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yassbishimvintage · 16 hours ago

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Have A Baby By Me

MDNI! You are in charge of ya own experience.

Warnings: Smutty smut. Breeding kink. Marriage?

A/N: As one of my good sis's has said to me breeding kink. But breeding kink on Aaron. I had to.

The sun broke in their bedroom. Cleo was still knocked out from their night. When she awoke he was nowhere to be found in the upstairs of their shared home. So she showered and got dressed. Something simple. Well simple enough for a woman who’s man kept her in skin tight dresses and Christian Louboutins. When she got down on their main floor she noticed his office door was open.

He has scripts strewn all over the place. She smiled at the look of him. Aaron looks up and smiles. “Good morning my love.” he says. Cleo smiles at the sound of his voice. The accent is thick. “Good morning.” Cleo responds. Cleo takes a seat in front of him. “We need to revisit the baby conversation.” she says softly to him.

“Love. We talked about this. I want the legacy.” he starts. “And I want your last name!” she fires back.

Cleo rose gracefully from her seat, the soft click of her Louboutins on the floor drawing Aaron’’s attention as she rounded the desk. Without a word, she placed her hands gently on his shoulders, her delicate fingers tracing slow, soothing circles against the fabric of his shirt.

Aaron leaned back slightly in his chair, tilting his head to look up at her, his expression one of both curiosity and admiration. “To what do I owe this pleasure?” he asked, his voice low and inviting.

Cleo bent down slightly, her lips brushing close to his ear as she whispered, “I want to be married to you before I bring a child into this world, Araron.”

His smile widened, a deep chuckle escaping his lips. “We can make that happen Cleo. Anything you want I can do.” he said, his hands instinctively reaching up to rest on her hips.

“Good,” she murmured, leaning in to press a soft kiss against his temple. “Because I wasn’t planning on you resisting.”

Aaron turned his chair slightly to face her, his eyes locking onto hers. “You’re a dangerous distraction, Ms.Morgan,” he teased, his voice filled with warmth. “But I’m not complaining.”

Cleo tilted her head, her cloudy grey eyes shimmering with mischief. “I wouldn’t be doing my job as your wife if I didn’t keep you on your toes,” she replied, her hands moving down to straighten the collar of his shirt.

Araron tightened his grip on her waist, his expression softening. “And you do it so effortlessly,” he said, pulling her a little closer. “But you might have to take responsibility for all the work I’m not getting done right now.”

Cleo smiled, leaning down to plant a lingering kiss on his lips. “Consider it my way of reminding you who your real boss is,” she said with a wink.

Aaron laughed, shaking his head. “Point taken, love. Point taken.”

She sighs. “I hate this is being a strain. Since you haven’t touched me in a week.” she says pouting.

Aaron’s eyebrows shot up, and a sly grin spread across his face as Cleo’s words hung in the air. He leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing playfully as he looked up at her.

“Oh?” he said, his voice low and full of intrigue. “Is that right?”

Cleo trailed her fingers along the edge of his jaw, her touch featherlight. “Mm-hmm,” she whispered, leaning closer until her lips were just barely brushing his ear. “I think it’s about time we fixed that, don’t you?”

Aaron let out a soft chuckle, his hands sliding up to rest on her hips. “You’re full of dangerous ideas today, Cleo,” he murmured, his voice thick with amusement and desire.

“Dangerous?” Cleo tilted her head, feigning innocence. “I’d call it overdue.”

Aaron stood, his imposing frame towering over her as he gently spun her around, pressing her back against his desk. “Overdue, huh?” he said, his tone challenging. His fingers traced the hem of her dress, his eyes never leaving hers. “You know what happens when you tease me like this, don’t you?”

Cleo smirked, unbothered by the shift in power. “I was hoping you’d show me, Mr. Pierre.”

His grin turned wicked as he leaned down, his lips grazing hers. “Lock the door, mi amor,” he whispered against her mouth.

Without breaking eye contact, Cleo reached behind him, her hand finding the lock on the door with practiced ease. The satisfying click was all the encouragement Aaron needed to keep the staff from wondering in.

“You’ve been asking for this,” he said, his voice low and commanding, as his hands slid around her waist.

“And I’m not sorry,” she shot back, pulling him closer.

Whatever meetings were on Aarons schedule that day would have to wait.

Aaron’s hands moved with deliberate care as he lifted Cleo onto the polished surface of his desk. The cold wood met the warmth of her skin, and she gasped softly at the sensation.

He stepped between her knees, his hands spreading them slightly as he leaned forward, his lips grazing her jawline. “You’ve got no idea how hard it is to focus when you show up looking like this,” he murmured, his voice a low growl.

Cleo tilted her head back, her fingers tangling in the fabric of his tie, pulling him closer. “Oh, I know,” she teased, her smirk laced with mischief. “That’s why I came.”

Aaron chuckled, his hands sliding up her thighs, fingers tracing lazy circles. “You’re trouble, Mrs. Pierre,” he whispered against her skin. She heard it come off his lips so easily.

“And you love it,” she breathed, her nails lightly scraping down his shoulders.

His lips found hers, the kiss deep and possessive, filled with the unspoken tension they both carried. As the world outside his office faded away, Aaaron pulled back just enough to look into her eyes.

“This is going to be a long lunch break,” he said, his tone laced with promise.

Cleo grinned, her hands tugging him closer. “Then you better make it worth it, Mr. Pierre.”

With that, Aaron leaned down, reclaiming her lips as the scripts scattered across the desk became the least important thing in the room.

She moved her hands to unzip his pants. Cleo automatically could see the hard on that is being concealed by his briefs. Impatient, overcoming him he guided her hands to take them off. In typical fashion it springs out from the confinement. He pushes her dress up so that it's scrunched on her stomach.

She whispers in his ear. “I’m ovulating.” That’s all he needed to hear. Two simple words.

“Fuck!” he grumbles as he enters her. This time it felt different. Her hands secure on his shoulders. “Do you trust me love?” he asks. His voice low and lust ridden. “Yes Daddy.” Cleo says ready for him to do something.

He began to thrust. “A…..” her voice wobbly as soon as she felt him start to zone out. Each thrust became more intentional. When his pace started to really pick up “Aaron….” her words slurring as she felt her orgasm coming. “Just a little bit longer love.” his voice slurring. Her nails dug into his back. Not the first time and damn sure won’t be the last time.

She felt her orgasm come crashing down hard. Aaron came soon after but he kept going. He has always been the type to cum and keeping fucking. Thank you to all those natural shit he takes. He rests his forehead against hers. “We better be expecting.” he says. “We better be married before the child gets her Mr. Pierre.” she quips back.

Cleo slid off the desk, her legs slightly wobbly as she straightened her skirt and smoothed her blouse. She glanced at the desk, quickly gathering the scattered papers and setting them back in a neat pile.

Aaron leaned against the desk, arms crossed, watching her with a satisfied smirk. “You’re going to be thinking about this all day,” he teased, his voice a low rumble.

Cleo shot him a look as she adjusted her hair in the reflection of his office window. “You mean you’re going to be thinking about it all day,” she countered, her lips curving into a smirk of her own.

He stepped behind her, his hands resting lightly on her hips as he whispered in her ear, “I already am.”

She let out a soft laugh, spinning to face him, her fingers straightening the knot of his tie. “You better focus on that meeting you’ve got in ten minutes,” she said, arching a brow.

Aaron chuckled, catching her wrist and pressing a lingering kiss to her palm. “Only if you promise to let me pick you up for dinner tonight.”

“Deal,” Cleo replied with a wink before slipping out of his office, her heels clicking confidently against the floor as she disappeared down the hall.

Aaron watched her leave, shaking his head with a grin. He returned to his chair, his thoughts still lingering on the fiery woman who had just walked out, and the lingering scent of her perfume in the air. Before she could fully get out of his office, he called after her. “When did you stop wearing panties?” he asks with a smirk.

Cleo paused mid-step, turning back to face him with an amused smile playing on her lips. "Hmm," she mused, tapping her chin as if in deep thought. "Probably around the time I realized it drove you insane."

Aaron leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing slightly as his smirk grew wider. "Insane doesn't even begin to cover it," he said, his voice low and laced with hunger.

She stepped closer, resting her hands on the edge of his desk, leaning in just enough to meet his gaze. "Well," she teased, her tone light but suggestive, "if it's such a problem, I could start wearing them again."

His hand shot out, gently circling her wrist. "Don’t you dare," he growled, pulling her closer until she was perched on the edge of the desk once again.

Cleo laughed softly, brushing a hand over his chest. "I figured you'd say that," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, her eyes dancing with mischief.

He pulled her in for a quick kiss, his grip firm but tender. "You're impossible," he muttered against her lips.

"And yet, you love me," she quipped, pulling back just enough to shoot him a sly grin before turning on her heel and sauntering toward the door once more.

"More than you'll ever know," Aaron called after her, shaking his head with a mix of amusement and exasperation as he watched her leave. “And next time leave my favorite pair next time. The purple lace.” he says with a smirk.

Cleo stopped in her tracks, turning her head just enough to glance back at him, her eyebrow arched in playful curiosity. "The purple lace, huh?" she asked, her voice laced with amusement.

Aaron leaned back in his chair, folding his hands behind his head, the smirk on his face growing wider. "You know the ones," he said, his tone slow and deliberate, "the ones that barely leave anything to the imagination. My absolute favorite."

Cleo chuckled softly, stepping back toward him with measured grace, her heels clicking against the floor. She stopped just in front of him, leaning down slightly to meet his gaze. "Too bad I haven't worn those in a while," she teased, tilting her head.

"Shame," he replied, his dark eyes gleaming with mischief. "Guess I'll just have to buy you another set."

She laughed, brushing her fingers under his chin. "Maybe I’ll surprise you," she said, straightening up. "But you’ll have to wait and see."

He grabbed her hand before she could fully pull away, tugging her just close enough to whisper, "You know patience isn’t my strong suit, love."

Cleo smiled, shaking her head as she gently freed her hand. "Well, you'll just have to practice," she said, turning back toward the door with a deliberate sway in her hips.

Araron watched her leave, his smirk unwavering. "Purple lace," he muttered to himself, already plotting. "Noted."

When she got to her car, she was fearful for the night. She knows that they will have to talk about two things. Baby Pierre that probably just was conceived and marriage.

Tags:

@nahimjustfeelingit-writes @avoidthings @nayaesworld @haechvn

@writingsbytee @violetmuses @grlsbstshot @ovohanna24 @skvrpion @megamindsecretlair @kimuzostar

#aaron pierre #yassbishimvintage #aaron pierre smut #Spotify #oc #original character

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spidybaby · 2 days ago

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can you do a Ferran the type? please 🥺❤️

Ferran The Type

Summary: A compilation of the type of boyfriend I think Ferran would be ✨️

Warnings: cursing.

A/N: @11fer here's your credits 🤨

He's the type to give you random gifts when he's away during a game, always saying <just because>

"Hey, are you already on your way to uni?" He asks.

"I mean, I'm almost out the door. Why?"

"Oh, nothing." He giggles. "Just wondering."

You frown at his giggles. "Okay, weirdo." You laugh. "How was the flight? Did you eat anything?"

"I shared a sandwich with Pedri."

"Of course you did." You roll your eyes while smiling. There's no day this man wouldn't do anything with his work wife named Pedri. "Was it good?"

"Meh."

You talk with him while you check your bag one last time. You grab your house and car keys. He hears your front door and your car door closing.

"Hey, do me a favor."

"Dime, amor." You say, switching to the car speakers so you can place everything you have in the seat next to you without having to have your phone in hand.

"Check the backseat for me."

"What?" You ask, confused at his request.

You turn, finding the cutest basquet. It has your favorite snack, the lip kit you mentioned you were thinking of buying, a small plushy, and some jewelry goodies.

"Ferran, why?"

He sighs, "Just because." He says.

He's the type to come up with a special sign for a goal celebration.

"If I score, it will be yours." He smiles at you.

You were laying next to him. Talking about what the next game would be like, how he feels and all that.

"I'll hold you to that word." You chuckle.

The silence fell in the room. You are enjoying the peace of just the two of you. While he was thinking about the goal.

When sira and him were together, he did the "s" for her. It was their thing. Not like it was a unique thing. Any footballer that has a girlfriend or partner chose that celebration.

But he didn't want to do the same. First it was basic, not that what he did for sira was basic, but the celebration was... is still.

He thought about doing something else, but how would you know that is meant for you?

"We don't have a celebration." He says, interrupting the silence.

You open your eyes, turning your head to the side. You find his worried eyes.

"We don't have what?"

"A goal celebration for us."

You don't find what the big deal is. He can literally stick his tongue out and you'll he proud either way.

"Well, what about my initial."

"No." He shakes his head. "We need something unique, something ours."

You move your hand to where his cheek is. "Then let's think of one." You say.

