item that doesn’t belong.  Eddie notices this as you begin frantically gathering your belongings in your hands and arms, laptop balanced on your forearm,  half filled cups from the coffee table squeezed between your bicep and your chest, a book cradled in your other arm, and a blanket dangling from your other hand.  You’re quickly moving between rooms to put everything back where it belongs.  As you make your way back to the kitchen, the sight of the dirty counter, pots on the stove, dishes in the sink, and the nagging pile of mail make you inhale shakily.  At this, Eddie rushes to your side before you can make this worse for yourself.  “Let me help, you take the counter and I’ll take the dishes.”  He announces, knowing that you would never go to bed without cleaning given the dramatic switch of your mental state.  With a watery sigh and a sniffle, overwhelmed but determined, you nod and quickly start grabbing something to wipe down the counter.  He knows you don’t want to do this right now but you have to.  Otherwise you would drive yourself crazy and have trouble sleeping.  

The kitchen gets cleaned in no time thanks to Eddie’s quickness and your ability to multitask, your determination kicking into gear just before giving out again, most likely sending you into another pit of exhaustion.  You obsess over one last spot on the microwave, the debris not rubbing off as easily while you scrub it forcefully.  Strong hands place themselves on your wrists, Eddie’s tall figure shadowing over you.  Gently, he works the rag out of your hand and playfully bumps his hip against yours, nudging you out of the way.  “Darlin’ this stain has been in the works for weeks.  Trust me, I’ve been trying.”  He smiles, tossing the rag over the sink.  His arms wrap around your waist as he presses a kiss to your crown.  “I’ll buy you a new microwave if it makes you feel better.  Gotta wait til’ the morning though.”  He mumbles, fingers delicately sliding along the small of your back.  Finally finding your voice again, you look up at him.  “No, that’s ridiculous.  Can we just take turns every other night scraping at it?”  You gesture to the microwave, a hint of humor in your voice, finally.  “Maybe if we do it enough it’ll eventually go away?”  You say, squinting your eyes.  A laugh escapes Eddie, his hands squeezing your sides.  “There’s my girl.  Been looking for you.”  His smile is contagious, your mouth widening with him.  “It took a minute but here she is.”  You’re now gesturing to yourself with subtle jazz hands.  “Yeah, well it kinda felt like I was a kid lost in a supermarket there for a second.  You know how scared I get when I’m lost at the supermarket.”  He partially jokes.  He so totally does get scared when he can’t find you in the store, an ongoing problem due to his short attention span.  

You giggle, your head now against his shoulder as he holds you in the dim light of the kitchen.  “You know what?”  You ask, Eddie humming in response, his chest vibrating.  “I felt like a lost kid in the supermarket too this past week.  Except probably times a thousand.”  You admit.  His hand cradles your jaw as he makes you look at him, rings cold but refreshing against you.  “I know, baby.”  He whispers, placing a kiss on your forehead.  A look of sincerity takes over his features.  “Wish I could take it all away.”  A soft kiss is pressed to your lips.  “Fuckin’ supermarkets.”  His playful tone returns as he shakes his head.  “Fuckin’ supermarkets.”  You repeat, unable to contain your smile.

That night as you snuggle up in the sheets, Eddie’s arms around you protectively, you find yourself starting to drift off into a peaceful sleep for the first time in a week.  And before you let yourself drift off, a whisper is heard among the quiet of your room, only the moonlight bathing your surroundings.  “I love you.”  Shifting to face him, the glow of the moon gives you the ability to see his features, soft and endearing as he completely lets his guard down with you.  “I love you, too.”  You whisper back.  His lips find yours, pillowy and plump as he conveys his feelings to you in a slow, sensual kiss.  “I love you most.  You hear me?”  His finger grazes your bottom lip lovingly.  You kiss him again, arms wrapping around his neck, fingers tangling in his hair.  “I hear you.” You say softly.  “Supermarket boy.”  You tease.  He scoffs, pushing himself up to hover over you.  “Keep crackin’ jokes, baby but I’ll get the last laugh and I’ll make sure if it too.”  He warns.  Your hand finds his cheek, stubble underneath your fingertips, a fond smile on your face.  “Will you?”  You ask with a hint of doubt.  His face is now inches from yours, breath fanning over you.  “Sweetheart, don’t ask questions you can’t handle the answers to.”  He says breathily.  “I won’t.”  You state as if it’s a fact.  He traces your bottom lip with the pad of his thumb, your lip dragging down and then popping back into place as he releases it.  “You’re such a fuckin’ brat.” He laughs admiringly.  Within these moments, you're forced to recognize…

Eddie will always stay.

~end~

Masterlist

[atinylittlepain]

Apothecary - Chapter Seven

joel miller x witchy!reader

series masterlist

the town of Jackson comes together for a meeting, and truths are revealed.

wordcount: 4.8K

warnings | 18+ smut, significant angst, dramaaaaa

.............................

The irony isn’t lost on her. What now serves as the Jackson town hall had been a church in its previous life, high-arched windows, wooden pews, pulpit and all. Her mother would show her pictures from history books of Salem, their ancestors, she had told her, faces steeled in cool resignation amidst a contorted hysteria. She thinks of those images now, sitting in the first pew, Joel tucking her into his side, and dozens of eyes skittering up her neck. 

“Alright, let’s go ahead and start the meeting. I think we all know why I called everyone together. There’s been a lot of talk around town and it’s time to put rumors to rest and set the record straight.” Maria’s voice echoes through the hall from where she stands at the front of the room, Tommy right by her side, quieting the low thrum of the crowd. There’s not an empty seat to be had, people relegated to stand in the back, and she doesn’t dare glance over her shoulder out of fear of what she might find, glares and whispers, jaws set in predetermined condemnation. Joel however, can’t stop looking, his head whipping around every few moments before turning back to her with a grunt until she finally gives his knee a squeeze.

“You’re gonna throw your back out if you keep twisting your neck like that.” He sighs, resting his hand over hers.

“That’s gonna be the least of my worries if these people don’t stop fucking staring.” His words come out with a huff, and she offers him what she can of a smile, giving his thigh another squeeze. Though both of their attention is drawn back to the front of the room as the meeting really begins.

“We’d like for this to be an open forum to clear the air and discuss folks’ concern about what’s been going on, so if everyone’s amenable to that, we can open the floor to whoever would like to speak first.” It doesn’t surprise her that as soon as Maria steps to the side, Mason is getting up from his seat next to Matthew and Maura to stand in front of the crowd.

“I’d like to speak on behalf of the Nichols who are too grief-stricken at this moment to talk about such things. But they need and deserve justice for what happened to their baby, and I think it’s high time that witch right there gave us some answers.” She can feel Joel’s muscles tense under her hands, and she muses that if she wasn’t keeping a steady palm on him, he’d already be out of his seat and heading for Mason. Untangling herself from him, she gives Joel what she hopes is a reassuring nod as she stands up, squaring her shoulders as she faces Mason.

“I’m happy to give you answers. But I’m afraid it’s not going to be what you want to hear.” She turns to look at Maura, sitting across the aisle with tears welling in her eyes, Matthew set in a stony glare beside her. 

“Maura, I can’t express how sorry I am for what happened to your baby. And I need you to know that if there was anything I could have done to change things, I would have done it in a heartbeat. But I don’t think anyone could have changed what happened. It was just– it was too early, and I’m sorry.” For a moment, Maura’s features soften as she looks at her, a silent understanding that’s gone as soon as it comes when Matthew opens his mouth.

“Don’t listen to her, Maura. Remember what I told you? Nothing but lies coming out of her mouth.” 

“Why would I lie about something like this? Something as awful as this?” With that, Mason takes a few strides toward her, too close for comfort as his lip curls at her.

“Oh, you know why, little witch.” “Back off.” Too focused on Mason, she failed to notice Joel standing up, now stepping between them to glower at the man just as Maria steps forward as well, looking pointedly between the two men.

“Let’s keep things civil here, shall we?” Mason huffs, nostrils flared, though he does take a few steps back. And then she glances over her shoulder, though she wishes she hadn’t, quickly realizing that this has turned into a bona fide production for the people of Jackson to watch, necks craned to catch the action at the pulpit.

“I can tell you all exactly why she’d– she’d curse us like this. It’s because I wouldn’t give her what she wanted.” Matthew is up out of his seat, turned to, essentially, play to the crowd, his arms gesticulating broadly as he mouths off.

“She tried to put me under her spell. Tried to tempt me and seduce me like she did with all those other poor men, Miller included. But I am faithful, and I resisted her temptations. That’s why she cursed me, that’s why our baby is dead. And it’s why all those other men are dead too.” The crowd breaks into a thrumming murmur as Matthew finishes his speech, and her stomach sinks at the sound of their clear assent, heads nodding along to his words. This is about when the pitchforks come out, right?

“I have heard enough!” A hush falls over the crowd, Joel’s booming voice bouncing off the walls as he turns fully around to look at them.

“Do y’all really hear what this man is saying? This-this nonsense about someone who has helped every single one of you in this goddamn room?” She’s stunned still by his outburst, and everyone else seems to be too, eyes wide as Joel points to someone in the crowd.

“You told me she cured your son’s cough after he had it for years.” She recognizes the woman, who nods at Joel’s words, glancing over to her before responding.

“That’s true– she did. It was– well, it was a huge relief.” 

“She did the same for our little girl when she was sick last year. We thought her cough would never go away, but she helped her, helped us.” Another woman’s voice fills the room, heads turning to listen. 

“And how many of y’all have gone to her looking for help when your kids come home with poison ivy? I know I have.” There’s a wave of murmurs in the crowd, heads nodding at Joel’s words as he points to someone else.

“And you told me that she helped your wife through her entire pregnancy, ain’t that right?” The man nods, just as another woman speaks up.

“She helped me too, with both of my girls– honestly I don’t know how I would’ve done it without her.” 

“Us too, we’ve got her to thank for our boy.” She turns around at the sound of Tommy’s voice, seeing him and Maria both smiling at her where they stand.

Several other people come forward, sharing their own stories of how she had helped them in the past, and she can’t help the tears that start to gather in her lashes at this, a gratitude she has never experienced before. Joel takes her hand in his, glancing at her as people continue to speak, stories of rashes cured and colds stymied, wounds tended and care given. But Matthew isn’t done speaking just yet.

“Don’t listen to this man, he-he’s under her spell! He doesn’t know what he’s talking about!” 

“I’m not under some fucking spell. I know the woman I love, and I know that she wouldn’t harm anyone. And I also know she wouldn’t so much as look your way.” Joel’s words shock her, words she hasn’t heard from him before, but she doesn’t have much time to consider them before Mason is butting in with his own declaration.