You spend the rest of the night preparing your special celebration. He wanted it to be perfect. To be yours truly.

He's possessive so he would give you each kit the team has during the season with his name on the back.

"And this is from the second half against Real Betis." He says, giving you the recently washed jersey.

You look at him and then at the already full drawer of his jerseys. The number of jerseys you have is growing with every game he plays.

You tried to lower the number by donating some of the jerseys to a foundation that used them to get founds.

You obviously told Ferran, who signed the jerseys before giving them back to you.

Then he was injured, so there were no jerseys that needed to be placed in the drawer. No accumulation.

When he got back, it began again. He took the jersey home, washed it and then handed it to you.

And it was the same ritual, he would visit you the night before a game, he would pick a random jersey and then you would use it.

"How do you know it's from that game?" You ask curious. "It looks like any other jersey it's there."

He gives you this excuse of why he would know that the jersey you are now holding is from that specific game.

"I have a Pedri jersey." You say, moving to grab the jersey. "He gave it to me to take to the foundation, and I forgot it here." You explain.

He shakes his head, grabbing the jersey from your hands and throwing it to the small trash can you have in your room.

"Ferran!" You say, getting up and trying to move to save the jersey.

Your actions were interrupted by him pulling you by your hand and making you hit his chest. He then grabs his jersey, moving your arms up and pulling the jersey through your head.

You are confused at everything. "What are you doing?" You ask, moving the hair from your face. "Are you crazy?" You ask, looking at him with a frown.

He grabs your face, kissing your lips. His big hands are locking you in place, one on your waist and the other one in the back of your head.

The air was running low for you. He could go for ages, being a footballer has its benefits.

You push him lightly. He then moves his lips to your cheeks and chin, kissing it sweetly.

"Ferran, stop." You say. "What is going on?" You chuckle.

"You don't need any other player's name on your back." He says, grabbing your chin and making you lock eyes with him. "Only mine." He smiles, pecking your lips.

When he's drunk, specially in the club, at a party. Hes very clingy and is all over you.

"I want one last shot." Ferran says, placing his face on your shoulder. "Maybe vodka."

You can barely understand him. He has the drunk accent that was making you laugh.

"No, amor." You shake your head. "No more shots." You pout.

He pouts too, hugging your waist and moving his head a little more upwards, being able to kiss your neck and jawline.

"The last one." He begs. "Por favor."

You shake your head again, moving your arms to hug him. "You are drunk, baby." You remind him. "Let's take it easy."

He pouts again, burrying his face in your neck. You smile at the very clingy and baby attitude he's putting.

You keep the conversation with your friend, who's smirking at how funny Ferran looks. They all were used to him being like that as soon as he gets to a tipsy state.

It's very well known between friends and family that Ferran needs to always have some type of contact.

Now try to get that to a higher level, and you'll get how he is when he's drunk. He likes to hug you by the waist, he likes to give you neck kisses, he likes to kiss your lips in a sloppy way.

After a good ten minutes of him just hugging you like a baby, he decides to try one more time. "A shot, please." He says, puppy eyes.

You roll your eyes. "Fine, wait for me here." You say, getting out of his hold and getting up.

"Can I go with you?" He asks, whiny voice.

The way his hand is grabbing yours, scared of you walking away from him. It was so sweet yet so funny.

"I'll be only a few feet away, amor." You explain, pointing to the bartender. "Two minutes."

He shakes his head, getting up from his seat and walking with you to the bartender. You ask him to turn and to check if your friend is following.

While he is distracted, you ask for a shot of water. The bartender smiles at you and gives you exactly that.

"Here's your vodka." He says, winking at you with a funny face. "A lemon?"

"Grab your lemon." You say to Ferran.

He does, adding salt. You hand him the shot, and he acted as if it was burning him. "That was good but disgusting."

You thank the bartender, you walk back to your place. He seats first and then he pulled you into his lap.

Your back is sticked to his chest, and his arms are locking you in place. You turn and give him a kiss. It was easy since his head was placed in between your neck.

You can feel the heat that emanates from him. The warmth of his cheek over your skin was comforting.

He trusts you so much. Not only in the relationship but with everything, literally everything.

"So," He says, grabbing your attention as you write something on the computer. "I have something to tell you."

You nod, paying attention to him. You humm so he could continue with his story.

"You remember that I told you about Eric and that girl?" He asks, folding the laundry.

You nod, closing the laptop. You want to know the rest of that uncontinued story. "Yes, what about it?"

"Well, she's back, but turns up she's a" He turned his head to his left and then to the right. "Escort." He whispers

Your eyes open so much. "No!" You say surprised. "How did you find out?"

"He called her to meet again, and when they were done fucking, she tell him that she needs to leave and if he has the money."

You cover your mouth. "That's bananas." You laugh.

"Not only that." He interrupts your laugh.

"Oh my gosh." You sigh. "What else?"

He smirks, finishing with the last t-shirt. "She gave him crabs."

"Tell me this is a joke!" You say, shocked with the information.

"No, Pedri had to threw the towell he was using so nobody would use it once they took it to clean it."

You two keep talking about the subject a little bit more. You even change the subject to what he wants for dinner and that it was his turn to cook.

"Oh, and my mom has a boyfriend." He says, placing the plate of food in front of you.

"Qué?"

He's the type to be always loud and energetic.

"Mi mujer me estaba llamando pero yo no contesté." He sings while he's changing.

You can hear his singing from your office, you shake your head no as you go back to your email.

"Yo tengo un problema de alcohol, yo no sé porqué soy así." He keeps singing as he walks down the hallway. "Amor, I'm leaving." He says.

You lift your eyes from the screen to his. "Adiós, amor." You smile. "Have a nice training, love you." You send him a kiss.

You then go back to the reading as he walks down the stairs. Just when you think the house would be silent and calm you head him yell.

"Be ready at four, I'm taking you out."

You close your eyes, breathing deeply as you think that everybody in the neighborhood heard your plans.

"Amor!" He yells again. "Did you hear me?"

"I think the neighbors heard you as well." You say in an elevated tone.

It was enough for him to hear, but not enough to bother others.

"Vale, adiós." He yells again.

You shake your head. Trying not to laugh at him.

As the day passes and the hour of your date comes, you prepare for it. You change into something more appropriate and wait for him to pick you up.

When he's outside, he lets you know. You find his car and a smily Ferran looking at you.

"You look gorgeous." He says, opening the door for you. "Love you."

"Love you too." You say, giving him a kiss.

The drive consisted of him telling you all about his training session, how he bothered Pedri, and his small gym session.

At the restaurant he ordered for the two of you. Something he sometimes does. It was well appreciated because you don't always know what to order.

"So then we find them together in the janitors closet." You say, telling him a story from your work.

He laughs, but not a normal laugh. He's laughing so hard that even the others turn to see him. Some smiling at how happy he looks and other looking at him with a wtf expression.

"Fer, don't be loud." You say.

"Sorry, it was too fun." He smiles.

Even when he was loud, you knew he was your loud one. So you just accept it.

Like I mentioned before, he's the type to be needy of contact all the time.

It can be your hand wrapping one of his fingers while you go out of somewhere.

It can be him grabbing your belt hoop while you shop around the store.

Your arms sticking together while you two stand up together or his hand on your knee as you are sitting.

Sometimes, when he's sleeping, he will turn around and find you in a peaceful position. He doesn't want to wake you up, so he will place his feet close to yours under the covers. That way, he can go back to sleep without bothering or waking you up.

🏷: @gadriezmannsgirl 🩷 @11fer 💚

#football #football fanfic #ferran #ferran torres #ferran x reader #ferran x you #ferran x y/n #fc barcelona #barca x reader #football x you #ferran fluff #pedri x reader #fermin x reader #football angst #gavi x reader #ferran x pedri #pedri x ferran

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simpjaes · 2 days ago

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i became a fan of enha in july. i found milf hunt fic wip in july. i have been waiting for this ever since i got into jay. u dont know what u just did for me. its crazy.

im just thinking of pregnant milf reader and jay as her new husband, loving her newer curves and bigger tits. just like when he used to let the neighbours assume more about his relationship with her, he does the same things. drinks coffee in the patio by the pool with a newspaper in hand. when they do shopping in their town, he has a hand on her hip as she walks, proudly showing off his employer turned wife. The rumours spread by the other women proved to be true, he is her husband. he pounds into her wet pussy every night, he drinks from her leaky tits. He fixes her fence, changes her light bulb, takes care of the little girl who calls him “dad”, he whispers to her swollen belly, builds the new baby a crib. buys matching clothes for their daughter and his child. he proudly shows off to the women he used to work for, that instead of boys his age struggling in tiny apartments with big boy jobs, he can stay lavishly finishing college with building a family checked off his list. his wife gets him to a big boy job too so she can rest with the upcoming birth.

he truly is the absolute trophy husband 🎀 our trophy husband

- noona anon

TROPHY HUSBAND IS THE EXACT. MAN. MH JAY IS!!!! you are also his trophy wife too tho.

me gushing about MH aftermath:

like, you make enough money to take care of him through college, even enough to take time off work during pregnancy etc, he would absolutely be the house husband while you're the money maker. I personally see him dropping out tho, ngl. Like living the full life of being a house husband, maybe getting paid to do odd jobs around the neighborhood like "ooooo can you fix my fence too Jay?" and "Ahhhhh, can you clean my pool like that?"

but ofc, it would still be classy wives tryna get his ass all sweaty and sexy for them to ogle at and he'd always come to you like "Babe, why do i feel like they're bitching me out?" and you'd probably snort, eating the craving food he's bought for your a million times by now like "Well, look at you."

You'd not be super jealous or toxic, even based on your history bc of who jay is, and how he treats you. He's cleaning some lonely wife's pool and he'll just talk about you every time she approaches him. like, example:

"Jayyyy, oh you cleaned it so well, would you like to come inside f-"

"yeah, my WIFE says I'm pretty good at this." and "haha, i should be getting home to my PREGNANT HOT SEXY WIFE"

[there's still the eventual option of him getting a big boy job, but for now i think his sole purpose in life that he wants to fulfill is being a dad. he'd not go back to school or get a big boy job until the kids are in school.]

He would definitely flaunt tho. He'd still likes the attention from other women of course, but for a different reason now, sometimes even seeing the women around town who did get to touch on him back before he landed you and always making damn sure they know what they're missing out on. Hand on your back, lovingly guiding you through the grocery store, kissing on you before you go to work in the morning. SUPER PDA from him. ABSOLUTELY on the porch with coffee like a fucking DAD too. that's the cutest fucking image omfg.

would throw BBQs, and you'd invite all of your friends and they'd snicker and whisper with you over how lucky you are to land such a hottie boy-toy. and you'd always correct them with a narrowed eye like "That's my husband, not a boy-toy" and he'd prove it every time ;-; making the best goddamn bbq in the city, playing with your kids and all the others, making all the ladies super jealous that their husbands are too "manly" to play dolls or dress up with the kids, or sword figh the little boys in a fuckin' tutu [bc jay would absolutely do that, wants to make all the kids have a good time when they're in his well-maintained yard]

Even more jealous that Jay does all the house work, cooks, cleans, parents, runs errands etc. he does everything they do for their own husbands, and MORE. The way you glow and flush when they ask about your sex life, phew, boy, they know Jay's gotta be a fuckin' maniac or something in bed.

NOT TO MENTION!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! you'd be so so so pregnant.... jay would just, like, constantly be so so horny.

always touching on you, always massaging the pain away and trying to contain his cock because he neeeeeeeeeeeds youuu. def sucks your tits every night, esp when you start lactating KJFHSDKJFDS and you're like "ewwww jay that's so gross" all playfully, but his mouth always soothes your sore tits, and he wouldn't care anyway. he loves his mama, fr. loves even more when she stops calling him "Jay" or "Jongseong" all the time and refers to him as daddy in bed.

whispers to your belly all the time, rubbing it, takes you to every doctor's appointment, buys you everything you need [albeit with your credit card lmfao] for real just drops EVERYTHING FOR YOU at any given moment.

And there is a part in the fic where he fantasizes about you waking up every morning filled with his warm cum. He'd do that too, pregnant or not. Condoms are a fucking NO-NO in this house [for now], at least until you've had a third, even then he'd have to get snipped or you'd go on birth control bc there is no way in hell he's not gonna at least pretend to constantly get you pregnant. Jay wants a big family, you only wanted 2. But you've come to the agreement that if you want to have at least one more pregnancy, he will still be here, and he will be doing all of the work outside of carrying the baby.

also, second child is a boy. imagine jay glowing just as much as you are when he finds out.

man, im so soft for him. this is a mess, i just choked out every single thought of milf hunt husband jay all in one go and like, there's more in this broken ass brain of mine too,

for instance, how he asks you to marry him, where you get married, how is family reacts, how your ex husband reacts, your daughter + jay interaction, the birth and him absolutely fainting in the delivery room, how his friends act when they find out what he's been doing etc

#ask #anon #fic talk #fic: MH #i love him so bad #SO MUCH

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mint-and-authoress · 14 hours ago

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Slime HRT - Full Core Integration

<<| ⏯️ |>>

[The scene opens to a not before seen living room. Familiar decor can be seen alongside other furnishings. Elise sits on a couch inside a small plastic tub, where only the upper half of her body can be seen. Next to her is a shorter woman, speckled with red scales across her skin and small claws and horns. The timestamp reads ‘5½ Months.’]