“So she’s helped some people. That doesn’t take away from the fact that she’s a licentious slut who’s trying to drive men to adultery!” It’s a stunning slew of words, but before she or Joel can even react, a young woman is shooting up out of her seat and bursting out with a firm exclamation.

“She’s not an adulterer! He is! I’ve been having an affair with Matthew Nichols for months!” A collective gasp washes over the crowd, and she watches the color leave Matthew’s face. The woman waits for a lull in the commotion to continue speaking, eyes darting around the crowd.

“Don’t blame her for any of this. That man is a liar– I’m so sorry, Maura.” With that, the woman lets out a broken sob as she pushes through the crowd, hurrying toward the exit as Matthew calls out a rather meek “Lisa?” In the meantime, Maura has stood up, tears no longer falling as she stares at her husband, shock mingling with ire in her eyes.

“Maura, it’s not– it’s not what it–” Maura cuts off Matthew’s stammering with a palm held up between them, only offering him one word before she turns heel and storms out of the town hall.

“Don’t.” Matthew is quick to rush out on his wife’s heels, calling after her, leaving everyone thoroughly speechless, stunned silence hanging in the air as eyes dart around, searching for answers now that the floor has all but fallen out from under them. 

Joel lets go of her hand, stepping over to a very slack-jawed Mason, nose to nose as he glares at him.

“I suggest you go on home now, son, I think we’re done here.” He doesn’t have to be told twice.

…

By the time she makes it back to Joel’s house, the sun has already pulled hazy and low over the mountains, washing everything in orange fading into purple. 

“How’s she holding up?” She sighs at his question, plopping down next to him on the porch bench and all but melting into his side.

“I think she’ll be ok. She’s gonna stay with a friend of hers until the council works out a new place for her to live, but she seems pretty clear about her decision. Wants nothing to do with that man ever again.” After the town meeting that morning, she had sought Maura out immediately, inviting her to her shop, somewhere quiet for them to talk. And talk they did, for the better part of the day.

“And you and her are good?” 

“I think so, yeah.” There’s so much more she could say. How Maura kept telling her that she knew it wasn’t her fault. How awful she felt for how everything happened. And how they both couldn’t stop thinking about that little baby girl. But with the day she’s had, it’s nothing that can’t wait, leaving it at that for now as Joel pulls her a little closer under his arm. 

“You were something else today, Miller.” His grumble thrums under her palm splayed over his chest, shaking his head as he looks at her.

“I did what needed to be done. Those people needed some fucking sense talked into them. And for the record, I’m still thinking about paying Mason a visit and–” She cuts him off with a kiss, brushing his hair back before letting her palm come to rest along his scruff.

“He’s not worth it, Joel. I don’t think he’s gonna give us any more trouble either. Not after what happened today.” Though he doesn’t seem too satisfied by her response, the second kiss she presses to his lips seems to melt some of his resolve, the crease between his brows easing up as she pulls away to look at him.

“So, the woman you love, huh?” That distracts him, his jaw going a little slack as she grins at him.

“You– you caught that?” She’s quick to stifle her laugh when she sees the clear worry in his eyes, letting her palm fall back to his chest to rub reassuring circles there.

“Yeah, I caught that.”

“I didn’t, uh– I mean– I didn’t mean to–”

“It was kinda nice hearing the man I love talk about me like that.” His brows shoot up his forehead at that, and this time she can’t hold back her laugh at his shocked expression.

“I– you– you mean me, right?” 

“What do you think?” He pulls her into this kiss, swallowing her laugh and then silencing it with the way he licks into her mouth, her mind going hazy with him.

“Innocent eyes present! Please do not scar me for life, thank you very much.” They reluctantly pull away from each other, Joel grumbling as Ellie comes stomping up the porch steps, Stevie hot on her heels.

“I heard you guys did some serious ass-whooping today. Is it true what people are saying about the Nichols?” Joel huffs at her words, and at Stevie who has leapt into her lap between them, front paws digging into his thigh.

“Kid, no one did any ass-whooping, alright? And don’t look so pleased about what happened to the Nichols either, ain’t a laughing matter.” 

“He’s right, Ellie. Things are gonna be ok, but it was a hard day for everyone.” Ellie schools her face into something like solemnity, crossing her arms in front of her and nodding.

“Although… Joel did do some ass-whooping today.” At that, Ellie’s face breaks into a grin, pumping her fist in the air before holding her palm out to Joel for a high five, which he does not reciprocate, quirking his eyebrow at both of them with a shake of his head before getting up with a grumble that he’s going to get started on dinner, Stevie mewling in indignation at the sudden shift off of his legs and onto the bench next to her. With the soft click of the front door behind him, all it takes is Ellie glancing back her way for the both of them to let out a laugh.

It feels like a relief, like something settling back into place.

…

“So much for taking it slow, huh?” Joel glances at her in the bathroom mirror, wiping toothpaste off his mouth before resting his hip against the counter and fully looking at her.

“Think we’re way past slow now, darlin.” She had rather sheepishly asked him if it’d be ok for her to stay the night, not sure if she was still welcome now that everything had blown over. Joel had just looked at her like she was crazy for even asking, pulling her into a tight hug and murmuring something about her never having to leave if she didn’t want to. And she’s not sure if she ever will, not after that rock that came soaring through the front window of her house. She had already had a faint thread of an idea that maybe Maura could take her house after she moved in with Joel, since it seems like whatever this is, it’s going to stick around. He’s going to stick around, and so is she.

“Where’d you go?” His gentle question and his hand on her hip shakes her out of her head, blinking a few times to focus back on him standing in front of her.

“Hmm? Just thinking– it’s nothing important, not right now at least.” He hums at that, shuffling closer and taking her face in his hands, his eyes seemingly searching her expression. 

“You alright?” It’s so genuine, the worry just barely creasing his brow as he looks at her that she’d probably melt under his gaze if not for his hands holding her steady. The sigh that she lets out is one she’s been holding in for a while.

“I think so, yeah. I– what you did today– for me. No one’s ever done something like that— stood up for me like that. And I guess I’m just trying to say thank you, for sticking your neck out for me.” He seems to consider her words for a moment, lips parted and eyes turned down as he strokes his thumb over her cheek. 

“I’d do it again in an instant, darlin. Meant what I said too. I love you. Fuck, I really love you.” With all the other ones, she had heard them tell her that they wanted her, needed her even. But Joel is the first to say these words to her, and she doesn’t think she’d like to hear them from anyone else, ever. She nearly laughs when the thought crosses her mind that, really, she’s under his spell. 

“I love you, Joel. I do, I love you.” Yes, it has to be magic, the way his eyes crinkle up, a smile he wouldn’t give to anyone else, the strength of his palms still so soft along her jaw as he guides her lips to his. And they get to have this, all of this, for as long as they both want it. She hopes for a long time, if not forever. 

It’s a messy affair, lips only parting for quick gasps of breath, eyes barely glancing away as they make a stumbling path for his bed. She can’t help the laugh that bubbles up, breaking their kiss when they fall in a graceless tangle onto the mattress, a quick twist of limbs that has her straddling his hips, palms splayed out on his chest as she looks down at him. For a moment, all she wants is to look at him looking at her, the little tilt of his head, amusement rounding his cheeks as his fingers squeeze and flex where they’re curled around her hips.

“Staring ain’t very polite, darlin.” 

“Neither is being a smartass, baby.” The laugh he lets out is more of a disbelieving huff and she’s quick to swallow it, dipping down and bringing them back together in a kiss that stings sweet, teeth scraping skin as her fingers skitter down the buttons of his shirt. Her mouth follows her hands, meeting every new inch of exposed skin with a drag of kisses, and when he sits up just enough to shrug out of the sleeves of his shirt, she can’t help but nip at the soft swell of his stomach, eliciting a grumble from him.

“What’s that about, huh?” She grins against his skin, palm splaying in the middle of his chest to push him back flat on the mattress, nosing at the trail of hair just below his navel.

“I happen to really like this part of you, that’s all.” The quirk of his brows at her words makes her laugh, simply leaving another smattering of kisses over his belly in response as she works open his belt. 

She learned early on that Joel’s something of a giver, always wanting to be the one in control, the one who decides what and when and how, and it only makes it more satisfying when she gets him like she has him now, giving it all up to her. A quiet “hips up, baby” is all it takes to get his jeans shimmying down his legs, tugging them off before settling back between his legs, her palms resting on the tops of his thighs. 

“You look perturbed.”

“You’ve still got a lot of clothes on, darlin.” He says it with a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth, sitting up on his elbows to look at her as she peels her shirt off over her head. But that’s all she’ll give him for now.

“Lay back down, Miller, I wasn’t done with you.” His grumble dies in his throat when she slips her fingers under the waistband of his boxers, nails grazing the soft skin there. That gets him on his back real fast. She supposes she’s teased him enough, tugging his boxers off with little fanfare, his cock resting flushed and hard against his stomach. 

She knows what he likes. He likes her eyes on him when she lets her tongue drag along the underside of his length, and he likes it a touch messy, spit pooling in the corners of her lips when she takes him into her mouth. He likes when her nails graze over his belly, holding him still as she works him over, taking him into her mouth as far as she can before pulling back to lap at his swollen tip. She likes all the little sounds she can coax out of him, harsh breaths turning into clipped grunts that eventually give way to moans thrumming low in his chest as she continues her ministrations. 

“I– Jesus– that mouth of yours– gotta– gotta stop, honey. I can’t– I want you. Want you now.” With that, he sits up, fingers tucked under her chin to coax her up for a devouring kiss before his hands fall to the button of her pants. His mouth doesn’t stray far from her skin, grazing over the tops of her breasts as he works her out of her remaining clothes, a close shuffle that leaves her just as bare as he is, coaxing her thighs to frame his hips. He holds her steady, hands an insistent bruise on her hips as her cunt drags over his length, a heady pull that has her nails digging into his chest. 

“Shit, darlin– you ready for me? Wanna take it like this?” It always makes her brain stutter to a stop, the absolute mouth he has on him, usually such a gentleman, so quiet, suddenly turned sharp and demanding. It’s obvious to her that he doesn’t realize what kind of effect his words have, only earnest anticipation in his eyes as he looks up at her, and it only makes the heat grazing up her spine raise another pitch. He’s all soft murmured encouragement, palms a steady sweep up her thighs, the curve of her ass, fingers firming up on her hips as she guides his cock to her entrance.

Relax for me, darlin, that’s it.

Fuck, that’s good. You’re so good like this. 

Move for me, honey. Just like that, so fucking perfect.

It’s a brilliant mingling of sighs, clipped moans with every pass of her hips, Joel bending his knees and planting his feet into the mattress to meet each bounce with his own thrust. His eyes are a hot drag on her skin, the pull of his gaze trailing every curve before sweeping back up to her face. She’s trailing along the edge of too much, so full of him that each tilt of her hips has her gasping with the way his cock is spreading her open, grazing so deep every time she sinks back down. But when he brings one hand to rest at the crux of her thigh, fingers smearing a sloppy rhythm into her clit, too much washes over her like a wave, spine curling in an arc of pleasure until her chest is pressed close against his, face buried in the juncture of his neck as she mouths a quiet cry into his skin. His hands draw a slow circuit up her spine, keeping her full, but not moving as she crashes down around him.

“I’ve got you, easy, easy, I’ve got you, darlin.” A kiss to her temple coaxes her face out from his neck, hazy smiles shared between barely brushing lips. 

They move like liquid. He stays, warm and throbbing inside her, as he turns them over, his hips slotting between her thighs, forearms framing her face. There’s no use for words. She gives him a nod and a kiss to the corner of his mouth, enough communication for him to slip back into movement, hips a steady and strong roll into hers. He’s beautiful like this, a pink flush creeping up his chest into his cheeks, his brow pulled down in pleasure, eyes a continuous wave from her face down to where she’s taking all of him over and over again. And it’s her turn to coax, to murmur, to press and press and press until he cracks.

Feel so full, baby. Always fill me up so perfect.

So good like this, Joel. Doing so good for me.

I want it, baby. Want it so bad. Let go for me, please.

He comes with a crackled groan, her name leaving his lips on a punched out exhale as he curls over her, spend smearing warm over her stomach. She props herself up on an elbow, her hand on his jaw drawing him down for a kiss shared between harsh breaths. 

“Was that– was that good for you?”

“You’re always good for me, Joel.”

…

Her overalls are back, hanging off the corner of his bathroom door. There’s a stack of her books on his nightstand, thick tomes full of latin names he won’t even attempt to pronounce. And her plants are back too, she and Ellie hauling them over one afternoon, shuffling back and forth between her old house and theirs. A few pieces of her furniture made the move as well. A dark blue armchair that now sits in the living room, what has become Stevie’s designated lounging area. A cabinet that had been a bitch for them to move, huffing and puffing across town, Joel nearly throwing his back out with the effort, though his reward that night had been worth it. And a high-backed bureau now sits in the corner of his bedroom, a spot he finds her sitting at most mornings before they both head out for work, writing meticulous notes about the people she cares for. 

“Gonna see you over lunch today?” He can feel the curl of her smile where his lips rest against her cheek, and she turns around on her stool to steal a proper kiss from him.

“Mmhmm, I’ll be there. I’m guessing I’m gonna have to share with you again, huh?” 

“Well, if you’re offering I ain’t gonna turn you down.” He didn’t get to have her laugh for a while there, and now whenever she does give it to him, it’s like he tries to gather it up in his mind, every crackling smile, every tilt of her head, every peel of relief committed to memory. 

“Fine, but I’m not leaving tomatoes off this time. You’ll just have to eat around them.” 

“I guess I can live with that.” Another smacking kiss before he pulls away to let her stand up.

“You gonna walk me out, Miller?”  

“That’s the least I can do, darlin.” 

No more whispers, no more stares, they move through town easily now, first walking Ellie to school, who tells her and Stevie that she’ll be around the shop this afternoon before offering Joel a clipped “later, old man.” But he doesn’t even have time to be annoyed by it, not when his woman is taking his hand and tugging him along toward her shop.

She still moves a bit tentatively, glancing over her shoulder at him as she unlocks the front door before stepping inside, her shoulders a slight hunch as she moves through the shop. He’s been keeping her company in the mornings before his own shifts, staying out of her way but close enough that he hopes it eases some of her worry. 

“Ellie’s already asking me about Halloween, you know.” His brows raise at her words, watching her rest her elbows on the butcher block across from him.

“Is it– is it an important day for your, uh, your people?” Though he can see the amusement in her eyes at his stumbled-out question, she spares him any teasing, lazily stirring her tea before letting the spoon rest in the mug.

“Mmhmm, though we call it Samhain, not Halloween. I’ll tell you more about it when it gets a little closer.” They’ve figured out a gradual give and take, when to ask and when to answer, when to let things rest and when to reveal a bit more, and Joel can tell she’s making such a calculation in her head right now, offering him an easy smile. But his attention is drawn down to her mug, spoon now languidly stirring all by itself, though she’s quick to catch it, bringing her palm over the rim of the cup, her smile turning sheepish as his eyes widen at her.

“That– how– how am I just seeing that now?” That makes her laugh.

“I may have been trying to hide that particular, uh, quirk. Didn’t want to freak you out too much.” 

“Darlin, at this point, I don’t think you could freak me out if you tried.” 

.............................

taglist: @boofy1998 @misspascaliverse @jasminedragoon @beskarandblasters @daddy-din @subconsciouscollapse @avidreader73 @pedgeitopascal @littlelou22 @wannab-urs @hannahlupinblack @whoiscaroline @leeeesahhh @str84pedro @mumma-moonchild @disregardedplant @mxtokko @igloo71 @secretdazeobservation @eddie-munson-dungeon-master @cressida-clearwood @mydailyhyperfixations @mingeniee @the-ginger-hedge-witch @delicious-collection @gab-thelamb-onthemoon @thereaperisabitch @lunxramour @jupiter-sky @parrotpeggy @abbiesxox @nerdreader @ssa-raye @vermillionwinter @jksprincess10 @jordycat-2018 @lavenderkee @hungryforbatboys

[flxrartsstuff]

Play with me

NanamixfemReader!

Authors note: Thanks to @princeasimdiya12 for my very first request and this interesting idea! It definitely helped me to get over my writers block. I hope you all can enjoy it! ^^ To let off some steam, Nanami gets lost in a love hotel. What would you do if you had a man like Kento Nanami in your hands? What would it be like for him to be unable to move and completely at your mercy? As an employee of this love hotel Y/N gives him a very special kind of show before she gets what's hers.

Cw: unprotected, rough, clit play, nipple play, masturbating, (dry) cock riding, gagging, duct tape mummification, swearing

He parked the car in front of the building and turned off the engine. He still couldn't believe that his path had brought him here. The normally controlled and always conscientious man had actually strayed into an area that he didn't really want anyone to find out about. Tired, he rubbed his hand over his striking face, took off his glasses and massaged the bridge of his nose, groaning. The neon lights of the building were bright and impossible to miss. They indicated a certain establishment, a love hotel. He wanted to let go of the stress and pressure, wanted to forget everything for an evening and a few hours. He had heard about this place a few times before, but had always pretended to not really care about stuff like that. Especially when his colleagues talked about what the employees there did to their customers. However, he had found himself driving to this place to - as the others had put it so nicely - let off steam.

And here he was.

Kento sighed as he took the room keys from the receptionist‘s hand. He would have never expected him of all people to visit a love hotel. But sometimes loneliness hits everyone of us, doesn‘t it?

Walking through the long and noble hallway, he searched for the room 666. Just the number of that room gave him a bad feeling, but his excitement to try out new things made him move towards the door he is looking for. The wooden door came into his sight, being adorned with golden frames and a small shield that displayed its number. With hesitation he moved the keys to the lock. He can feel how his muscles were tensing up. A drop of sweat rolled down his temple and a searing heat courses through his body. A heat that made him want to take his clothes off in an instant.

»There‘s no need to be shy, come in.« a female voice echoed from the other side of the door, causing him to flinch. His heart skipped a beat and he gulped, slowly unlocking the door and opening it.

A large room came into his sight, filled with an erotic and noble furniture that sure matched to the atmosphere of this hotel. Red walls surrounded him as he steps in, and only a dim red light from above illuminates the dark room. Black furniture matched well to the black and large bed that is right in front of him, being covered by red bed sheets. On the wall next to the bed were hanging tons of sexual toys that were for anyone‘s taste. He was curious if one of these would fit into his desires.

He gasped softly as the door closed behind him all of a sudden, and he turned around, finding a woman standing behind him. Her hand was pressing against the door, and she gazed at him with her [e/c] eyes that could lure anyone in. The red lingerie she wore attracts Kento‘s gaze immediately. After all, its erotic lace would make literally any man crazy. The way how her bra pushed her breasts together, squeezing them tightly, caused Kento‘s mouth to become dry. His excitement took him over. Something he would not let slide. But that woman right in front of him, she knew what she was doing. And she was doing it damn right.

She grinned at him, slowly approaching him with confident strides. Her hips moved with every step she made until she stopped right in front of him.

»I was told that you need someone to play with you, is that right?« she slyly asked him, her dark lips letting a melodic voice escape out of her throat. She put her hands on his chest, gently sliding them up and down.

He merely nodded in reply, being too stunned to speak. After all, [Y/n]‘s body was a sight for sore eyes. And just the thought of having her play with Kento makes him feel utterly aroused. Stepping even closer, she pressed her entire body tightly against him so that her crotch touched his length through his pants. She can feel that he had gotten hard already. Though, it just needed a little bit more tease to make him crazy.

»Why don‘t you just take that off, huh? We don‘t need anything of that.« she breathed softly, helping him get out of his suit that had been tightly clinging onto his body.

Until the very last cloth had been removed from his body, she undressed him, revealing his semi-hard length to her hungry gaze. He felt embarrassed, however, this embarrassment is just one part of the game. She softly pushed him onto the large bed, caused him to lie on his back and look up to her curvy figure. His breath quickened as she approached the toys on the wall.

So many different objects that Nanami himself was completely unaware of what they were even used for. But she knew exactly which one she would use to get the most out of her pleasure. He watched as she took a thick roll of tape from the shelf and approached him at the bedside. It wouldn't be an easy one, yet she began to wrap it around his mouth and then the rest of his broad body. Until he was completely at her mercy. He seemed more excited at first, but this subsided as the last piece covered and she looked down at him with satisfaction. Unable to say anything, she heard his pleas covered by the tape. She giggled happily, moved to his side and ran her fingers over his face.

»Don't worry, you'll love it.« Her voice sent a shiver down his spine, the air escaping through his nose with a hiss. She stood in front of the bed so that he had a full view of her. His eyes wandered wearily over her appearance, over her curves that he couldn't touch now. Urgent and begging, his eyes seemed to be telling her to do something. Anything. So that he could at least imagine what it would be like to touch her skin, taste her and fill her up. It was unbearable to just lie in front of her and wait. She tossed her hair back, running her hands over her body and pulling at the straps of her bra. His nostrils flared instantly, his eyes widened, another muffled sound left his lips.