“Oh gosh, how does she do these…

“This is Elise’s entry at five and a half months into transition. I’m Pandora, her wife, and I’ll be speaking for her for this entry and hopefully only this entry. I just started my own species replacement therapy like two weeks ago I think? I kept it hidden from her to surprise her but about three days ago Elise’s vocal cords finally dissolved. That’s why I’m speaking for her.

“Normally she wouldn’t have done an update this early but I encouraged her to make something, mainly because I think it’s important to have this documented. Anyone who goes through the same stuff my wifey has should know how things go when you absolutely need help around the house.

[Pandora retrieves a piece of paper from offscreen.]

“We did make a list of things to go over. My love is going to be demonstrating a few things, and it is her documentation series… thing, so she’s gotta be a part of it! First off is the obvious: no more muscles, and no more bones either!

[Elise outstretches an ‘arm’ to show the lack of muscle and bone. The entire limb is transparent and a vibrant green.]

“All she has left is a few organs and her brain. Everything else is just a little goopy puddle.

[Elise nuzzles into Pandora’s shoulder, and is met with a kiss to the forehead.]

“All the affection is just my wife being all cute and loving, like she’s always been. She’s basically been biologically a slime for a few weeks now, and definitely passes as one from the few I’ve been able to see.

“As a matter of fact, we learned that slimes are apparently part of the country’s No Fly List, since they’re made up entirely of fluid. We had to do a whole cross-country road trip, meaning four days full of driving for me. Loved that. But it just meant that my little goop got to be a little passenger princess all the way back to the west coast!

“Back to the ‘my wife’s organs are starting to dissolve’ matter, she’s actually about two and a half months ahead of schedule. Which meant I had to have a very strongly worded talk with Dr. Acosta from Something Else Solutions.

“Something Else Solutions is not licenced by anyone in Hyper City. We had to hire a private investigator to find that doctor. Turns out, he gave Elise a fake name and the whole office turned out to be some shady black market coven trying to advance their practices. So, my last week and a half has been spent talking to doctors and specialists and actual fucking witches. That last one was actually pleasant, and I would’ve enjoyed it a bit more if it wasn’t my love’s life on the line, possibly.

“The only real reason we’re doing an update now is because Elise is going into surgery tomorrow to get her core formed. Normally, Slime HRT has the patient go through something called C3 surgery: Core Cell Conversion. They’d take all your organs and link them together, and after a few weeks they’ll turn into what’s called a proto-core, which basically just replaces the organs. Eventually that proto-core absorbs the brain after like a month and at that point it’s just a normal slime core.

“Buuuut, now that someone went and fucked up my wife, she’s going into an emergency surgery called FCI: Full Core Integration. What they have to do–and thank the gods that we did this before her organs got dissolved–is take all her organs and her brain and rapidly accelerate that core formation process with donated nuclei from other slimes and a whole bunch of other inpatient hospital stuff. It takes a week, and after that Elise is gonna have a few gaps in her memory.

[Pandora hugs Elise from the side.]

“It’s scary. But we’ve somehow made it through worse.”

[The segment ends. The next segment fades in and shows a still image of a hospital waiting room. An anthropomorphic boar, a human skeleton with glowing green eyes, a well-dressed vampire and two humans are present around the room.]

-captions-

-The waiting room in the Hyper City Interspecies Hospital. Elise’s surgery was 12 hours long.

[A picture of many specialists and surgeons, human and nonhuman, with a blonde human woman in the centre.]

-Thank you to the care team for everything and an even bigger thank you to Dr. Therkin for walking me through every step of the procedure.

[A picture of Elise in a pressurised tank, connected to a series of tubes, wires, and monitors. A very small, almost invisible mass is at the centre of the slime.]

-This was my wife for nine days. Very glad to report that she pulled through.

[The final picture fades out. The next segment fades in where Elise sits in a long tub in a hospital bed, with an intact emerald green core. A timestamp reads ‘Five Days Post Surgery - 6 Months.’]

“...This is…my entry at 6 months during transition. Or at least that is what I’ve been told.

“I’ve been conscious for five days. In that time I learned how to speak and I was reminded who everyone was. Apparently I was in a…terrible condition. My core was able to save my life, and for that I am very grateful.

“I came out of surgery with near total amnesia, they said. Apparently that is a risk when you undergo such a procedure. It isn’t all bad, though. Relearning you have a wife is incredibly nice, makes the core sing something fierce.

“I’ve watched through those progress reports and learned about the journey I’ve taken to get this far, and to think that all that progress is behind me is incredibly inspiring. I’m going to continue living, all because of the work she did. I get to be happy, have a wife, all thanks to her.

“I’m not the same person as she was, definitely not. I have her voice, her life, and eventually the memories will come back, or so I’m told. But I don’t have her face, don’t have the same struggle that she had. So, please allow me to introduce myself once more to you all.

“My name is Mint, and I am a slime girl.”

[The scene fades to black as Mint extends herself towards the camera.]

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

SLIEM TIEM IS BACK EVERYGOOP!!!

Plot Twist: Mint is Authoress :3c

I've been meaning to get this out for a while and Solstice hit me with a lead brick of inspiration! Mint is now here to stay, but by no means is her story over!

Shoutouts today go to @ariathelamia whose character Dr. Therkin made an appearance to advise the surgery team! Tbh I do not trust Erian as far as I can throw him (and for therian standards that is not that far), so we got a second opinion and went to her!

Next time on Slime Ball Z: going to the solstice and definitely having a transgender moment[tm] with doubts about what makes oneself a 'real slime'

#I'm kinda impressed with how fast I pumped this one out :3c #slime #slime girl #slime hrt #therian hrt #otherkin hrt #my gender #my oc #my writing

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short-honey-badger · 3 days ago

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Peppermint Tea 32 - All Blends 3

Holy shit its been a long time since I've updated this. I really hope you guys enjoy this chapter and be on the lookout for the next one in the next few days!

Summary! You meet Katakuri, and the boys are upset and make plans to get you back!

Peppermint Tea Masterlist -> HERE

You stare at Big Mom in horror. Wife? You’d heard about the Emporer before and her obsession with expanding her family, but never in a million years did you think that you would be up for the chopping block. The emperor cackles at the look you send her.

“Oh don’t look so down, princess. If you hadn’t disappeared all those years ago, we wouldn’t have had to drag you back here,” The woman hisses down at you, and you watch in disgust as you watch Charlotte pick up a plate of sweets and begin to scarf them down, talking with her mouth full of cake, “But it’s no matter. My sons tell me that you are pregnant, so any child that you have will be taken care of. That way, you can be free for my sweet Katakuri.”

You don’t like the way she says this as if the baby that grows inside of you is nothing but a burden to be thrown away and forgotten. You grit your teeth, and take a look at the man who is to be your “husband”. Despite his rather feral look and the sharp teeth, you can see poking out from between his lips, there is a softness in his gaze that tells you he isn’t exactly happy with the arrangement that his mother has made for him. You want to shout and argue, but you know that even if you did, nothing would change. No threats that you made would be taken seriously, not when you were in the middle of Big Mom’s territory.

Unbidden, your devil fruit activates, sending a chill through the room and making Sukuna grumble and growl from where he lies pressed against your chest. Hank whines and presses himself closer to your leg, and his support makes you feel a tiny bit better about your situation. You wish more than anything that your boys were here so that they could shield you away, and you would never have to look at this horrid woman again.

“Hmm, if anything, your being pregnant shows how fertile you are. It won’t be long before you are able to supply me with a whole new host of grandchildren!”

You grimace at the way the emperor so casually says this, as you were nothing but a broodmare to be used to make her family bigger. You clutch Sukuna tighter against your chest, pulling comfort from the way his claws dig into your flesh. The pain clears your head, and you ignore Big Mom as best you can as she rants and raves about how beautiful her grandchildren will be once she has them.

Finally, Katakuri seems to take pity on you and speaks up, his voice deep and muffled from behind his scarf, “I think she understands why she is here, mother. Let me take her to our rooms.”

Big Mom lets out a massive sigh, rolling her eyes before she makes a shoo motion, “Oh fine, then. Take away my fun.”

Katakuri grumbles something unintelligible and then stomps over to you. You crane your neck, hearing it pop as you look up at him. You meet his eyes, and then he crouches down, and you come face to face with him.

He is handsome up close, the edges of his mouth broken up by what looks like stitches, but his voice is soft when he speaks, “You have little legs. I will carry you if you wish?”

You lick your lips and shrug. If it would get you away from Big Mom quicker, then you weren't about to say no.

“Please?”

You watch him set his hand down, palm up, and carefully, you turn around and sit down, keeping Sukuna tucked close to your chest. His palm is big enough that Hank can climb up with you, though most of his shaggy body spills into your lap. You hang on tight to his sleeve when Katakuri stands and begins to leave the obvious throne room behind.

You try your best to memorize the twists and turns of the castle, but it proves impossible for you with how the inside dips and curves do not make any sense to your brain. Katakuri is silent all the way up until he makes it to his room, and he is careful as he sits you back down on the floor.

The two of you stare at one another, at a loss of words, until his voice fills the room, “You were to be my wife, but your parents denied my mother.”

You frown. That didn't sound correct. As much as Mihawk and Shanks had broken your trust, after that first call with the warlord after you had sent them away, you still felt like you could believe them. Mihawk had explained everything that he knew about the destruction of your home. He would not have omitted any details to you unless he truly did not know about them. Your chest aches, and you have to force the urge to burst into tears just thinking about the two men. You missed them so much. You wanted them here to steal you back and to get you and your baby to safety. You tune back in when the giant of a man keeps talking.

“Maybe you would have been happy with me if your parents had not disrespected my mother, but I can't see that you will never be happy here. Not when you have someone that you already love.”

You look at Katakuri in surprise, brows raised as your curl your free arm around your stomach. Hank, who had been silent other than his occasional growling at the men and woman who had escorted you to Big Mom, suddenly sat up, the big lug loping forward to sit in front of you, his tongue lolling out as he began to pant. You stare at him, brow pinched in thought. The dog has always been an excellent judge of character, and it makes you think that maybe Katakuri might be someone you can trust.

“I do, and they will be looking for me,” you tell him, and Katakuri nods like he already knows this.

And he did. The fourth son of Big Mom had done his research after Wiseman had made it known that you had been found. He had told his mother to leave you be, that they had already decimated your island, killed your family and subjects. The only ones left of the Nammu Isles were you and your brother, so it's not like either of you had much to offer the Charlotte family.

Unfortunately, she had scoffed and raved at him, rolling her eyes and stuffing her face, declaring that neither of you was useless. The Nammu Isles were known for their beauty, the string of islands, and the people who lived there. To be married into any of the families was to be considered an honor, for your children would retain the beauty that their parents harbored.

Katakuri had grumbled and backed down, not having wanted to argue with his mother, but seeing you now, belly swollen with child, and your eyes looking at him like you knew things that he didn't, made him think that his mother had bitten off more than she could chew.

He already knew that your lover was Red-Haired Shanks, one of the other four emperors of the sea. Katakuri had not thought it wise for his family to go steal you away from your home, but there was little he could do or say once his mother had an idea in her head. It is then that your words properly register in his mind, and he looks at you, tilting his head to the side.

“They?”

The temperature in the room drops several degrees, and he watches this tiny slip of a woman look at him in pity, but there is a mean grin that paints her lips.

“Yes, they,” you murmur, and Sukuna turns, glaring at Katakuri with oddly familiar golden eyes, “Red-Haired Shanks, and the warlord. Dracule Mihawk.”

-----

Mihawk and Perona sail straight to the New World. They arrive in half the time it would have usually taken, the ocean seeming to be on their side and aiding them in getting the two of them there swiftly. The warlord feels broken, his heart aching from the pain of having you taken and the knowledge that it was Shasks at fault.

He should have known that the redhead would never be able to keep his damn mouth shut. He never should have trusted him with you. Dracule should have demanded that Shanks leave you and your island alone, to never return even if it would have made you upset.

Maybe then Mihawk would have never felt compelled to tell you about his involvement. Maybe then you would have never sent him away in the first place, and none of this would have ever happened. He grits his teeth, rage flooding his chest only to be swiftly discarded into grief and disappointment. The warlord had trusted the other man, had opened up his heart, and told Shanks that he loved him not a week after Benn had rushed to them to tell them about you being abducted.

Shanks looks at him with wide eyes, standing before Mihawk after the warlord had hung up the transponder snail. The redhead swallowed harshly, the drunken stupor clearing from his eyes as he licked his lips.

“You... Did you really mean it?”

Mihawk opens his arms for the redhead, and Shanks falls into his chest. He wraps his arms around the younger man, lips pressing against his brow.

“I wouldn't have said it if I didn't mean it, Red.”

Mihawk forces the memory away, bowing forward to rest his elbows on the desk inside the ship and hold his face in his hands. Everything had been going so well for the three of you, and in the span of a month, it had all gone to absolutely shit.

They hadn't even gotten the chance to come and see you before the Big Mom pirates had shown up. Had been waiting for your call so that you could tell them that you were ready for them to come back home, to the island, to Hank and the other animals, to you.

Fuck. How had things gone so bad so quickly? Mihawk knew that the blame truly lay on both of them. Him for keeping your past from you, and Shanks for not knowing when to keep his big mouth shut for once. Dracule still feels so angry, so betrayed that the other man had given you a drunken accident or not. How was he ever supposed to forgive Shanks for this? How were they supposed to go back to how things were?

That's not even considering your brother. Tomura would be a problem in the future when they get you back. Your brother would never let Mihawk have you alone ever again, especially once he figures out that you are pregnant with their child.

“You know, if you had listened to me in the beginning, this probably wouldn't have happened.”

Mihawk sighs heavily at the sound of Perona's voice. He looks up to see her leaning in the doorway, arms crossed, and a scowl on her face. He feels bad enough over Shanks and his own blunder. He doesn't need the reminder.

“_ would still be on her island, and her home wouldn't have been destroyed. You didn't even go see her home with Shanks, Mihawk. I know you're mad at him, but it would have been the least you could do. He's just as upset she is gone as you are.”

Mihawk glares at her, hands clenching as he drops them to the table and shoves himself up, a snarl on his lips, “This wouldn't have happened if Shanks knew how to be responsible for once.”

Perona rolls her eyes, lips pursing, “Do you know how many times I've almost slipped up? How could Shanks have known that someone would recognize her name? It's not like he went around to every island on the Grand Line asking people if they knew who she was.”

He grits his teeth. Mihawk had already thought about that, but it was easier for him to blame Shanks for this than to completely blame himself, no matter how unfair it was.

“He's a fool,” Mihawk grumbles, and despite how much he wants to hang on, to cling onto that anger, the warlord begins to feel himself start to deflate. It used to be easy to cling to those feelings of negativity, but after the past months, with having Shanks back so close, and with you there to temper any hurt feelings, it was hard to stay upset.

Because at the end of the day, Mihawk still loved the redhead, even if Shanks had broken his promise. He hears Perona snort and stride across the deck, dropping into the chair across from him.

“A love-sick fool who needed you,” she grumbles, and Mihawk sighs heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose and giving her a look under the brim of his hat.

“You don't have to remind me, ghost girl, but the faster we get to Big Mom’s territory, the faster we can get _ back.”

Perona sighs and stands from her chair, rounding the desk and pulling her father figure in for a hug. Surprisingly, Mihawk doesn’t fight against her, so Perona tightens her hold, keeping her voice sure, “You’ll get her back. I know you will.”

-----

Shanks stares at the ruins of his home, heart in his throat, and hand clenched against his chest. So many memories, all gone with just a few words that came from his dumb mouth. Benn stands behind him, a silent pillar of support that the redhead appreciates. He clenches his eyes shut, teeth grit before he opens them up, and forces himself to step toward his home.

He is halfway up the path when a furry body blocks his way, and Shanks can't help but feel a shot of relief when Neal bleats at him, those beady eyes looking at him with recognition, and Shanks carefully reaches out, hoping to not get bit by the goat. Surprisingly, Neal butts his head forward and allows the redhead to pet him for a second before he grumbles and stalks off to his ruined pen where he stomps at the ground. He shakes his head and follows after the goat, frowning down at the foot imprints that dot your front yard.

He takes in your ruined gardens, heard breaking all over again when he looks at the destruction. You would be devastated to see this. All of your hard work from over the years gone in an instant. Shanks forces down that guilt that eats away at him and focuses instead on the rage that had begun to slowly simmer in his gut. Emperor or not, the second that Big Mom had heard that he was your lover, the woman should have dropped any kind of plans she had for you.

Shanks and his crew had held off Kaido from joining the battle at Marineford and won. It pissed him right the hell off that Big Mom thought that she could send out her family and drag you back to Whole Cake without thinking that Shanks wouldn't do anything about it.

Did the woman think that you were just some run-of-the-mill woman that he would drop within a couple of days? Well, if so. Charlotte had another thing coming. Shanks has to fight down his haki, lest it unravel, and send what remained of his home crashing down. He sucked in a deep breath, face set in a terrifying scowl as he walked through the open door.

Shanks pushes the door open, a grin on his face, “Oh honey, I'm home!”

He can hear you leave the kitchen, arm open just in time for you to slam into his chest, and a wide grin on your face as you stare up at him. Shanks laughs jovial, matching your grin as he tightens his grip around your waist and lifts you up, spinning you around in a circle.

“Welcome back, love,” you greet him, and Shanks will never tire of hearing you call him that. He dips and presses his lips to your own. The kiss chaste but full of affection, “How was your trip?”

He walks past the living room, trailing his hand over the blackened wood as the rage builds and builds inside of him until Shanks feels like he might explode. He eases through the kitchen and looks down when his foot kicks something. He bends, picking up the warped bowl, the name Hank lovingly painted on the side of it. Carefully, he puts it back down and moves on.

There is hardly anything that is salvageable, but Shanks would make damn sure that he would store away and preserve anything that he found. You deserved that much. The books and record player that Mihawk had given you are melted. The maps along the far wall of the living room are nothing but ash that now coats everything in the room.

Shanks stops just outside the bedroom, heart in his throat before he pushes the door open and walks inside. This room, since the door was shut, had been preserved much better than the rest of your home. He looks at your bed and swallows dryly when he sees that it is covered in an assortment of his and Mihawk's clothing. He wonders how large you've grown in the time the three of you have been separated. You must have started to wear their clothes the larger your belly became, and the mental image of his shirt streatching over your stomach makes a heat pool unbidden in his gut.

But he shoves the feeling away for now. There would be time for that later, once Shanks was able to piece his family back together. With a sigh, he sits on the bed, bending at the waist and holding his face in his hand. He pushes past the anguish that wants to choke him and makes himself think.

He would sail straight to Whole Cake, and if Big Mom and her family did not give you back to him, then he would destroy them. There was a reason why no one could unseat him from his emperor status. Red-Haired Shanks and his crew were not ones to cross, so he would show the other emperor what it meant to cross him. He could only hope that you would be okay until he got there, and if you weren’t? The entire world would feel his fury.

With that decision cemented in his mind, Shanks stands from the bed, then scoops to grab your favorite shirt that he knows came from him. He would dress you in his clothes once more when he got you back, would find you before Mihawk could, and present you to the warlord and beg both of you for forgiveness. Shanks was not one to give up, so he would grovel and plead at your feet until you gave in.

Shanks takes one last look around before he leaves the house, meeting Benn back outside where he is watching Neal. His first mate looks up at him when Shanks steps to his side, “Ready to go?”

The redhead nods, lips tugging into a frown when he spots the goat and the three chickens that mill around his hooves, “He’s not going to like it, but we aren’t leaving him here.”

Benn huffs a laugh, “Come on, I’ll help you wrestle him on board.”

-----

Tomura sets sail not long after Mihawk leaves the island. He isn't about to wait around for the redhead, and thankfully, they've not been here long enough for many of his crew to disembark. He gathers the ones who followed him on shore up and orders them to meet him on board, barking commands to get them underway and back to the New World. They would take the same route as last time and hopefully catch up to the warlord before he made it to Whole Cake.

It still pisses him off that the two men had found your island, but it's not like Tomura had been there to stop them. You probably trusted the other men more than you would ever trust him, your own brother, and the thought fills him with guilt.

He had been the one to leave you behind, after all. Maybe if he had stayed with you, had been the big brother that you had always admired and loved, then none of this would have happened. He sighs and runs a hand through his white hair, his brow pulled tight in a scowl. There was no point in thinking about what-ifs, however. Tomura had lost his chance to see you grow up and get to know you when he left you here, but he would help save you, and he would know his little sister again.

The navy would be pissed that he was going off orders, but he didn’t care. Delemur had joined the military to keep himself safe, away from Big Mom and her hoard of children. But he would take on the emperor herself if that was what it took to get you away from them, you were the most important thing to Tomura, and he wouldn’t let anyone stand in the way of that.

@writingmysanity @djbumblebee @goth-mami-writer @myradiaz @fluffybunnyu @bookandstar @foggyturtleknightangel @browneyedhufflepuff @anastasiyax @jaguarthecat @atricksterwithwings @black-swan-blog27 @breadedloafs @enpvrirnce @gottalovethefandom @mfreedomstuff @caniseethefourthsword @olenoname

#reader insert #one piece #dracule mihawk #shanks x reader #mihawk x reader #red haired shanks #hawkeye mihawk #opla mihawk #shanks #one piece x reader #opla shanks #peppermint tea

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miss-allsundays · 15 hours ago

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i was kind of expecting it (because of the danny motta pandemic), but the amount of people that just. write off octavia as some sort of ungrateful brat is really pissing me off.

we, as the viewers, have a much broader understanding of stolas, his life, and his relationship with stella. we are also made to look at it in a positive light for stolas, because we are shown instances of stella and her brother being the terrible antagonists they were written to be.

and most importantly, we do not have an attachment to stolas and stella’s relationship.

octavia instead, has had her life recently upended, has seen her father do a 180 change and (in her eyes) ruin his whole relationship.

her parents are divorcing, and they’re going about it in the worst way possible. they keep badmouthing each other, and they are, quite frankly, very dismissive of octavia— stolas as well, even if he doesn’t mean it.

and then, her father risks his life for the guy he destroyed his family for. and she is left with her mother and uncle, who clearly don’t have her best interests in mind.

of course stolas deserves to be happy, and of course he can love both blitzø and octavia at the same time, but what a lot of people don’t get is that she is a hurt child, who is very lonely at the moment, and who has not had the time to process everything.

instead she has to watch her dad fawn over his affair partner, talk shit about her mother even after the divorce, and then he suddenly leaves and oh! he will be banned from their house for a hundred years.

of course she holds resentment over her father!! he hurt her, just as much as her mother hurt her!!

because yes, stolas’ hatred towards his ex-wife is justified, but he has subconsciously let that feeling cloud over his love for octavia.

for a child, seeing your parents go through a divorce is really fucking tough. even if their relationship wasn’t the best, even if the love wasn’t there anymore, your parents splitting up still feels like a point of no return. as someone who went through that, i cannot tell you how many nights i spent as a teen wishing my family would go back to normal, even if the rational part of me knew that their separation was a much better outcome, and that the normal i hoped for hadn’t been that in years.

their divorce is only a couple of months old, it isn’t nearly enough time to begin getting over it, especially if you don’t have a good outlet for your emotions— which octavia doesn’t have.

and as i’ve mentioned earlier, the fact that her parents hate each other so openly is also another big fucking problem!! it does nothing but make the child in between feel bad, because they feel guilty for still caring about both of them, like their love for their parents is wrong and tainted.

(again, stella is terrible, and we can all agree on that— but octavia doesn’t know the full extent of it!! sue just wants her family back!!)

i feel for stolas, and it’s so, so obvious that he loves his daughter more than anything in this world, but i also understand why octavia wants some distance from him.

even though he didn’t mean to, he failed to think of how his daughter was holding up, until it was too late.

(and to everyone that says octavia hates her dad, go fuck yourself and pick up a pair of glasses. there is a difference between being hurt by someone’s actions and hating them. she went to IMP to give him his meds. she saved stolitz + IMP from andrealphus. learn some media literacy before you speak thanksssssssss<3 )

#helluva boss #helluva boss sinsmas #octavia goetia #VIA GET BEHIND ME!!! I WILL NOT LET THEM GET TO YOU!!!!#i’ve said this before #but the people that hate on octavia have probably never had to go through being a child of divorce #this is not stolas critical btw. i love him and i want him to be really happy #just look at my banner. the moment the buckzo-goetia family becomes true i will die a happy woman.#i just wish people looked at octavia with a bit more empathy sigh #she is me and i am her i fear #i just have a couple more years of experience and hindsight

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riewritten · 2 days ago

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QUESTIONS WITHOUT ANSWERS ˚ · . READ ON AO3

『JOHAN LIEBERT x GENDER-NEUTRAL!READER』

˚ · .─ SYNOPSIS: Set a decade after the monster's last havoc in Runenheim; he managed to settle someplace nobody knew him, resolute to wander alone until his questions were answered. Needless to say, a companion who'd be willing to stay amid his solitude was the last thing he expected on this journey.