»Ghmph!«

»Watch me...« she ordered, as if he had any other choice. She undid her bra and let it move agonizingly slowly down her shoulders. Bit by bit, she bared her wonderful breasts, which had already caught Nanami's eye when he entered the room. His breathing quickened as the garment disappeared. It fell muffled to the floor, where he was now staring at her nipples, which would have tempted him to suck on them until they were hard and red. Instead, he just had to watch again as she grasped them both with her hands and teased their peaks with her fingers. She sighed softly, looking directly into his eyes and seeming to imagine exactly what he would have done with them. She saw him squirming and twirling around under the tape, but to no avail. She had done a damn good job of making him unable to move. Her slender fingers constantly circled over her rosy and tender skin, so untouched and unprotected and so close to reach for him. His eyes were mesmerized, dark and lust-obscured, watching her every move. She moaned unashamedly and cheekily as she fueled herself.

»You like that?« She didn't expect an answer, yet he nodded eagerly, his face glowing with heat, while even through the tape she could see his unmistakable bulge. His cock carried nothing but the prison around it and bumped against it agonizingly. He just managed to keep himself from begging how badly he needed it. How desperately he wanted to free it so that he could show his dangerous temptation called Y/N, what felt right. And how he would have grabbed her, drag her over his knee and given her pretty ass a few smacks for driving him so crazy. As if that wasn't enough, one of her hands was already lost on the way down, sliding over her stomach and stiffening the hem of her panties. First she slid her fingers over the piece of fabric, rubbed over her middle and slid between her legs. She gasped excitedly when she could feel that she was already wet. Nanami moaned through the tape, again only muffled sounds. He threw his head back, the only thing he could do, and quickly looked back at her so as not to miss a moment. To say he needed it was an understatement. He was horny as hell and wanted her.

»Mmm…« she mumbled, »I'm so wet...«

Again he expelled the air from his nose, watching her hand move into her panties and straight down to her pussy, one hand still massaging her breast. She stood there, in front of him, doing it to herself. And he couldn't help but watch this spectacle. Fuck. Never before had he thought lust would kill him, but it seemed like that was what was happening. Could he move? Could he somehow manage to rub his cock against the tape and cum with her?

She lifted her hand from her pussy and up to her mouth, her gaze fixed only on him. Her tongue licked over her own wetness and he imagined it was his mouth, his mouth between her legs and tasting her until she came in desperation. He watched as she slipped off her skimpy panties and now stood completely naked in front of him. Her hand wandered unashamedly between her legs and continued the wild play, rubbing at her pussy to drive herself to climax. Nanami felt the hardness of his cock, so much that it hurt and there was nothing he could do about it. It was so clearly visible, despite the tape, that she quickly took the initiative and sat right on top of him. Moaning, he reared up at the contact of her body on his. That alone almost brought him to climax.

»Mmh, Fuck!!« His chest rose and fell violently, with all the strength he had, he wanted to thrust, wanted to match the movements of her hips. She rubbed herself against his bulge, right where his cock was, rubbing her pussy through the tape. A hot trail of her moisture spread across it as she rode him, moaning across the room for more. A wonderful picture played out before his eyes, of her breasts jumping forward with every rub, the weight of her body pressing perfectly on his cock. Her voice was driving him crazy. The whole room smelled of her arousal. Despite his inability to move, Nanami enjoyed seeing and hearing her like this. Growling and humming through the tape on his mouth, he seemed to be urging her not to stop.

»Mmm, ymmh, ymmh…ghmm..g-ghmm…«

Whatever he wanted to say, it sounded urgent and desperate. His whole face was burning up, he was sweating and threw his head back, while Y/N became faster and faster, her movements even more violent and firm. She rubbed herself against him like he was her personal toy.

»Fuuuck, ah…« she moaned loudly, feeling his hard cock underneath her, but it just wasn't enough for her. She wanted to feel him deep inside her, cum on him and ride his cock. Impatient as they had both become, sweating and groaning for their climaxes, she tore off the tape over his erection so that he finally sprang free, completely hard and pulsating. His eyes fixed on her, he mumbled something again through his closed mouth and thrust his pelvis towards her. Blonde strands of his hair stuck to his forehead as she sat on his lap again, letting his cock slide slowly and agonizingly into her wet center.

»Mmm, ymmh…«

Y/N sank herself completely onto him, his cock deep inside her, touching her wet, tight caves and widening them with pleasure. She threw her head back, held on to him and began to move. He lay detached beneath her, finally she complied with his tantalizing request and he let that happen with relish. Her body moved skillfully on his. She constantly let his cock slide out of her pussy, only to let it sink completely back inside her. Her wetness mixed with his pre cum made her slide on and off him quickly and easily. She knew exactly what she was doing and Nanami happily submitted to this ordeal, which he hadn't thought was so necessary. She leaned forward, directly over his face, wanting to see him come. Without being able to touch her at all, he felt the climax coming inside him. His cock burned with heat and the tip hit your sweet spot inside her every time, making her scream a little louder each time. The bed moved in time with her movements, banging against the wall every time.

»Oh g-god…I'm about to cum…!«

An approving gasp came from Nanami, whose orgasm was no less distant. She rubbed her clit in front of him at the same time, just as fast as she rode him, and moaned onto his face. Her face reflected pure lust, her eyebrows drawn together and her mouth so wide open that saliva wanted to drip down the corner of her mouth. Kento watched her eyes rolling back as it hit her and how her sweet pussy tightened around his cock, everything pulsed into a violent explosion. His body reared up with all its might as he thrust up into her and growled fiercely under the tape.

Hot cum shot straight into her tight and hot walls, covering her whole pussy in his white semen. Nanami growled like a wolf, his body still jerking off in fast movements against hers, til she milked him all dry. The woman’s body was shaking as well, sweat covered her forehead that was pressed to his one.

Y/N whispered lowly some kind of curses and words, unable for any straight sentence. She had many customers before, but she wouldn’t forget that delicious face of Nanami cuming under her like that. After a while she took off the tape of his mouth only, a desperate steam of breath leaving his lips.

»Fuck.« was the only word his dark and shaky voice was now able to say. His afterglow displaying on his whole face was the best view she ever witnessed and she wondered how many times she could bring him to this state. One thing for sure, she definitely couldn’t get enough of this man.

© 2024 flxrartsstuff. All rights reserved. Do not modify, repost or claim as yours.

[the-hinky-panda]

Yellowstone: Boss Mare Series - Part II

Boss Mare: Part II

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Jamie Dutton x Fem!Reader

Summary: Like most people who end up on the Yellowstone, you're running from something. You need to convince them to let you stay and hope that what you're running from, doesn't find you. But things are rarely that easy.

Warnings: Violence, language, sexual situations, mentions of religion, cults, and abuse

Jamie Dutton has seen a lot of strange things on the ranch but what his eyes currently land on has to be a first. Over the years, he’s watched plenty of wranglers shoulder a bag of their belongings, sometimes even a well-worn saddle, and start that long walk down the dirt road off the ranch until they come across someone willing to drive them into town. But rarely has he seen one walking onto the ranch. 

Certainly not a woman in brand new clothes and an equally new bag. There’s no wear to your clothes. The way you’re walking is the standard tender stride of someone whose boots haven’t been broken in just yet. Your hair is braided neatly, almost militaristic in its precision. He pulls over just a few feet in front you and rolls down his window. Your pace doesn’t even falter as you approach his car. 

“Can I help you?” 

You stand a couple feet away from him, your eyes meeting his with a determination that he usually sees in the courtroom but nowhere else. “I’m going to the Dutton Ranch. I need a job.” 

“What do you do as a hand?” 

Your head tilts slightly in confusion. 

“What is your speciality?” he amends. “Do you wrangle? Rope? Break horses? Rodeo?” 

You slowly shake your head. “I work hard and I can cook.” 

This isn’t promising. Just another person who watched John Wayne and fell in love with the dream of ranching. God love dreamers because cowboys certainly don’t. He knows the ranch already has a cook. Gator has been with the family since Jamie returned from Harvard. And having a cowgirl hopeful in the bunkhouse would be a disaster waiting to happen. Given your obvious lack of experience and an overall sense of wide-eyed wonder that you give off, he wouldn’t have to wait long for the disaster. “Look, I can take you to the ranch and maybe one of the hands can take you back to Bozeman-” 

“I just came from Bozeman.” 

Jamie looks in the rearview mirror. He doesn’t remember passing a car, parked or broken-down. “How did you get here from Bozeman?” 

“I walked.” 

“I’m sorry, you walked?” The distance from the ranch to Bozeman was over two hundred miles. 

“Yes, sir. I walked.” 

Jamie puts the car in park. Surely you’re lying. It would take about three days to walk that distance.“And how long did that take you, exactly?” 

“I’m on my third day.” 

Your answer is straightforward and with no hesitation. It’s true. You really have walked from Bozeman. Holy shit, that’s impressive. You may be a dreamer but you’ve got some grit. There’s still about seven miles until you reach the gates and then another two miles of driveway before you reach the main house. He moves his briefcase and legal folders from the passenger seat into the backseat of the car. 

“Get in, I’ll take you the rest of the way.” 

You start towards the passenger side of the car but then stop. “How do I know that I can trust you?” 

It’s the first time you say something that resembles common sense. He pulls out his wallet and shows you his driver’s license. You nod when you see the last name Dutton and open the passenger side door. You settle yourself in the leather seat, buckling your seatbelt and setting the backpack between your feet on the floorboards. You stare straight ahead, hands folded neatly on your lap, standard position for someone who is trying to take up as little physical space as possible. 

God, he knows what that feels like. 

“Thank you, Mr. Dutton.” 

He sighs and puts the car in drive. “Jamie. Call my father Mr. Dutton.” 

You nod taking in the information. “Do you do the hiring at the ranch? Or Mr. Dutton? Who do I talk to about a job?” 

Jamie nods. “My father has the final say on hires.” Especially the longshot hires, he almost adds. “Why are you so set on working for the Yellowstone? Why not another ranch?” 

You stare at your tightly interlocked fingers. “You’ll laugh at me if I tell you my reason. Why isn’t it enough to just want to work here?” 

“Ranching is not as easy as it looks. You can’t just walk in off the street and do it. Any cowboy worth their salt is born into the life. And if you’re not born into it, then you better pray to God someone gives you a chance to prove yourself.” 

He sees your head turn towards him and he catches a shit-eating grin cross your face. He realizes now what your reason is for wanting to work on the Yellowstone. You prayed. And he then stopped to drive you the last few miles. He scoffs. “Look, if you’re on a ranch, it’s either because you were born there or you’re just out of options. It’s place for misfits and outlaws. There’s nothing romantic about it.” 

“Which one are you?” 

Jamie clenches his jaw to keep the word misfit from escaping his mouth. Yes, he was born to the rancher life but that wasn’t what his father wanted him to do. He had another job, still for the ranch, but certainly not the one that he wanted. He would trade all the files, dockets, and suits for a good horse, worn saddle, and a Stetson. But it’s so easy to fall back into the script that has become his reality. “I was born to it.” 

“You could say that God chose you to be a rancher.” 

“If you believe in God, sure.” That’s as good an explanation as any. 

“Maybe you won’t laugh at my reason then.” 

“God told you to come work at the Yellowstone. Yeah, got that.” Jamie does laugh at that. “That has to be a first. Make sure you tell that to my father.” 

“I will.” A small smile creeps across your face. “That will make me memorable, interesting.” 

Jamie shakes his head as they pass through the front gate. “Be careful what you wish for, that’s all I’m going to say.” 

But when the lights of the lodge come into view, the large house sitting on a small hill, the look of hope that crosses your face is almost painful to see. He should tell you to run as far away as possible from this place. That whatever you think of the Yellowstone is just some fairytale dream that you’ve imagined. That God didn’t tell you to come here because God is love, merciful, and kind. There will be no love, mercy, or kindness found on this land. 

Not now. 

Not ever. 

[wannab-urs]

Written in the Stars - You Caught Me

Pairing: Din Djarin x Ezra (Prospect)

Series summary: The Mandalorian takes a job unlike any he’s ever had before. Driven by his guilt over working for the Empire, even indirectly, and the strange bond he formed with the man, Din rescues his bounty. What follows is not something either of them ever expected.

Chapter summary: Ezra awakes, suffering from an infection, to find he has been captured by an armored man.

Warnings: The Mandalorian/Prospect crossover AU, canon-typical violence, season 1 rewrite, eventual smut, slow burn, eventual romance, Ezra being a menace (verbally), non-sexual bondage, discussions of wound care and infection and other medical shit, very brief thoughts about Mando being hot. WC: 3.3k

a/n: I'm still not super confident about this fic, but I really hope yall like it. Cover collage by @atinylittlepain, betad by @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin and @beskarandblasters, dividers by me and @saradika-graphics

Ezra Masterlist | Din Djarin Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | AO3 | Kofi

Arvala-7

Din lands and checks that his tracking fob is blinking fast enough. The bounty is here.

He lowers the ramp to the razor crest and strides out onto the cracked and dusty surface of Arvala-7. He checks which direction to go before using the scope of his amban rifle to scout his surroundings. He catches sight of two blurrg in the distance, odd looking but seemingly harmless.

As he turns to scope out the area to his left, a blurrg suddenly appears at close range. Din tries to take it out with his flame thrower, but the bastard catches his entire arm in its mouth, slamming him to the ground. He gets repeatedly smashed into the ground and slung in the air, feeling as if his arm may rip clean off. He punches the blurrg with his left hand, throwing as much weight as he can behind it. The creature lets go, but immediately charges him again.

Just in time, a dart lands in the creature’s side, sending a shockwave through its body and rendering it immobile. As another blurrg makes its way toward Din, who is trapped beneath the first one, it is hit by another dart.

An Ugnaught rides up to Din on yet another blurrg – this one seems tame, thankfully.

“Thank you,” Din pants.

“You are a bounty hunter,” the Ugnaught states.

“Yes.”

“I will help you. I have spoken.”

Din gets up and follows the Ugnaught to his farm, which is not far from the ship.

The Ugnaught makes tea as he speaks with Din.

“Many have passed through. They seek the same one as you.”

Din did not know there had been others before him. He wonders if there are others competing with him now.

“Did you help them?”

“Yes. They died.”

“Well, then I don't know if I want your help,” Din scoffs.

“You do. I can show you to the encampment.”

Considering his lack of knowledge of the terrain and his lack of suitable transport across this wasteland of a planet, Din supposes that would be helpful.

“What's your cut?”

“Half.”

“Half the bounty to guide? Seems steep,” Din shakes his head.

“No. Half of the blurrg you helped capture.”

“The blurrg? You can keep them both.” Why would he want a kriffing blurrg?

“No, you will need one. To ride. The way is impossible to pass without a blurrg mount.”

“ I don't know how to ride blurrg.”

“I have spoken.”

Taming a blurrg proves more difficult than Din expected. After she throws him to the ground an absurd number of times, Din finally manages to gain the creature’s trust. He hikes his leg over her back and takes her for a ride.

Shortly after, the Ugnaught leads Din across a cracked maze of muddy land – canyons have formed between the sections of cracked dirt that only a blurrg can jump over. They come upon a compound crawling with mercenaries, who all appear to be armed to the teeth. Din spots a blaster cannon and at least 60 men. Who is this bounty?

An IG unit stands in the middle of the fray, firing away and screaming about some code or other. Din grumbles about competition, his hopes of being the only hunter on the job dashed. And by a droid, no less.

Din drops to the edge of the makeshift battlefield.

“IG Unit! Stand down.” The droid shoots Din in his new pauldron, flinging his shoulder back painfully. “I'm in the Guild!” Din yells.

The two duck out of the way of a volley of blaster fire and hide behind a pillar.

“You are a Guild member? I thought I was the only one on assignment,” the droid sounds annoyed, if that’s even possible.

“That makes two of us. So much for the element of surprise.”

“Sadly, I must ask for your fob. I have already issued the writ of seizure. The bounty is mine.”

“Unless I'm mistaken, you are, as of yet, empty-handed.”

“This is true.”

Din fires a few shots from behind his cover, taking out three of the mercs.

“I have a suggestion.”

The IG unit takes out several men from the top of the compound, their bodies falling to the dirt below.

“Proceed.”

“We split the reward.”

“This is acceptable.”

“Great. Now let's regroup, out of harm's way, and form a plan.”

There are way too many of them and Din wants to act as if they’ve given up so they can take the mercs by surprise that night. The bounty droid has other things on its mind though.

“I will of course receive the reputation merits associated with the mission.”

“Can we talk about this later?” Din fires off a few shots with his amban rifle, evaporating several mercs in the process.

“I require an answer if I am to proceed.”

The mercs advance on their position, pinning them in a corner with no way of escape.

The IG unit starts freaking out. He claims he cannot be captured and initiates a self-destruct sequence.

“Do not self-destruct! Cover me!”

Din runs to the door panel and tries to rip out the wiring, but quickly starts taking fire.

“There’s too many!”

“I will initiate self-destruct”

“Do not self-destruct! We’re shooting our way out.”

The mercenaries power up the blaster cannon and start firing at Din and the IG unit.

“Okay! New plan!”

“Beginning self-destruct countdown.”

“NO! Draw their fire and I’ll take it out.”

The IG unit runs out taking several hits and collapsing against the structure behind him. Din uses his grappling line to jerk the cannon out of the merc’s hands and shoots him before jumping on it and taking out every last mercenary in the vicinity.

Din goes to check on the droid. “Ya know… You’re not so bad. For a droid.”

They use the blaster cannon to get inside the large metal door, since ripping out the wiring hadn’t worked. Din takes out one last mercenary and starts searching the room for the bounty.

Din comes up on a man sleeping on the floor. He’s covered by a pile of ragged blankets and there is a bloodstain on the floor beside him.

“Well. They said 40 years old.”

“This does look to be our target,” the droid quips.

IG raises his blaster as if to shoot the sleeping man.

“No. We'll bring him in alive.”

“The commission was quite specific. The asset was to be terminated.”

He raises his blaster again, but Din is faster. Before the IG unit can even register his movement, there’s a hole in its head.

“Droids…” Din grumbles.

Din aims his blaster at the man and yanks back the blankets covering him. Din is stunned to find the man is missing his right arm, nothing more than a stump ending just below his shoulder. He briefly wonders if a blurrg got him.

Din toes him with his boot, keeping his blaster trained on him. The man doesn’t wake up. Din kicks him a bit harder and he still doesn’t stir, so he picks the man up and heaves him over his shoulders. He carries the man out to the blurrg the Ugnaught let him keep and ties him to its back like a saddlebag.

It’ll be a long walk back to the ship.

Ezra wakes up and realizes he is definitely not in the compound anymore. He’s very securely strapped to some sort of creature. A man clad in what looks like a helmet made of pure silver aims a rifle at two assailants and takes them out easily, evaporating them into nothing but scraps of fabric.

Barring an equally shiny pauldron, the rest of his armor is varying shades of red and brown – like rust. It’s quite the contrast and makes him appear like a rusted tin can.

The silver warrior doesn’t notice Ezra has woken up yet. Ezra reaches out with the Force, trying to get a read on the man’s intentions, but feels only his urge to protect. Until he knows what situation he’s found himself in, he thinks it’s best not to reveal himself and promptly slumps back into the beast, pretending to sleep.

Sometime into pretending, he does actually pass back out, the fever making it difficult to stay conscious for long periods of time. When he awakes, they have made camp for the night.

His arm is tied to his thigh, but he’s no longer strapped to that infernal animal. The warrior appears to be tending to a shoulder wound. If he could trust him, he would heal the man, but he is as yet unsure if this man is going to be his salvation or his damnation. All the same when he was probably going to die of infection anyway.

“Looks like a nasty wound, Tin Can,” he mumbles. His voice is rough from disuse. “I am well acquainted with grievous arm wounds.”

The silver helmet whips in his direction, the black visor leveling with his own stare. He thinks the Tin Can looks annoyed, somehow, despite the helmet.

“Quiet,” the man grumbles, his voice low and graveled.

“Name’s Ezra. And I am not inclined to suffer demands from my captor. Are you taking me back to the Imps?”

The Tin Can doesn’t answer, he simply returns to cauterizing the deep cut on his arm. Ezra takes that as his cue to turn in for the night. He adjusts his position as much as he can in his bound state and falls into another fitful sleep.

Ezra wakes up again and finds himself tied to the creature once more. The armored man has his rifle out and is disintegrating Jawas left and right. The little creatures are loading bits and pieces of a ship into their crawling fortress.

“I don’t think that’s very smart, Tin Can. Won’t ever get your shit back now.”

“Quiet.”

His captor is rude and clearly doesn't like chatter. Maybe Ezra can talk himself out of this kidnapping.

The Jawas quickly load into their land crawler and take off, the warrior right on their heels. He jumps up onto the ladder on the side of the crawler.

Ezra takes off on the creature he’s tied to – it seems to have taken a liking to him – and follows along behind the crawler at a gallop. He watches his captor nearly get slammed into a rockface, but he quickly pulls himself onto a ledge on the crawler.

He’s quite agile for someone covered in armor, Ezra thinks. The Tin Can is very capable indeed, scaling the side of the crawler first with only his hands and then with a grappling hook, all while being bombarded with random objects and shock batons. He makes it to the top of the crawler, despite his grappling hook being violently removed from the ship, and Ezra thinks he may actually succeed in reclaiming his ship parts from the Jawas.

A mere moment after the warrior crests the top of the crawler, he tumbles to the ground. Ezra fears the man may be dead. He isn’t sure why he’s worried, this man is his captor after all. Maybe it is something to do with being tied to a strange creature in the middle of a desert on a pretty unfamiliar planet.