˚ · .─ TAGS: post-canon, developing friendships, romance, fluff, soft johan (whew), pining, domestic bliss, acts of service, johan acting like a male wife when he's just a friend lol, johan is soft but his unremorseful tendencies still show itself if you squint hard enough. ˚ · .─ WORDS: 5.8k

⭒ ⊹ ⭒ hapee holiday season, everyone! here's a christmas gift for my johan lovers:)

You come by Johan's crib after a long day of work. The door's open and there’s a faint albeit very comforting scent of smoke oozing out of the kitchen—your favorite soup. You knock softly (as if Johan didn't already sense your arrival with the clanks of your feet from the hallway; he had come to memorize your footsteps at this point). You find him by the stove, stirring something, movements deliberately slow.

“Smells good,” you say, voice light but sincere.

He doesn’t turn immediately, focus maintained on the pot. "It's just a simple dish. I thought you might be hungry."

He says it as if it's nothing. As if he just coincidentally thought of cooking your favorite dish. You smile, walking over to the table where a fresh and warm buttered loaf of bread awaits.

“You always know exactly what I need.”

Johan almost lets out a small, almost imperceptible chuckle, still not looking at you. "I'm learning."

The first time you met Johan, it was in the bookstore you both frequented, the perfect place to disappear for hours in the quiet maze of shelves. You got to know him by the murmurs first then speaking to him second. It was the constant whispers of the librarians and regulars about a blonde man who seemed to have nothing in his closet but turtlenecks and trousers, yet the awe in their voices spoke volumes—albeit in hushed tones—as it tipped from intimidation to admiration. “He’s beautiful, isn’t he?” one of them had said once, “like straight out of a painting.” “I know,” replied the companion, her voice barely above a whisper. “But doesn’t he feel… untouchable? I wouldn’t dare.” You’d followed their gazes and caught the sight of him for the very first time. Seated by the large window in the philosophy section, he was a picture of quiet solitude. His blonde hair caught the sunlight like spun gold, but it was his stillness that struck you most. Calm and composed—indeed he must be carved from stone. Since then, you’d noticed the way others seemed to orbit around him, drawn in by his presence but never daring to get too close. “I hope someone gets the gall to talk to him,” you overheard one of the librarians mutter once. “It’s a pity seeing him alone all the time when he spends most of his days here. I get he might prefer it that way, but still…” The words had stuck with you, stirring a strange kind of curiosity. Who was he, this man who seemed to command so much attention yet cold enough to remain distant? Oh, if only you knew what the future holds for you two, you wouldn't be so nervous about it.

“Why are you laughing?”

When you snap out of it, the stove’s already closed and Johan’s attention is full at you. Needless to say, you’re flushed, but you at least manage to smile and say, “Nothing. Just remembered something funny.”

“Great,” he blankly muses as he carries the food to the dining area. “At least we’ve got something to talk about over dinner.”

The first time you gathered the needed gall to approach him yourself was when you were wandering the aisles. He was in his usual spot with a small stack of books aside. His posture was relaxed, one hand cradling a book while the other resting on the arm of his chair. The whispers you had heard didn’t do him justice. He was striking, indeed, but there was something else, something intangible—a quiet volume in his presence hiding beneath the tranquility. It was the same volume that made you hesitate, and so you lingered by the shelves first. It wasn't until the librarian’s words echoed in your mind. “It’s a pity seeing him alone all the time…” Before you could talk yourself out of it, you stepped forward and blurted out (casually, or so you hoped), “What are you reading?” When his gaze met yours, you felt the air shift. His eyes were the clearest shade of blue you had ever seen, perhaps akin to a lake hiding depths you’ll never reach. Looking back at it, you might’ve been right during that moment, for there are still so many things you don’t know about Johan even now. Going back, Johan took his own time, as if weighing your question, and for a fleeting second, you think he might ignore you entirely. Fortunately, he tilted the book slightly so you could see the cover. “Being and Time,” he said, voice as quiet as the space around you. You’d expect his voice to be deep and manly, but his soft-spoken tone didn’t disappoint you either. In fact, you might’ve liked it more than you imagined. “Heidegger,” you say, mostly to fill the space. “That’s… a lot to unpack.” A faint smile touched his lips, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It is.” Then he closed the book in a manner so poised that it felt almost reverent. “Have you read it?” You shook your head. “Not yet. Philosophy’s always been a little intimidating. Too many questions, not enough answers. Not my thing.” For a brief moment, however, you thought it'd be nice to pretend you liked it just so you could talk to him longer. His smile lingered, softer this time. “That’s the point, isn’t it? The questions.” “And you like that?” you took a small step closer. “Questions without answers?” He leaned back slightly, considering you with a quiet curiosity that mirrored your own. “I think it’s better than answers without questions.” “Not really.” He raised his brows, and it didn’t take him too long to signal his hand on the spare chair in front of him, inviting you to his table so you could expound on your answer. You realized then that talking to Johan means having to deal with his words hanging often in the air, and even now you still find yourself caught between wanting to unravel his meaning and simply basking in the way he says it. Amid his tranquil is a tension, that invisible string pulled taut just before it breaks.

And, with that said…

“You don’t talk much about your past,” you start, voice almost shy. “I respect that. But I think I need to understand. Not for me, but for you. We’ve been friends for a while now.”

Johan doesn’t answer immediately. His fingers are wrapped around his cup, staring at the dark liquid inside as though it could offer him the answers. You’re right, all you know about him is that he’s named Johan. He’s past his thirties. He seems to like your company over dinner or while reading his daily dose of books. He likes spending the rest of his day in the library where you two first met after he’s done with his informal job of tutoring children around the neighborhood for a small price—because to quote one parent, “Mr. Johan is good at children! They love him,”—which almost made him chuckle sardonically at one point, only if he wasn’t with you at the time it was said.

He has always been careful with his words, but this time, he seems to hesitate a little longer than usual. Finally, he speaks, albeit his voice is quiet, almost a whisper.

“I’m not the person you think I am, you see…” he starts, and with that simple remark, he's able to deduce that he's not ready to talk about it at all. "...but the past is a weight deplorable people like me are not willing to carry.

Not that he ever would be ready to talk about it, with you no less. Johan had spent so much time hiding his true self for the past decade not any more thrilled to see the reactions of others who’d come to know who he really was, even more not willing to see your reaction once you learn all of it, too.

But needless to say what he just said is progress. This is the first time in a decade that he has admitted out loud that he is a deplorable being. And that couldn’t be truer for him because even now as you talk, Johan still has no plan to carry the burden of his sins the way his victims would want to.

He is, in fact, stuck in here, wandering aimlessly, still struggling to understand the need for it, still wanting to see the world the way those people had seen it. The vision doesn’t appear to him no matter how many books he reads, how many buoyant children he tutors, or how many happy parents he comes across.

Then why does he allow you to see him little by little if he fails to understand it all?

“What only matters for me right now is what’s here,” He gestures around, eyes briefly meeting yours. “This. You.”

You don’t know what to say, but the fire starts feeling a bit warmer after that remark.

On Johan’s end, he seems to have formed some kind of enlightenment with his remark, too.

Here, in his little crib, with you by his side, he’s slowly but finally allowing himself to be seen (in ways he can and knows how) for the monster that he is, and it's all thanks to your presence. His growing fondness for you has the potential of freeing him from his aimless wandering. And if this fondness, perchance, starts developing for other people as well (to your neighbors, to the kids he tutors, to the parents trusting him, to the librarians doing favors for his books), he believes he could finally start seeing the world the way those people have seen it.

“But I don’t need to know what you’ve done or whatever it is that makes you ‘deplorable’," you quote in the air. "I just want to know you."

And his questions will be answered. And, in time, Johan can finally face the weight of his sins with full understanding.

He looks at you then, his gaze steady and calm. “You already do.”

On the second, third, fourth, and perhaps even fifth time you two came across each other at the library, you had always pretended to see him coincidentally (feigning shock with a high-pitched “Oh hi there, Johan! Didn’t know you were there! It’s been a while! How are you?” that you prayed he didn’t find annoying) because, little did Johan know, your intrigue had been keeping you up at night. You frequented the library—with all sorts of books and topics diverse—to quench your curiosity about lots of things. But with this blonde man, how could your curiosity about him be quenched if not through this? At times, you thought he’d seen through your friendship scheme, but your inner demons brushed off the thought. After all, how could he tell that these moments were, in fact, not coincidental when you two were known by the librarians for frequently requesting library cards because the old ones had been too full to fill up? You glanced at the stack of books beside him and realized that they have a rather eclectic mix—existentialism, psychology, classic literature. “You have a theme going,” you say, nodding toward them. He followed your gaze. “These authors had… interesting ways of seeing the world. I like to understand how people think.” The faintest edge to his voice, however, made you wonder if he was speaking about others—or himself. “Do you ever agree with them?” “Not always, but understanding isn’t about agreement. It’s about perspective.” You nodded then, rendered into silence, unsure how to respond. There was a weight to his words that felt out of proportion to the simplicity of the conversation. But you didn’t mind. If anything, it makes you want to keep talking to him. “I’m sorry—” you said suddenly, realizing you had been standing there for far too long. “I didn’t mean to interrupt you. I just couldn’t help but notice. I’ll be off then! Have a great time.” When his gaze met yours again, there was a flicker of something softer. “It’s not an interruption,” and for the first time, his voice held a hint of warmth. “Sometimes, a conversation can say more than a book.” You smiled at that, feeling a strange, inexplicable comfort in his words. “Well, if you ever need someone to talk to about… questions without answers, I’m around!” He didn’t respond immediately, but his expression shifted, the faintest trace of curiosity mingling with something you can’t quite name. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said at last, and though his words are polite, there’s a quiet sincerity to them that makes you believe him.

After dinner, the quiet hum of the night wraps around you as you sit in Johan’s small, meticulously organized living space. The fire dwindles to a much softer glow, casting long shadows across the room before you notice Johan's gaze flickering between the firelight and you. His hands rest loosely on the arm of his chair, seemingly content in the silence. His stillness betrays a quiet attentiveness though—for he's always aware, always considering.

“You didn’t eat much,” says Johan, proving your musings. It's not an accusation either, just an old flat remark on his end.

You shake your head, smiling softly. “I wasn’t that hungry earlier.”

He gets up without a word, movements unhurried as he disappears into the small kitchen. You hear the faint clink of a ladle against a pot and the gentle hiss of steam as he pours something. Moments later, Johan returns with a steaming bowl of soup and a slice of bread.

“Eat."

You hesitate for a moment before picking up the spoon, letting the warmth of the soup seep into your hands. “You don’t have to take care of me like this, you know?”

“I know,” he says simply before meeting your eyes, the usual coolness softened by something you couldn’t quite decipher.

The soup is more than perfect, though—rich and comforting as always—and he knows you'd feel guilty if you don't eat it. “I don’t know how you do it,” you mumble in between, “but you always make things feel… manageable? I don’t know.”

He tilts his head slightly, as though considering your words. “Do expound."

"I’d rather not."

The chuckle he lets out with your statement has made it more difficult for you to hide your fluster, but much to your relief, Johan doesn't press you further.

The same chuckle wraps every crevice of your body with warmth. Oh, to have a friend taking care of you like this. His solitude can be dreary, but so utterly comfortable nonetheless.

Making Johan live next to you will always be one of the proudest decisions you ever made.

It was approximately three months after those fateful (intentional) encounters, that the library had become a haven for you both. Your quiet camaraderie grew into something akin to a routine. You’d share the same table, absorbed in your respective books, the soft rustle of pages turning creating a rhythm that felt comforting in its simplicity. Occasionally, you’d catch Johan glancing at you, and there would go his unreadable gaze for a moment before returning to his book. That time, you were engrossed in a novel while Johan seemed to be studying Hegel. The silence between you was companionable, feeling like you had carved out your own little world amidst the whispers and movements of the library. But the spell broke when Johan spoke, “May I ask you a favor?” Not that it annoyed you. It actually did quite the opposite. Johan, this guy, asking you a favor? He rarely initiated conversations in the first place! Still, you tried to be calm about it, settling down your book with poise and all. “Of course, what is it?” “I’ve been considering moving to a quieter neighborhood. The place I currently reside in… lacks a certain tranquility.” You tilted your head, “Quieter, huh? You don’t strike me as someone who’d tolerate noise for long.” He gave you a faint but genuine smile. “It’s not the noise itself. It’s the... atmosphere. I’d prefer somewhere where the days feel less hurried.” “I might know a few places. My neighborhood is pretty quiet, actually. There’s a lot of greenery, and the people keep to themselves. It’s the kind of place where you can choose to go weeks without bumping into your neighbors or talk to them to your heart's content.” His eyes lit up very slightly, but that rare glimmer of interest in his face made your heart skip. “That sounds ideal. Do you happen to know of any available apartments?” You hesitated, mind racing. The apartment beside yours had been vacant for months. It wasn’t anything fancy, but it was cozy, with a small balcony overlooking the courtyard. The thought of Johan living next door—of sharing more than just library visits—has kept your tongue tied for a while. “A-actually… there’s a place right next to mine.” But hey, at least you were still trying to sound casual about it. “It’s quiet, and the landlord’s a nice guy. I can give you the details if you’re interested.” “That’s very kind of you. If it’s not too much trouble, I’d appreciate it.” “Not at all!” you replied quickly, perhaps too eagerly. “I can show you the place after we leave here if you’d like.” “That would be helpful. Thank you.”