Just then, the Tin Can gets back up. Resilient that one. He shakes off the fall and stomps across the wasteland and right past Ezra, simply expecting him to follow – which he does.

The armored man drops from the cockpit, entirely ignoring the ladder.

“Stripped. They kriffing stripped it.”

That’s the most words Ezra has heard from his captor since their journey together began. The anger he feels is so palpable to Ezra, he can almost taste its bitter tang.

“Will it fly?”

“No,” the man opens what looks like a storage cabinet to find it empty as well. He slams the doors closed angrily.

“So what are we going to do?”

“I am going to get my shit back. You are not going to do anything.”

The man is finally speaking in full sentences, albeit rude ones, and Ezra kind of wants to keep him talking. His low, graveled voice is quite appealing.

“Okay, Tin Can, how do you plan on recovering your items?”

“Stop asking questions. And stop calling me tin can.”

“You have not provided me with any other name by which to call you, my dear captor.”

“Mando. Call me Mando.”

“Alright, Mando. Lead the way.”

Mando suggests they walk to a farm nearby, where he knows someone that can likely help. Ezra lets himself be lifted back onto the creature, his body growing weak from all the excitement.

“Are you sick?”

“I fear I’ve contracted an infection from my emergency field surgery.”

“I have bacta. Had bacta. When we recover it, I’ll give it to you.”

“Why?” Ezra isn’t usually one to look a gift horse in the mouth, but his captor wasting such an expensive item on a bounty seems strange.

“You’re worth much more alive.” Ah, an investment then. That makes sense.

“Fair enough.”

Chants of “Suka! Suka! Suka!” drag Ezra from the black depths he was floating in. He slowly orients himself. He is on a sled mounted to two of the strange beasts he’s become very familiar with. His arm is once again tied to his thigh. An Ugnaught sits cross legged before a crowd of Jawas, Mando next to him – again managing to look exasperated despite not showing his face.

Mando stands and strides over to Ezra. “Good. You’re awake. Get on the crawler.”

“Where are we going?”

“The blasted creatures want a mudhorn egg.”

“This is going to go very poorly, you are indeed aware of that, I presume?”

“I’ll manage.”

Mando reaches down and pulls Ezra to his feet, maintaining a grip on him as they head into the crawler, the Jawas still chanting the entire way to the mudhorn lair.

Mando is much too large for the Jawa sized cockpit. He fills the space up quite nicely, in Ezra’s opinion. He does let slip a giggle when Mando’s shiny helmet slams into the ceiling during the bumpy ride, earning him what is certainly a withering glare.

Mando brings Ezra with him for some unknown reason, but leaves him tied up. It’s not like he’ll be able to help much, but he supposes the hunter doesn’t want to leave his bounty unattended.

Mando sloshes through the mud to the opening of the mudhorn’s cave. Ezra stays at the back of the valley, refusing to get any closer to certain death. Mando checks all of his weapons before stalking into the darkness.

Several minutes later, Ezra hears four rounds of blaster fire, quickly followed by Mando flying out of the cave and landing on his back.

“Ah, she’s awake then,” Ezra quips to no one. Mando is certainly not listening.

Mando tries for his rifle, the one that disintegrates entire beings into ash, but it appears to be jammed. So, Ezra surmises, we’re fucked. While he’s busy kriffing around with the rifle, Mando gets rammed again, flying almost to the back of the valley where Ezra stands.

The mudhorn observes his unmoving form and charges at Ezra instead. Shit. Ezra waits until the heifer is nearly on him and then dives out of the way. His landing is hard, with no arms to break his fall, but he’s okay.

The beast turns on Mando again, who has just started to stand, and smashes him into the ground with its horn. While flames and grappling hooks fly, Ezra wedges the prongs of the discarded rifle under his ropes. He wiggles back and forth, trying to break the tie as Mando gets dragged around by his grappling line.

Ezra’s ropes snap just as Mando gets thrown across the valley once again. That armor must be incredibly strong. Just as the mudhorn sets off toward Mando for the killing blow, Ezra concentrates. He draws on the energy around him and lifts the mudhorn into the air without so much as touching it. He holds it up for a moment and then, closing his eyes, slams it down into the ground as hard as he can.

Mando dives forward with his vibroblade and jams it into the neck of the stunned creature. He drives it as deep as possible, funneling the rage that built up over the course of the battle into his blade before dragging it out of the mudhorn and sheathing it.

Ezra slumps to the ground, completely exhausted. Mando limps over to him, his cuirass completely destroyed, but otherwise seemingly intact.

“You could have done that the whole time?”

“Firstly, I was bound and needed use of my hand. Secondly, I had to exact some form of revenge for capturing me, but I do not wish to see you dead.”

“Why not?”

“You killed all of my protectors. I am alone on this planet and you’re my only way off it,” Ezra says weakly. His consciousness is fading fast. Mando pulls him to his feet, pulling his arm over his shoulder, and half drags Ezra back to the crawler.

Din lays Ezra on the sled, passed out completely. Din and the Ugnaught load up all of his gear as the Jawas devour the egg. All that work for a stupid egg.,

Once everything is loaded up, the three make their way back to Din’s ship.

“Is he still sleeping?”

“Yes.” Din was worried that Ezra had pushed himself too hard and gave him the bacta shot as soon as he had his hands on it.

“Was he injured?”

“No. Not physically. But he had an infection from removing his arm.”

“Explain it to me again, I still don’t understand what happened.”

“Neither do I.” He’s never seen anything like it.

Mando and the Ugnaught spend all night repairing the ship while Ezra sleeps in Din’s bunk. He can’t put him in carbonite with the still healing wound of his stump. He would almost certainly die.

“Good luck with the bounty. May he survive and bring you a handsome reward. I have spoken.” The Ugnaught nods sagely and takes off on his blurrg.

Ezra wakes up in a dark enclosed space, the chill indicating he’s on Mando’s ship. He feels better than he has in weeks, though the mat he’s sleeping on is not much better than the pile of ragged blankets he’d called a bed for several standard weeks.

Ezra stands, steadying himself before feeling along the wall for a way to open the door. His hand finds a button and the door whooshes open. He climbs out into a small space. He’s been here before, the cargo hold of Mando’s ship. It’s crowded with crates, without much room to walk around. He spies the ladder to the cockpit and assumes Mando will be up there.

He very carefully climbs the ladder, still learning how to do things with his off hand, and pokes his head into the cockpit. Mando sits in the pilot’s seat in front of three transparisteel screens that make up the front of the ship. A massive console fills almost half the room up to where Mando sits. There’s a jumpseat behind and to the right of Mando that Ezra decides to make his own.

“No bounties in the cockpit,” Mando grumbles as Ezra plops into the seat, but he makes no move to remove him.

“Shouldn’t have left me untied then, Tin Can.”

“I told you to stop calling me that.”

“You insist on behaving like a rusted old sod and so I will refer to you as one.”

Mando doesn’t answer, so Ezra begins telling a story about channel rats in one of his ships. He unscrews a metal ball from a handle as he does so and begins to levitate it around the cockpit.

“Put that back. Don’t touch anything.”

Ezra simply pings the ball off Mando’s silver head, chuckling, and resumes telling the man about killing channel rats.

@beskarandblasters @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @electriclasso @schnarfer @alltheglitterandtheroar @survivingandenduring @catchallfangirl @nerdieforpedro @yorksgirl @heareball @morallyinept @jksprincess10 @julesonrecord @atinylittlepain

[thelordofgifs]

the fairest stars

What if Angrist was a little tougher, and Beren and Lúthien managed to steal two Silmarils from Morgoth instead of one? Somehow I’ve already written NINE parts of this unhinged bullet point AU here and decided it was time for a fresh post to avoid that one getting too long.

Where we left off: Lúthien has been negotiating with Mandos like a pro, Maglor is nearly-but-not-quite-dead in Menegroth, Thingol has taken one Silmaril from him, Fingon has the other Silmaril and ditched Curufin outside the Girdle even though they did some bonding on the Worst Road Trip, and people are still upset about Celegorm’s death. YES I am well aware that the pipeline from the fairly normal first sentence of the post to this mess is insane.

Fingon and Maedhros are both very, very good tacticians. Between them, it isn’t very difficult for Fingon to follow Maedhros’ directions towards Menegroth, and then to find the hidden pathways by which Huan led Maedhros out of Thingol’s halls.

It helps that Thingol is still under the impression that the Girdle is impenetrable with the aid of his Silmaril, so he doesn’t have anyone keeping an eye out for the High King of the Noldor sneaking into his realm on an Adventure.

Finding Maglor's sickroom/prison cell/whatever is a little trickier, but not impossible. Long ago in Tirion Fingon was a mischievous child, so he's well aware that the best way not to get caught sneaking into a forbidden place is to make it perfectly clear that you belong there.

He strides confidently down the corridors, silently reciting Maedhros' directions to himself. Nobody stops him.

He's hoping that Curufin was wrong, and he'll know Maglor's door by the holy light showing through the cracks; but when none is evident he's forced to take his chances and start trying doors in the area Maedhros indicated at random.

Since he has plot armour is very lucky with this whole improbable-rescue thing he comes across Maglor without any trouble.

Maglor is only half-conscious – quite apart from the wounded leg, he hasn’t eaten in days – but his eyes flicker open when Fingon comes in.

“Hello, Makalaurë,” Fingon says, deliberately cheerful. “I’ve come to take you home.”

“You can’t do that,” Maglor says dazedly. “It burned – in the Bragollach – remember?”

Fingon opts not to answer that. “Russo said you were healing when he left,” he says instead, frowning at the bloodstained bandages around Maglor’s leg. “What happened? Has Thingol been mistreating you? I thought Lúthien at least was kind!”

Maybe he was too hasty in leaving Curufin outside the Girdle.

Maglor hurries to explain that Lúthien is dead, and that he’s actually in this pathetic state by choice or something.

“Right,” says Fingon, “well, you’re coming back to Himring now.”

But Maglor shakes his head. “I can’t, Finno,” he says. “Thingol took the Silmaril from me. I don’t – I’ve been trying to hold it back. The Oath. But I can’t leave it in Doriath and go, I can’t. So you’ll have to leave me behind.” He manages a brave and tragic smile.

On Thangorodrim while Fingon was struggling futilely with Morgoth’s iron shackle, hopeless tears running down his face, Maedhros said, You’ll never be able to free me, Finno, just kill me, please—

Fingon is rather sick of Fëanorian melodrama.

“One step ahead of you,” he says brightly, and he produces Maedhros’ Silmaril from its box, handing it to Maglor before his Oath can stir at the sight of it. “Here it is.”

This would never normally work. But Maglor is very tired and ill, and not thinking as clearly as he otherwise would.

As long as the obvious question doesn’t occur to him until they get outside the Girdle again—

Maglor takes the jewel and gives a relieved little sigh as the bite of the Oath eases. “You really took it from Thingol?”

“Of course,” Fingon lies. “Let’s put it back in the box for now so that it doesn’t attract too much attention?”

Maglor acquiesces. He and Fingon aren’t close exactly, but they get on well – certainly far better than Fingon does with Curufin. There’s an odd shared camaraderie that comes from loving Maedhros; it lends itself well to cooperation in difficult circumstances.

Fingon picks Maglor up – he's alarmingly light – and they begin to make their way back out of Menegroth.

"You're to be my betrothal gift," Fingon tells Maglor, and Maglor actually laughs.

Unfortunately it's much harder to look innocuous when you're carrying someone about five minutes away from expiring on the spot.

They haven't got very far before an angry voice comes from behind them: "Who are you and where are you going with the Fëanorion?"

Damn.

Meanwhile

[I should clarify my definition of "meanwhile" here. Evidently time runs much slower in Aman than it does in Middle-earth, even post-Darkening, or it's difficult to fathom why Beren and Lúthien canonically took two years to return from death. In vague support of this, the Fellowship find that time runs slowly in Lothlórien, presumably with the aid of Galadriel's ring, so I posit that the more Divine Stuff there is near a place (and Galadriel was ofc a student of Melian too), the more weird time shit occurs. So since I've anyway fudged the timelines so that travel times work out conveniently, we can also put the bits of story occurring in Aman here for funsies.]

Meanwhile, Finrod has been following Celegorm around in the Halls of Mandos.

"Was it worth it?" he asks. "Did you take joy in the lordship of Nargothrond, once I was gone?"

"I could ask you the same," says Celegorm, responding for the first time. "Did you die for anything in the end, Ingoldo? The mortal's here, after all your efforts. So much for your oath."

"So much for yours," says Finrod; "it looks like that eternal darkness you doomed yourself to wasn't that dark. Or eternal. So what was it all for? Do you even regret any of it?"

The dead can't lie. Artifice and deception are matters of the flesh, and they are buried with it.

"I didn't want you to die," Celegorm says.

"Well, that's a start!" says Finrod. "I can't say I'm glad to see you here, either."

"O Fair and Faithful one," says Celegorm, "spare me none of your pity. They are already whispering that you will be released soon, first of all the Exiles to walk again in Aman. So it's all turned out rather well for you, despite your evil cousins' machinations."

"I suppose it has," says Finrod, thinking.

The thing is, it was worth it. Beren's life mattered. It mattered that he saved it, even if he died to do so, even if Beren is dead now too (although word is that might be changing).

He did not do it expecting a reward.

"And my werewolf was bigger than yours," says Celegorm.

Finrod rolls his metaphorical eyes. "At least I actually killed mine."

Cousinly bickering is still kind of fun, even when you're dead.

Curufin, fuming outside the Girdle, would not agree.

After a time he's forced to conclude that the only thing he can do is head back to Himring.

The ride through Himlad, once as green and fair a land as any, does not improve his mood.

Also his burned hand is still hurting.

Look: here's the little stream where Celegorm caught a huge fish once; and here are the low hills where, a couple of centuries ago, they held some war games and Curufin's people thrashed Celegorm's decisively.

Here's the copse where, years before the Dagor Aglareb brought tentative peace to East Beleriand, Curufin and his son were surprised by a party of orcs, who took their small patrol all captive.

Tyelpë was just barely of age at the time. How trusting his eyes, then, how baby-soft his hair: how easily he had believed that his father would fix everything.

As for Curufin, he spent the hours-long ordeal learning anew what terror was, rendered compliant by the mere possibility that they could hurt his child.

They were fine, in the end. Celegorm rode up to the rescue while the orcs were still quarrelling over where to take them.

But Curufin remembers: how disabling love can be.

Meanwhile Fingon finds himself surrounded by a crowd of angry Iathrim in their home city.

He sets Maglor down on the floor and sets a hand on his sword-hilt, wondering if he is about to become a Kinslayer again.

(Fingon regrets Alqualondë more than anything; and he'd do it again, for Maedhros' sake. He knows this about himself.)

Before things escalate too far, Thingol shows up at the scene of the disturbance.

"We haven't met," Fingon says. "Fingon son of Fingolfin, High King of the Noldor in Beleriand. I've come for my cousin." He gives Thingol a rather dangerous smile.

Thingol thinks he might be in serious trouble. He attempts to adopt a conciliatory tone (which is really really hard for Thingol ok he's trying).

"He'll die if he's moved," he says, nodding to where Maglor is slumped against the wall, shivering.

"He'll die if he stays here!" Fingon says. "Is this the famed hospitality of your halls?"

"He has been offered every treatment he could ask for," Thingol says. "It is not the fault of Menegroth if he chooses to refuse them. Now tell me, son of Fingolfin, how came you through the Girdle of Melian – without her leave or mine?"

Maglor puts the pieces together. "Finno, you lied to me," he breathes, glancing at the box in Fingon's hand.

Fingon wonders if it would be diplomatically insensitive to kick Thingol.

"The jewel alone does not explain it," Thingol insists. "While I hold the Silmaril my daughter won, surely—?"

"I could have told you that, had you asked," says Maglor. "Silmarils aren't weapons! You can't use one as some sort of military defence."

Thingol is now questioning all his life choices.

He only took the Silmaril from Maglor in the first place because he thought it would protect his kingdom, and now—

Maglor is feeling resigned. He should have known Fingon's claim was too good to be true. Thingol still has the Silmaril, and Maglor can't leave Menegroth without it.

Face pale and set, he attempts to get to his feet, mostly unsuccessfully.

Fingon looks down at him. "Seriously, Makalaurë?" And when Maglor ignores him, he says, "Sorry about this," and kicks Maglor's bad leg – carefully, but still hard enough to hurt.

Maglor faints.

Fingon picks his limp body up. "The Silmaril isn't yours," he tells Thingol.

"The white ships of Olwë my brother's people were not yours, either," Thingol returns.

Fingon inclines his head, acknowledging the point. "I don't wish to start a war over the Silmaril," he says. Maglor is so cold and still in his arms. "My cousins have done enough for that cause lately. Only let me take my kinsman home."

Thingol hesitates. The iron box in Fingon's hand is so close, and Fingon is outnumbered, and he has his injured cousin to worry about—

It could all be over, if he took the second Silmaril. He'd never need to worry about his people's safety from invasion again.

"Elu," comes a voice from behind him, "enough of this. Let them go."

"Queen Melian," says Fingon, bowing his head.

She barely looks at him, meeting her husband's gaze instead. "Time and again you have disregarded me," she says. "Lúthien is lost, and yet you persist with this. Will you heed me now?"

Thingol stares at her, and then, finally, he waves his hand. The bristling guards move aside, allowing Fingon free passage down the corridor.

"I trust you can remember your way out," Thingol tells Fingon, and turns away.

Fingon looks at Melian. "Thank you," he says, "and I am very sorry about your daughter."

He has met Maiar before, of course, in Valinor: but Melian is still unsettling, with her implausibly flawless face and eyes that hold yet the memory of a time before Time.

"Little king," she says, "only hope that you will not know any such pain yourself."

Fingon manages a smile. "I'm good at that," he says. "Hope."

On that note he leaves Menegroth, carrying Maglor, and begins to make the long trek back through the Forest of Region, and thence to Himring.

Curufin has managed the journey significantly more quickly. On a crisp cold morning he rides back through Himring's gates.

Maedhros has been... managing. Not well, but he trusts Fingon.

Beloved, I will bring them back to you. Beloved, I will bring them back to you. Beloved, I will bring them back to you.

But here's Curufin by himself, looking pale and tired, and after all it was only a hastily-scribbled note, not an incantation.

Maedhros arrives at the gate at a run.

Scarce weeks ago it was the other way around, Maedhros riding into the fortress with Fingon's cloak only just concealing his bloodstained clothes: and Curufin met him as he came in and he can still feel the terrible jolt of knowledge in his stomach, and Celegorm is still dead.

How can it be borne?

A thought comes to Curufin and for a moment he thinks it the cruellest idea he has ever had, but Celegorm is dead and his hand is still burned and nobody expects any better of him anyway.

"They're dead," he says flatly, "they're both dead," and Maedhros just – stares at him.

(to be continued)

[ravendruid]

hi hello i would like to request de rolo siblings + rainy days please

Hi Anon! Thank you so much for sending the prompt! I picked Percy and Cass, I hope that's the siblings you were thinking of ^_^ I hope you like it!

Chess and Tea

(Read on AO3)

Cassandra de Rolo takes off her boots with a sigh of relief at finally being able to get out of the soggy clothes she finds herself in. Her thick, woolen socks are drenched, her trousers stick to her legs in a way that makes it hard to walk, and her tunic feels cold and uncomfortable, not to mention her pasty hair dripping down her face. Overall, Cassandra is ready to dry off, put on a comfortable pair of pajamas and spend the rest of her day curled in front of the fire reading. Alas, someone has other plans, if the knock on her bedroom door is any indication.

“Come in,” Cassandra turns to the door, halfway through taking off her drenched jacket. Percival peeks in with his untamed white hair and scraggly snowy beard, dragging a cane Cassandra knows is just for show—and protection—behind him. 

“May I?” Percy confirms. Cassandra nods, then gestures towards the small sitting area in front of the already lit fireplace.

“Is everything alright, brother?” Cassandra steps closer to the fire. She feels its warmth travel up her clothes and, even though it doesn’t do much to dry her off, it’s still comforting.

“Not in the slightest.” Percy shakes his head with a fond smile. “I wanted to check in on you. I heard you’ve just arrived from Westruun.”

“I did, yes. Negotiations went well, if that’s what you are wondering.”

“Well,” Percy hesitates. It has been a good two decades since Cassandra saw her brother hesitate and blush the way he is—in fact, she can absolutely recall the last time he did so. It was when he asked her to title Vex’ahlia.

“Percival, no offense. I’m drenched and cold and I would very much like a bath. Can you make this quick, please?” Cassandra interrupts him. 

Percy fumbles with the cane, hemming and hawing, then he finally says, “I was wondering if you had some free time to spend with your favorite brother.”

“You are my only brother, Percival,” She rolls her eyes, but gives her older brother a teasing smile. “What did you have in mind?”

“Well, after you bathe and clean yourself, of course,” Percy nods and wrinkles his nose as if to say Cassandra stinks. “I was thinking maybe you could join me for a game of chess over tea and biscuits.”

“What? Chess and tea? Where does this request come from? Do you want something?”

“Can’t a brother just ask his little sister to spend some time just because?” Percy asks, slightly offended. He gets up and strides to Cassandra, then raises his hand as if he is about to rub her hair but thinks better of it and lets the hand fall to his side. 