And now, as you go back to the present, you wonder why you’ve been feeling a bit too nostalgic lately, though it doesn’t stay unanswered when you glance at Johan’s calendar.

This day, last year, was the time you started sneaking on his spot at the library to initiate a talk. Reflecting on it now, your stupid tactics will never be something you’ll regret. He’s one of your closest friends now.

Johan’s friendship isn’t one for grand gestures, but it becomes clear that his acts of care are his way of expressing what he’d prefer not to put into words. A favorite book you’d mentioned in passing has appeared on his coffee table. A small vase of daffodils now sits on the windowsill the next time you visit. His dinners are always for two, even when you show up unannounced—and if, for instance, you try to ask him about it, he’d just casually shrug and say, “I just ended up cooking a lot. Eat it while it’s hot.” More, and more, and more. It’s as though Johan is slowly turning his house into your own, too.

The same goes for the stuff you accidentally leave at his place. Your scarf? You’d see it neatly folded on the chair by the door the day after. Feeling a bit too cold during the evening? There, he has a blanket ready before you could even ask.

One night, you arrive at his house later than usual, steps heavy from a particularly grueling day. The door's unlocked, as it has been when he expects you.

“Johan?” you call, shrugging off your coat.

“In here,” comes his voice from the kitchen.

You follow the sound and find him standing by the stove while stirring a pot. The dim light casts a warm hue over him; his sharp features soften along the way.

He glances at you briefly, offering a small nod. “Long day?”

You lean against the doorway with a tired sigh. “You have no idea.”

Without a word, he turns off the stove and begins ladling soup into a bowl. He sets it on the table, gesturing for you to sit.

He sits across from you, his own bowl untouched. Then there goes his gaze, lingering on you, unintrusive but steady, as though he's reading every line of exhaustion on your face and filing it away.

“You should take a break."

You smiled wryly. “From what? Life?”

“From pushing yourself too hard."

His words hang in the air, simple yet profound. You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. Johan’s protection of your peace became a natural extension of his care for you. He never pushed you to do anything for him. He never asked for more than you were willing to give. But he shows up. Every day. Quietly. Steadily.

The warmth of this dinner where Johan casually asks about your day, muses about his, shares the books he had read, makes you chuckle at the tomfooleries of children he has tutored, and more has been consuming you. It doesn’t take long until you finally work up the courage to ask a question that’s been lingering in your mind for quite some time.

“Why do you do all this for me?”

Johan looks at you, his expression unreadable. For a moment, you think he might deflect, as he so often does when conversations edge too close to vulnerability. But then, he answers, his voice quieter than usual.

“Because you stay.”

The simplicity of his words struck you. Johan, who has always been careful, always guarded, is telling you more than you realize.

“I stay because I want to."

His gaze doesn’t waver, but you notice the subtle shift in his expression—a faint, almost imperceptible relaxation.

“I know,” he replies, and for the first time, there's a hint of something like certainty in his voice.

With the winter deepening and the night growing colder, the warmth inside Johan’s home never falters. The conversations drift to lighter topics—books you’d read, places you wanted to visit, small dreams you’d never share with anyone else. Johan listens intently, his focus unwavering.

“I think you’d like the mountains,” he says at one point. “Quiet. Peaceful.”

You smile. “You make it sound perfect.”

“Well, it could be.” His gaze lingers on you for a moment longer than usual. “Don't you think so?”

There's something in his tone—something unspoken, undecipherable, and yet undeniable. You realize something that made your heart ache and swell all at once: Johan isn’t just taking care of you. He's allowing you to take care of him, too, in the only way he knows how: by letting you stay. And, just like what happened just now, his likes and preferences will slip out of his mouth without him noticing from time to time, albeit much of them still projected as something you might like instead.

It's not easy for him, you know. But every bowl of soup, every blanket, every quiet moment shared in his little home is his way of saying what he couldn’t bring himself to say outright.

And for now, that is enough.

Johan’s care remains consistent, though you begin to notice small changes in his interactions with you.

His gaze often lingers a second longer, softening in ways you don’t know how to interpret—maybe it even softens a little too much especially when you’re telling him about your days. And his voice—oh, his voice that has bewitched you since the first time you had heard it in the library—recently it lowers in an almost tender way, his tone more perceptive of what you need even before you realize it yourself.

Then there goes the gestures. An extra blanket he drapes over your shoulders on particularly cold nights. A cup of tea that spawns on the table whenever he notices your mood falter. A brush of his hand against yours when he steadies you under the weight of too many things. All these moments feel small, insignificant even, and yet they’ve become harder and harder to ignore.

Maybe it’s a you problem (even though you tried your very best to stop the thoughts, to be fair) but oftentimes you can’t help but ask, has he always been this way?

No way Johan could like you, that much you know. But if we’re talking about you and the things under your sphere, the feelings that you can control, what would you answer if he came one day to ask if you still like him as a friend, or if it has progressed to something more dangerous—what would you tell him, then?

Fortunately, the Christmas season has brought a whirlwind of gatherings—giving you the space that you need from your colleagues. And for the night of Christmas itself, you’ve chosen to attend one with your friends instead of having dinner with him. It’s not that you don’t enjoy his company; you do, perhaps a bit too much, even, but you thought a change of pace would help clear your head.

You never intended to get yourself wasted, but the way you kept thinking of him during the gathering, spacing out, wondering if he managed to cook his own dinner or if he ‘accidentally’ made it again for two. At one point you even considered excusing yourself early just so you could go back home—to him. Oh god, you’re doomed indeed.

Hours later, the cold night air hits you as you stumble back to your apartment, the warmth of good food and too much wine still buzzing in your veins. While fumbling with your keys in the dark, you notice a figure standing at the door next to yours.

Johan.

His posture is impeccable as always, but his face is unreadable, bathed in the soft light of the hallway lamp. His sharp eyes meet yours, flickering briefly to the keys trembling in your hand.

“How long have you been—”

“You’re late.” His voice is rather calm, but there’s a note of something you can’t quite place.

“Merry Christmas, Johan,” you smile softly, the silly intoxicated mind finding his concern oddly amusing. “But oh, wait! Sorry, you told me you don’t celebrate holidays, right? Silly me,” you sway slightly. “Still, I bought you a gift, but I—hic—I left it inside. Maybe you can accompany me inside so y—you could, uh… what was I gonna say again?”

“You’re drunk,” he states the obvious with eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

“No, I’m, hehe, not.” Though your keys clatter to the floor as if your body is mocking your denial. “Shit. I don’t have a spare key.” Disappointment so palpable as if the keys falling to the floor renders it unusable.

Johan sighs, bending to retrieve them with effortless grace. Without another word, he steps forward, unlocks your door, and gently guides you inside.

The warmth of your apartment envelops you, and you’re too tipsy to protest as Johan helps you to the couch. He disappears momentarily and returns with a glass of water.

“Drink.” His tone leaves no room for argument. You comply, sipping obediently, though you can’t help but watch him as he hovers nearby, his movements ever careful and deliberate, as though he’s weighing every action. When you finish, he takes the glass from your hands and sets it aside. “You should lie down.”

You nod. But then, Johan doesn’t accompany you to your room. He instead readies himself to leave. Why would he leave? He turns off the lights, assuming you are indeed on your way to your bedroom, and then bids you good night.

No.

The room spins slightly as you try to reach out to him. You fail miserably though, but Johan’s fast reaction steadies you immediately. He picks you up by the arm before you can even fall, “You okay?”

“Don’t leave.”

Johan squints his eyes, his thoughts lurking towards something. “Did something happen at the gathering? Did someone perhaps—”

“No, I—” you stammer because Johan’s proximity seems to have sobered you up. He gently sits your flailing body on the floor. He’s crouching, though his hold on your shoulder didn’t cease. “I just…I just realized something.”

He hums, waiting for you ever so gently to respond.

The same gentleness that pushes you off the edge.

“I like you.”

But the lights are off. You wouldn’t see Johan’s reaction.

The silence stretches painfully, and it doesn’t take long until you feel a pang of regret. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disappoint you.”

For a moment, he doesn’t respond, and you think he might leave. But then he speaks, his voice quiet, almost strained. “You didn’t disappoint me,” he says finally, and you find it strange how that simple—perhaps even empty—clarification plucked out a thorn in your vein. “It’s just that you don’t know what you’re saying right now.”

“I do,” you insist despite the haze in your mind. Your eyes scan everything else but his face above, trying to articulate it in a way he’d believe. “I’ve liked you since we met at the library. I pretended to come across you accidentally just so we could have something to talk about. I—I used to sit there for hours just hoping we’d talk. It kept me awake at night… thinking about you, about the way you look when you read. I thought I was just like that because I wanted to be your friend so bad, but I—” you exhale, ragged, exhausted. “I don’t think it passed even when we became close. There go your habits, and how you’re so kind to me… I can’t deny it any further and pretend I just want to be friends.”

Your words trail off, and the silence thereafter has felt suffocating. Johan remains unmoved, his posture rigid, and you can’t help but wonder what’s going on inside his head.

“Let's talk about it tomorrow…” Johan starts. “When you’re sober.”

“Okay…”

And yet, no one dares to move.

You finally look up after five minutes or so, and there you catch Johan’s gaze lingering on you—not piercing, but steady, contemplative. His hands rest loosely on your shoulders, yet you notice the slight tension in his fingers, the faint clench, and release as though he’s holding something back.

“You’ve been quiet,” you finally say, voice softer than intended, eyes up at him and nothing else.

“So have you,” he replies, and though his tone is even, there’s something in the way his eyes flicker to yours, then away, as if he’s caught in something too raw to name.

There goes the silence again, not because it’s awkward but because something has changed. Your body can sense it—the urge to move just a bit higher so you can reach his face, perhaps cup his cheeks just a bit, and maybe a small kiss on the forehead too…? Your heart flutters like a bird aching to be let out. Your feelings for Johan have been climbing higher than you ever intended tonight. And yet, the way he looks at you now, guarded but searching, makes you wonder if he feels even a fraction of what you do.

“Johan,” you say, voice trembling, “I…”

He looks at you again but in a manner quite different from how he usually reacts whenever you call his name. Still, you don’t let it scare you off.

“I don’t care if you can’t carry the weight of your past,” you say, the words spilling out like water from a dam. “I just want to be with you, and… maybe—”

It’s just that you don’t get to finish.

Johan leans in fast; you feel the time pacing a bit quicker, perhaps so it could cater to your shock. His hold on your cheek is gentle and controlled, but the way he meets your lips fervently speaks the urgency of it, as though he’s been waiting for this moment longer than he’s willing to admit.

And so when you do more than push him away, your hand tentatively reaching for his arm instead—he deepens it further, his restraint crumbling just enough to let you feel his response to your confession. After all, what Johan lacks in words he always compensates in action. His care has always been consistent and predictable in its subtlety and restraint, thus making his lack of control and patience right now unusual and out of character. But even then, his lips have a careful precision that still feels so him.

Oftentimes you'd wonder how Johan's skin would feel against yours. He barely looks alive so you thought he'd feel cold. But oh how wrong you are. His hand languidly slides to your back, and then he abruptly pulls your body towards him. It's warm, perhaps too much that it overwhelms you. His heart is beating fast, the needed confirmation that this affects him just the same.

Johan’s movements feel as though he himself is unfamiliar with this feeling—as if this is the first time he's had this reaction. Your mind then races with questions. Does this mean he feels the same? Or is this meant to keep me guessing? What happens after this?

The thoughts melt away when he pulls away, eyes lidded, lips puffed. “Johan, what—”

Only to kiss you harder again. Perhaps he did because he felt your attention drifting away from him. It’s as if to say you wanted this to happen, so relish it without thinking about anything else. This sudden assertion after keeping himself subtle is doing something in your brain.

Johan seems to take pleasure in your reactions, too—the way you pant as your lips pressed together, your hands clinging onto the waves of his hair, and when you slip out a little moan because his hands slide into your shirt to feel the heat of your back, you feel him smile. Then he becomes more passionate. More desperate. More longing. And in this moment, Johan feels more reachable, more understandable.

Perhaps his lack of usual poise also says a lot about how he’s still doing everything in his power right now to hold back, and he’s asking you to cooperate.