“I suppose. Sure. I will join you in a moment, then.” Cassandra nods, then leads him to the door. 

Cassandra joins Percival in the family’s private library. The man is already sitting at a table by the large windows that, on a sunny day, overlook the city. Today, however, they make the room look like they are on the other side of a massive waterfall. 

When she approaches, Cassandra notices the fully set up chess board on the table, right next to the tea set and a plate of assorted biscuits, scones and cookies. “Hello, brother. I see you are ready,” She greets Percy, who gets up when he sees her. The gesture is not lost on her. No matter how many decades have passed since they recovered Whitestone, Percival still haunts himself for leaving Cassandra to die in the snow when they were young and escaping. 

“I–yes, I am. Please,” Percy extends a hand to the chair, knowing full well Cassandra would fuss about it if he pulled it for her. She might be a lady, but she is his sister first and foremost, and brothers don’t need to pull the chair for their sisters—or at least in their household.

“So, did you really just want to spend time with me?” Cassandra asks. She watches as Percy pours milk into his tea, then she picks up the sugar and drops a cube in her own cup. Percy merely nods, sips the tea and moves his first piece. 

“I was wondering how you’ve been? You have been working hard lately, and I have barely seen you.”

Cassandra plays her first move, nothing special to write home about, and nods. “Work has been busy lately, yes. I noticed you have been spending less time in your workshop. Are the kids running you ragged, brother?” She snorts.

“You have no idea,” Percy replies and for the first time in a long time—if not ever—Cassandra really sees the exhaustion and sorrow pooling underneath her brother’s eyes. If the wrinkles on his forehead could speak, they would tell tales of all the guilt Percy carries on his shoulders, of all the concerns and worries he has for his family, his friends, his city, and even the world. “How about you, sister? How are things with Kynan?”

“Good,” Cassandra allows a smile. It wasn’t shocking when, a decade ago, the shy man went to Percy to ask permission to court her. Cassandra rolled in laughter when Kynan told her about the encounter and how threatening Percival was to his captain. “Really good, in fact.”

“Good. I would hate to replace the captain of my guard,” Percy jokes, then his face falls into a serious expression. “Cass… y–you know you can talk to me, right? I understand our relationship hasn’t always been close but… you know I’m here, right, sister?”

“Of course, Percival. I know.” Cassandra says what she has felt like it’s the truth for a while now. “You are my only brother, after all.” She smiles.

“Right you are,” Percy smiles back. He moves a piece on the chessboard that makes Cassandra gasp in outrage, “How dare… Alright. That’s it. I’m about to beat your ass!”

They play the rest of the afternoon—Cassandra manages to beat Percy twice in the three games they play—until the tea grows cold and the rain gives up, allowing the sunset to shine its light on the resplendent, golden leaves of the Sun Tree below in the center of the city. 

Every curse has its end, every darkness must fall to the light, and sometimes, an older brother wanting to play chess over tea and biscuits with his younger sister is just an older brother wanting to make up for lost time, and nothing else.

[metalnecklace]

There Was Heaven In Your Eyes

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader (plus size)

Word Count: 647

Warnings: none in this chapter

Notes: Welcome to my new fic! This is my first time writing for Javi, I hope I can do him justice. I’ve been wanting to write a Pedro character for a while and absolutely loved him in Narcos, so I figured why not! I do have Spanish in here (with translations right after when I feel they’re needed), but I am just learning how to speak it. So if there’s anything that needs to be retranslated or adjusted please let me know! I will also be posting this on my AO3 under the same username.

Summary: Reader has left her home country suddenly, finding herself teaching in Bogotá. When she ends up becoming a nanny for the Escobar family she isn’t sure if it’s any better than her life before. A certain Agent seems determined to help her, but will she let him?

Javier Peña is in the thick of finding Pablo Escobar, but ends up finding someone else. Will he let her be the one to break down his walls?

Masterlist

Prologue

The night was sticky. There was no other way to describe it. It was the type of night where Javier’s skin was on fire as it came in contact with the rolling condensation on his glass of whiskey. The drink is his usual, taken dry unlike the air he took into his lungs as he reminded himself to just keep breathing.

Things had been getting tougher when it came to catching Escobar. Javi’s nights stretched longer until they were no longer moments laying wide awake and restless in bed, but were instead short breaks of sipping alcohol to soothe his nerves until he went back to it.

Steve still tried to go home, even if it meant he was just waiting by the phone in the hopes that Connie would show him grace. Even when Javi didn’t feel he deserved it. He had seen firsthand the way Steve had started to slip into the habits that Javi lived day to day. Hidden flasks, reaching for his gun instead of his reason. But at the end of the day Javi had to admit that Steve was still the better person, the bigger man.

Javi downed the last of his drink, no longer feeling the burn that he used to. He longed for it some days, wishing that he had something to ground him.

He scrubbed a hand down his face and let out a sigh from deep within his lungs. His finger itched for his pack of smokes when he felt the stretch in his lungs. With his back aching he leaned down and grabbed what he needed out of his jacket pocket and placed a cigarette between his lips, feeling more comfort as he brought the lighter to its destination than he had since his last smoke.

“You really gotta lay off those things,” Steve’s voice rumbled from behind Javi. “Gonna slow you down even more.”

Javi had jumped after hearing Steve, not expecting anybody in the office at that hour.

“Fuck you,” he retaliated, twisting to face the taller man who waltzed to the opposite desk. “What’re you doing here? Thought you went home?”

Steve sighed and buried his face in his hands once he sat down. “Connie called, told me to hurry up and do my job so I can come home.” He raised his head, causing Javi to notice the dark circles contouring his bloodshot eyes. Since when did Steve look so burnt out? Javi shuddered to think of how he looked these days. “I figured I might as well get back to it.”

Javi puffed on his cigarette and exhaled, following the smoke up to the lights before looking back at his partner.

“There’s not much going on here,” Javi started, “if you did wanna get back home.”

Steve shook his head and reached for some of the files on the brunettes desk. “Nah, not like I need to do much there, anyway.”

The two men worked in silence together. It was comfortable, with a certain tether of understanding that not many others in the DEA respected. Javi loved to push Steve’s buttons, but at the end of the day he had really come to love working with him.

Silence was broken when Steve suddenly stood and moved to Javi’s side in three strides. He put a folder down over top of the one Javi had been sorting through and pointed his finger at a name with a snap of skin against paper. The folder was containing names of people Pablo had helped get fake passports. Most had already been done away with, almost all Javi had heard of. All except for the name Steve’s finger pointed at.

“Javi, we found it! Someone we’ve overlooked.”

Javi narrowed his eyes before looking up at Steve. “Well? Who is it?”

Steve lowered his finger on the page to where it showed their occupation.

“The nanny.”

[eluvisen]

Truce

Fandom: Baldur’s Gate 3

Characters: Karlach/Tav

Rating: T

Summary: It may or may not be a mistake falling in with these lunatics, but at least they look like fun. And one of them in particular looks like fun.

(Karlach’s first night in camp, as told by her.)

Notes: Written for Femslash February 2024. Prompt: once upon a time.

—

Wreathed in smoke and infernal fire, Karlach laughs as the tollhouse burns. Gouts of fire tower on all sides, devouring everything in their path and scorching her throat with every breath. But the inferno is fucking nothing compared to the hellfire inside her. The engine shudders behind her ribs, its vibrations ribboning down her torso and all the way through her guts, so hot and furious it feels like someone poured the magma from one of Avernus’s volcanoes directly into her chest.

With several swings of her axe and a swift kick, she bashes through the debris blocking the door. But past the shower of cinders and ash, the sky is blue. The sky is blue, and when she steps outside, the air is clean.

To her surprise, that gang of adventurers are waiting around. Away from the flames, mind, but waiting.

Karlach strides over, greataxe resting on her shoulder. The metal burns, but she burns hotter. “Hope you didn’t take much of a scorching in there. I had to let off some steam after facing those imp-fuckers.”

The engine thunders in her chest, feeling like a burr made of lava that she can’t cough out. Bloody thing isn’t cooling down. Seems it isn’t made to work outside Avernus, which means she needs to find an infernal mechanic. Fast. 

The rogue smiles at her without showing his teeth. “Only mild burns and the immediate threat of immolation, darling.” There’s something about him that makes her want to keep him in sight at all times, and not just for the safety of her coin purse. He isn’t infernal, she can tell that much. Maybe it’s his hair putting her off. “I don’t suppose you’ll reimburse us for spilling their guts on your behalf?”

Karlach snorts. “You didn’t kill them for me, you killed them with me. And I’m afraid I left my soul coins in Avernus. Could give you a hug if you wanted, though.”

His smile twists into something darker. “What a pity. I hear soul coins are especially valuable currency, and this isn’t a charity.”

“Strange,” says the walking fringe. She stays at the edges like a regular cleric, but there’s something… tricky about her. Yeah, that’s the word. Tricky. “I thought we were a charity. Why else would you be here, Astarion?”

Rhodeia, meanwhile, wears the perfectly pleasant expression of someone who’s mentally screaming into the Abyss. Making firm eye contact with Karlach, she says, “Since we all need a cure for these mind flayer parasites, you’re welcome to come with us.”

The rest of the party look just as loony. The githyanki undoubtedly draws eyes, and it’s a tossup whether her bloody huge greatsword or her scowl is the scarier weapon in her arsenal. Then there’s good man Gale. If he couldn’t conjure such a wicked scorching ray, she’d assume he’s a lost librarian. Or maybe libraries are more interesting places than she thought. At least the Blade of Frontiers is pointing his namesake elsewhere, although he sure doesn’t look pleased by current events. She’ll have to keep an eye on him. 

All in all? A group of miserable, argumentative misfits.

Gods, to be one of them.

Karlach opens her mouth. Hesitates. “There’s no contract, is there?”

“No,” Rhodeia answers, so perfectly startled that either she means it or she could give Flo a run for her coins. 

“Then fuck yes I’m in.”

Rhodeia smiles, and her expression is brilliantly, unnervingly genuine-looking. She has to be a half-elf—she’s got the ears, but her features are just a little too blunt to be a timeless beauty. Not to say she isn’t a looker, with freckles dusting her light brown skin and plump lips. In the sunlight, Karlach notices for the first time that Rhodeia’s eyes are a dusty mauve, as pretty as cut gems—definitely inherited those from the elven parent—and matching the hair falling down her back in intricate braids. Pale tattooed vines frame her face and curl invitingly down her neck to the collar of her leathers, raising the question of just how far they go down, exactly.

But that is a question best left uncontemplated for now. Karlach hangs her greataxe on her back and sweeps an arm at the road before them. “Let’s move, eh? Time’s wasting.”

When the party sets off, Karlach falls in with them. Behind her, the tollhouse burns.

[Read on AO3]