Johan pulls back for good in a rather slow, deliberate manner, just in sync with your panting breaths. His forehead brushes lightly against yours as he stays close.

“I told you, hadn’t I?” His eyes, now open but still lidded, seemingly search your face for something—fear? Regret? Understanding? What is it? “We’ll talk about it tomorrow when you’re sober. You’re not listening to me.”

You open your mouth to say something but his fingertip presses gently to your lips.

“Don’t,” he whispers, his voice softer, reminding you of his restraint. “Not yet.”

But I just want to say that I liked it and I want more.

“Please,” he adds as if he just read your mind.

What a sight to see.

The way his face looks right now makes you feel his inner turmoil. The weight of his past he claims a deplorable being like him will not be willing to carry is making him more reluctant to let himself have this—to have you.

He needs time, doesn’t he? And so you finally nod, temporarily ceasing the itch to have your questions answered.

Johan sighs in relief, sounding genuinely tired as if this night has taken all of his energy and willpower. He doesn’t forget to usher you up, and when he realizes you’re not wobbling that much anymore, he nods, taps your cheeks, kisses your forehead, and repeats his good night.

As soon as the door closes, you slowly walk to your room. Eyes wide, fingertips touching your sore lips, and you plopped on the bed unceremoniously.

For now, in the quiet of your apartment, with the taste of him still lingering on your lips, at least you can now assure yourself that for the first time since you’ve known each other, he finally let himself be vulnerable, even for a moment. And that is more than you ever could have asked for.

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tricksh0t · 1 day ago

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★ Rock and Salt

☾ theon greyjoy x top m reader

cw: mentions of r*pe but no actual r*pe because this is the Ironborn we're talking about, corruption, very subby theon, cunt as a name for asshole, spanking, begging, mean reader, edging (once), cheating

"My love." A man takes Yara's hand, kneeling down before her to kiss her knuckles, a suspiciously courtlike gesture.

"Betrothed." Yara returns a smile.

Theon eyes the union suspiciously. Yara's smile is too sweet, and the gesture as well. His father moves to make an introduction, bitter as his voice is, "Theon, this is your sister's promised. You'd do well to–"

To be like him or be nice to him, Theon doesn't know, for he doesn't care to listen. Over the table, the two of you lock eyes.

It is said that Iron men are so thirsty for cunts that they pillage and rape just to gain another salt-wife. Not even that, it's a well known fact that they pillage and rape just for the chance of having a new cunt.

You know well, though, that the Ironborn wouldn't be nearly as much a threat if they learned to have a taste for their brothers-in-arms, and that is the tamest thing about you.

Theon Greyjoy, below you, is someone you're about to share your knowledge with; and by the looks of it, he's already taken by the idea.

His eyes are rolled back, oh, what a sight.

Where you don't rape, you do pillage, and alongside that, you corrupt. You're still Ironborn, and this right here is your Prince of the Iron Islands, almost the heir, if it weren't for his disappearance and also for your betrothed.

He was fun to break in, and really, it wasn't much of a fight. You've broken in larger men. Only goes to show just how Stark Theon's blood is.

Although, that only makes him much more fun to fuck.

You pull out, to which Theon whines, only to spit on his hole and watch it gape. "You've such a pretty cunt, Theon."

"'S not a cunt." Theon slurs, and despite that, he spreads his legs wider just to make it easier for you to play with him.

You click your tongue, turning the prince over and splaying him over your lap. Theon gasps, and the breath turns into a wail as you splay your hand over his asscheek in a spank. "It's a pretty cunt."

"Yes." Theon concedes breathlessly. He's not a very persistent, is he? So pliable, but perhaps only for you.

You shove two fingers roughly inside him and he moans. You wonder how prettily he'd groan if they scissored him dry, but alas, he was already stretched and oiled. His cunt almost gurgled and leaked with how much oil and spit he'd begged you to use. Soon enough, he'll learn how to take you the way he was born.

Your fingers curl into his prostate, and Theon moans so loud it's almost a screech. "Say, prince," it's mocking, on your tongue, "how fares this to cunts?"

"What?" Theon asks weakly, he pushes his palms against the bed, but you push the top of his back down, turning his intentions half-accomplished as his ass is pushed up into your fingers. He chokes back a moan.

"Cunt or cock?"

You hadn't expected any less from him as he replies, "Cunt."

You click your tongue anyway, as if he's truly upset you. The flinch you get in return is proof enough that he's fallen for it.

"Yours–" He says, before you can speak, "yours is better than any cunt."

His pitiful attempt at pleasing you is only rewarded with a spank from you, followed swiftly by a caress to his prostate. Pleasure and pain mingle. "My what?"

"Your cock." He says in a gasp.

"Yeah? Tell me why."

"It's–your cock, it's big." It's not enough of a compliment, evidently, as you deliver another swift spank. "It's good! Fuck, you know how to use it. It's thick, and fuck, I love the vein."

You haven't, thankfully for him, made him suck nor jerk you off, so then that only leaves the shape of it in his ass as a method to know the feeling of the prominent vein on your dick. He's got a tactile cunt. How hilarious.

You can't help but laugh.

Theon whimpers. Between the laugh and your still fingers, you don't know why he whimpers until he whines about it, "Why are you laughing?"

A third finger makes him lose that thought. "Don't worry about it."

"'Bout what?"

"Yeah, that's right." You shake your head, working your fingers in and out of him. He's already loose, you've already stretched and fucked him open, but you can't get over the sight of your fingers getting sucked into his virgin cunt.

Theon, on the other hand, knows better things. Really, he'd just described it to you. "Please."

"No," Another spank, less harsh. You can't blame him for desiring your cock. "no, Theon, that can wait."

He goes down without a fight, chest slumping into the bed while his ass only rises higher. It's rather pathetic, really, that he doesn't fight for it; though it only goes to show how much you've tamed the spoiled, in your perception, Prince of Winterfell. "Not going to fight for it, Theon?"

Theon swallows back a whimper, shaking his head against the sheets. "You're only goin' ta hit me."

"Aw," You coo, tracing your free hand down his spine. You can almost see the way his body racks with shivers. "tell you what, prince. You beg well, and I'll let you cum."

You can see him hesitate. His legs shift, and his fingers let go of the sheets at the sides of his head.

"Please." He finally says, but it's too short and not sweet.

He earns a spank, and that has his next words gushing out like blood spill. "Please, I wanna finish so bad, please, let me cum."

You never told him how you'd get him off. Your hand wraps around his dick, and though it's not what he wanted, who's he to complain?

Your fingers and hand work him up in tandem, but just once isn't enough. "Keep talking."

"I want it so bad." Theon's quick to beg, practically wails. "Please, please, please."

He's cute when he begs. You imagine tears might be welling up in his eyes right now.

You work him up as he blabbers continuously. The fingers in his cunt curl and scissor, while the hand around his cock jerks him off; both are steady, consistent. When your hand pauses, your fingers continue. It's an assault of pleasure, never giving him pause and never working him down, only up to his peak.

He's ready, legs trembling, knuckles white as they grip the sheets. He really, really, wants to cum.

"Please."

Aside, or perhaps complimenting, his begging, his moans are pretty too. They grow louder. Perhaps if the Iron Castle wasn't segmented or instead one whole, you'd be found out.

What a sight, hm? The King Consort-to-be and the long lost Prince, all in the same day they're introduced.

Perhaps you'd have sought him out and brought him home yourself if you knew just how pliable he was.

His next moan is prolonged, his hips instinctively bucking into your hand. He's close.

But you're cruel.

"Fuck! Fuck." Theon hisses, pants, as you deny him, pulling both your hands away from him. "No, no, no, please."

"You're going to have to do a whole lot more than that, prince."

In his mind, he asked nicely. He deserved it. Of course he wanted nothing more than to cum—despite his Stark upbringing, he's Ironborn through and through. That's something you learned easily: Ironmen are ruled by their cocks. "Please, I'll do anything."

"What do you have to offer?" You reply with a scoff. As far as you know, you're the first man who's graced Theon Greyjoy with his cock. "You don't know how to ride nor how to suck cock. You've nothing but your blood in the Iron Islands. You have nothing to offer."

"I'll be yours." Theon presses his forehead against the mattress, you can see it. He's rearing back the ugly head of his pride. "This...cunt will be yours."

"Are you supposing I take you for a salt husband, Theon?"

Theon turns his head, laying the side of it on the mattress to look at you. "Yes."

The two of you lock eyes.

𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘴𝘩0𝘵 ⛥ is this a bad time to admit i wanna fuck the onion knight?

#theon greyjoy x male reader #theon x male reader #theon greyjoy x reader #theon greyjoy x top male reader #theon x reader #theon x top male reader #x top male reader #x dom male reader #got x reader #got x male reader #got x top male reader #tricksh0t #backsh0t

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holylulusworld · 3 days ago

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Bad Santa (2) – Two brothers

Summary: You’re an evildoer. This year, Santa is going to punish you. His evil twin brother has other plans.

Pairing: Santa!Ari Levinson x Naughty Lister!Reader x JackFrost!Steve Rogers

Warnings: naughty lister reader, mentions of being naughty/evil, implied attended cheating, punishment, kinda kidnapping, strict Ari, mentions of ice play/mild ice play (barely)

A/N: For my story, Jack Frost is Santa’s twin brother.

Bad Santa Masterlist

Catch up here: Bad Santa (1) – Level 6 Naughty Lister

“You’ll sit in that corner, thinking about all the sins you committed to reach the top of my list. When I come back, we will talk about a few rules,” Santa (Ari) growls at you.

You’re rather unimpressed by his demands. Crossing your arms over your chest, you push your tits up. Santa’s (Ari) eyes drop to your cleavage for a second. It happened so fast you’re not sure if he did look at your tits.

“I won’t tell you again, Naughty Lister!” He yells now. His voice booms through the room, making it shake. You only giggle.

Men yelled at you before. Mostly after you demanded more than their dick.

“Aw, that’s cute,” you snicker. “Do you honestly believe I buy this whole Santa shit? I bet that uptight bitch hired you to keep me away from her husband’s dick.” You snort at his angry expression. “Now, let me go. I lost interest in his dick. I get bored easily if I must put so much effort into getting dick.”

“Y/N Y/L/N!” He growls and grabs your upper arms. Santa (Ari) shakes you, only to earn another giggle.

“Do it harder, Santa,” you purr and lick your lips. “You know, this Santa outfit slowly gets me wet. If you put me over your lap, I’m all yours. Maybe you even got a nice thick rod for me.”

“What is wrong with you? Can you not think about dick for a moment? I am Santa Claus, St. Nicholas, the one and only, not some random man you can seduce! No one will fall for your trap here!”

“No one.” You smirk when his brother sneaks into the room. Jack Frost slash Steve looks a little more laid-back. “What a pity.” You fake a deep sigh. “I love me some good dick. Especially when it comes with a handsome face.”

“I—” Santa (Ari) groans and pushes you away from him. He starts pacing the room while thinking about a way to bring you back on the nice list. A naughty lister like you cannot defeat his faith in people or his festive mood.

“Allow me, brother,” Jack (Steve) says as his eyes roam your body hungrily. He’s bored most of the year. Santa rarely brings naughty listers here. He still prefers to punish the kids by not bringing them gifts. You, on the other hand, are a naughty woman ready to ride his aching cock. “You know, I’m a master at taming brats and naughty listers.”

Santa (Ari) clears his throat. You cannot know his brother can barely keep his needs under control. “No,” he simply says. “This one is on top of the naughty list. I don’t think you’ll be able to handle her.”

“I think he’ll handle me very well.” You nod at yourself as your eyes drift toward Jack Frost (Steve), Santa’s naughty brother. From the moment you met him, you knew he was a naughty one. “Those big hands are perfect for spanking my ass if I refuse to listen to him.”

Jack (Steve) can’t wait to get you alone. He only needs to trick his brother, the man who always knows what people think. “Brother, I’ve got this. Let me handle her.”

“I said no!” Santa (Ari) yells again. The walls shake, and you wonder if your boss’s wife paid extra for the special effects.

You smirk. If she keeps you away from her husband’s dick, you’ll take two for the price of one.

“How about you both try to handle me? Oh, Santa Baby,” you purr Santa’s name, “I’ll be an awful good girl if you give me that grand-prime dick you’re hiding in your pants.”

“Jack (Steve)!” Santa says, “Get her out of here before I lose control and throw her into the deepest and darkest hole I can find. I’m done with naughty listers for today.” At that, Santa (Ari) storms out of the room, leaving you to his brother.

“Damn, he’s a very good actor,” you hum to yourself. “I wonder how much that bitch paid you two. Did I see you somewhere else? Do you do commercials and stuff?” You wonder aloud while Jack (Steve) watches you with amusement. “What?”

“Doll, you still didn’t get that this is real, huh? My brother is Santa Claus, and I’m Jack Frost. We’re not fantasy figures! You’re not in Kansas anymore, that’s for sure. My brother won’t let you leave the North Pole as long as you act like a cat in heat yearning for dick.”

You wrinkle your forehead. Can this be real, or did you hit your head?

No, Santa Claus cannot be real. You didn’t believe in him since you were a kid. He let you down more than once.

“You’re slowly starting to believe us,” Jack (Steve) muses. “Why the sad face all of a sudden?” He searches your face. Unlike his brother, Jack cannot read your mind, or rather what’s in your heart.

Shaking your head, you try to push the disappointment and hurting away. Every Christmas, you have been waiting patiently for Santa to bring you a gift. The one you’ve been praying for all year.

It didn’t matter that you had been an awful good girl. He never came.

“She’s in the room for naughty listers now. I don’t know what happened, but she suddenly got sad and refused to talk to me,” Jack (Steve) tells his brother about the latest development.

“Why?” Santa (Ari) asks.

“Why what?” Jack (Steve) replies.

“Why did she get sad all of a sudden?” Searching his brother’s face, Santa (Ari) frowns. “Jack (Steve), what did you do? I want you to tell me exactly what you said to her.”

“I told her that this wasn’t a trick or a show. She had to understand that you’re Santa Claus, the real one. I told her that you won’t let her leave the North Pole if she doesn’t regret her sins.”

“Did she believe you?” Santa (Ari) asks. He watches his brother, furrowing his brows. “No lies, Jack (Steve). You know that I know if you are lying to me.”

“Brother,” Jack (Steve) sighs, “I don’t know if she believed me. I had the feeling she remembered something from her past and got sad. You’re the expert when it comes to reading minds and feelings. Do not ask me to do your job! Maybe you fucked shit up in the past!”

Jack (Steve) storms out of the room. He’s just done having the role of the bad guy all the damn time.

“What will you do if I’m a bad girl?” Back to your usual cocky self, you watch Jack (Steve) return. “Spank me? Bite me? Lick me?”

“I’ll freeze you,” he replies and taps your nose. You shudder because the tip of his finger turned blue. It’s ice-cold, but you don’t mind. “Any part of you.”

“How about you put that ice-cold finger to better use?” You lick your lips. “Did you ever use it for ice play?” You chuckle at his shocked expression. “Aw, don’t tell me Santa’s brother never got his finger inside a warm and wet pussy.”

Grabbing his hand, you guide it between your legs, pressing his cold finger against your panties. “You better not let Santa know.” His hand turns cold, and you whimper. The new sensation already has you on the edge.

“Say, are you like Elsa and can create a castle out of ice and a nice dress?” you purr and roll your hips. “Do you love to sing Let It Go, too?”

Part 3

Tags in reblog.

#ari levinson #steve rogers #santa au #Bad Santa (2) – Two brothers #steve rogers x reader #ari levinson x reader #ari levinson x you #steve rogers x you #x reader

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dipperscavern · 2 days ago

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okay so to start, hades being the god of the underworld feels very parallel to cregan being lord of winterfell. i loooove winterfell, but its predominant feature is the snow. snow and winter both have a pretty prevalent media connection with death — which we actually see in asoiaf with how heavily the starks are connected to death (i.e. every stark's storyline being associated with death, either their own or someone elses.) so, if snow/winter mean death then winterfell becomes the underworld! hades governs all aspects of death and afterlife, like cregan 'warden of the north' governs all of the north. hades two symbols are his weapon, the bident, and cerberus; cregan is pretty heavily associated with his weapon, ice, and the symbol of the direwolf for house stark. also, hades is described as being 'not sevil but stern and impartial', which is similar to cregan's description as 'stern and formidable.' (i'm so locked into exams i almost cited my sources for this)

but as far as a hades and persephone thing goes, being cregan's silly little southern wife :3 trying to grow pretty flowers in the desolate frozen courtyard of winterfell. i don't think cregan would abduct his lady, but maybe! maybe he has some weird kind of twisted moral reason! uhh but i just want to be his cutie sunshine wife to contrast his brooding nature. i need to bear his children WHO SAID THAT

also, in my research i came across this picture which is very cregan i fear (but maybe not. maybe its 2010s fairy goth cringe) https://pin.it/2O69SMtru

- chiron anon 🏛️ (i've never watched or read percy jackson, fun fact :3)

you explained everything so well omfg it makes so much sense?!?! ALSO YOU ALMSOT CITING YOUR SOURCES LMAOOO IM GONE U NEED A BREAK

“snow and winter both have a pretty prevalent media connection with death - which we actually see in asoiaf with how heavily the starks are connected to death (i.e. every stark's storyline being associated with death, either their own or someone elses.)”

this is so… oh my god. allow me to nerd out a bit but i can also see the death connection being the others !! the starks have guarded the wall, made of ice (ice & snow go together like mac and cheese), for hundreds of years; have guarded it from death. and, in the asioaf universe, winter a lot of the time is heavily associated with & does mean certain death for those who aren’t prepared for it.

i know we’re talking about hotd rn but on the subject of the starks, their storylines are SO connected to death, ur so right!!! the first scene in the books that we read of the starks is literally them coming across a dead direwolf mother (impaled by. a stag antler) (ok foreshadowing). jon serving in the nights watch and his connection with the others — robb having stories told about him and his killer direwolf, then later dying himself — lady stoneheart — arya calling herself the ghost of harrenhal & her braavos storyline — theon (figuratively) dying and becoming reek, becoming the ghost of winterfell; i could go on but oh god i’ve already said so much forgive me

being cregans silly southern wife :3 you’re maybe even tyrell, coming from highgarden — you love flowers. and uh…. you took my mind to a dark place there with twisted morals cregan. i shan’t. (i also need to give him children) (who said that) (breed me) (WHO IS SPEAKING)

#dippys asks #chiron anon 🏛️#stop i feel so stupid naming u after percy jackson MMFOA #u being actually educated in greek mythology IM SO SORRH I NAMEDBU AFTER A CHILDRENS BOOK #and i’m so sorry for my long ass response #u got me talking about the starks #FAWK #asioaf #house stark #house of the dragon #cregan stark

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cels-not-so-secret-love-affair · 16 hours ago

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sunday morning (the potter family)

a/n: playing about with some muggle au potter family and friends. i’ve been trying to get ahold of the way i like to write harry - i could probably do with rereading the books to aid me in that endeavour, but that’s not exactly a commitment i have time for. anyways! just a tiny bit of happy today. key word for this one was comfortable.

‘I’m home!’, Harry calls, pulling off his windbreaker and shutting the door behind him. It’s colder now it’s autumn, and he’s glad of the wave of warmth that hits him on the way in.

‘Alright, Haz?’ comes a voice from inside the kitchen. Harry grins when he recognises it - Sirius is over. He kicks off his trainers haphazardly and heads down the hall to the open door where light is pouring out into the rest of the house.

‘Hi, sweetheart,’ smiles Lily as he enters. She’s sat at the kitchen table with her laptop and a mug of coffee, long dark red hair swept back into a tidy ponytail. Her eyes flick to the bottoms of his jeans as he passes her and she sighs wearily. ‘Really, Harry? Why have you got mud all over you this time then?’

‘Footie,’ he says simply, rifling through the cupboard in search of cereal.

‘That’s my boy,’ James laughs and pats him on the shoulder as he sidles past him. Harry glows proudly like he always does whenever he gets compared to his dad and goes to fetch a bowl.

‘Good kick-about?’ Sirius inquires from his chair by the fire.

‘Yeah, it was nice. Ron totally stacked it though, his mum’s going to murder him. Did Remus not come?’

‘Nah, Moons is resting at the minute. He sends his love though.’

‘I know.’ Harry sets his cereal down and pulls up a chair at the table. He’s halfway through practically inhaling it in that ever-so-teenage-boy manner when he frowns, drops his spoon and looks back up.

‘By the way, Mum, I forgot. Its parent’s evening on Thursday. I’m supposed to book the meetings with my teachers for you and Dad?’

‘Yes, actually, I saw the email. Jamie, could you come sit down for just a few seconds?’ James, perpetually enthused, bounds over to kiss his wife on the head and sits down to her left.

‘I absolutely can, my love. Who’ve we got to see, Harry?’

‘I mean, it’s up to you. Miss was really keen on seeing you last lesson in Art but she was sort of like that with everyone, so I reckon she’s just lonely,’ he shrugs, shovelling another heap of cereal into his mouth. Lily shoots him a look, but the corners of her mouth tip up in an amused sort of way and her eyes don’t really carry much heat.

‘Right, okay, we may as well be kind and book in for Art then,’ she decides, rather businesslike. ‘And then I’ll want to see all your core subject teachers, and probably your Media teacher too.’

‘Mum, there is literally no way I’m letting you see my Chemistry teacher after what happened last time.’

‘Oh, don’t be silly, he was just being a coward. If he doesn’t want to face the consequences of his own actions he should stop bullying children and start teaching them instead.’

‘Who was this one again, Lils?’ Sirius asks lazily, eyes still trained on his newspaper.

‘Chemistry? We’ve told you about him, he’s that awful, pathetic man who keeps giving poor Neville grief.’

‘Ah, I know the bloke. Snape, isn’t it? Greasy old git.’ Harry stifles a laugh.

‘Really though, it’ll only make him more evil if you yell at him again, he’ll get all embarrassed and tetchy. Can’t you just see History then instead?’

‘It is physically impossible to sit through a single conversation with that man without falling asleep,’ James declares, apparently having flashbacks to the last time he sat through one of Binns’ lectures and looking remarkably as if he’d like to stab his own eyes out with a fork. ‘Besides, I want to talk to this Snape man as well. Its two to one, son - you’re overruled.’ He imitates bringing down a gavel.

‘Not my bloody fault I’m an only child’, complains Harry, fiddling with a stray thread at the end of his sleeve.

‘That’s that sorted then.’ says Lily. ‘We’ll do Art, Media, English, Maths and the sciences - and yes, that’s including Chemistry.’

‘Okay, whatever. I’m going to go up now if that’s okay.’

‘Alright. I’ll call you for tea in about half an hour or so, yeah?’

‘Thanks. Are you staying to eat with us, Pads?’ Harry asks Sirius, taking his empty bowl and spoon across to the sink.

‘No, I’m having dinner with Remus, its only a quick visit today really. But another time, eh? Once Moony’s out of bed we’ll come together and stay a bit longer.’

‘That’d be cool.’

‘Oh, and Haz?’ Sirius calls as Harry heads towards the doorway.

‘Yeah?’

‘Fifteen across, six letters, “a habitually discontented person”.’

‘I dunno, grouch?’

‘You’re a genius, mate. Cheers.’

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6rookie-writer0110 · 13 hours ago

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Crossing over

Darcy Lewis x Male Reader

Request - Darcy x thors son. He was banished to midgard with his father.

You and your father crashed into the earth and you hit the ground hard. The ground cracked and you are not feeling hurt, because you healed rapidly.

“How can he do that to us!?” You screamed.

Your grandfather Odin banned you and your father from Asgard. You and your father just crashed into earth in the middle of a small town. You are feeling angry and betrayed and you look around.

“So we can't go back home ever?” You asked.

“We can't go back because I saw father destroy the portal our only way,” Thor said.

“Didn't you been to earth before?” You asked.

“One time, but I don't remember how I got back home to Asgard,” Thor said.

“What are we going to do?” You asked.

“Jane Foster will help us,” Thor said.

“Who?” You said.

Your father starts to tell you how he met Jane Foster. It didn't take long for him to find Jane’s van and she saw him. When you saw Darcy you developed a crush on her.

“Why did he ban you and your son from Asgard?” Jane asked.

“It’s a long boring story,” Thor said.

“What about your powers?” Darcy asked.

“Don’t worry about that, beautiful. I will still protect you. You should be my wife” You said boldly.

“I don't even know your name and I’m not your wife, but thank you for the compliment,” Darcy said.

“My name is Y/N. When should we start planning for our wedding?” You said.

“Slow down,” Jane said.

You winked at Darcy. Then your father told them what happened back home. You and your dad go to their camp and they start to about their new project. Jane is going to let you and your father stay with them for a while.

“So you and your dad have the same powers?” Darcy asked

“Yes. We would combine our powers during battle but I have other skills too” You said

“Asking every girl to marry you?” Darcy asked

“No. You are the first, Darcy and I mean that” You said.

You were serious about it and she did believe you.

“First time on your earth?” Darcy asked

“Yes, but my dad said he was here before,” you said

“Oh, yeah. The first time he tried coffee was funny” Darcy giggled

“What is coffee?” You asked

“I forget coffee doesn't exist in Asgard. But I will show you, just follow me” Darcy said.

You follow her to the diner and she starts to explain about coffee. She made you try iced coffee which you liked the most. Then you tried black coffee and you hated that one, but she laughed because of the facial expression you made. You just ordered more iced coffee then you tried lattes and you loved it. You were about to throw the coffee mug onto the floor but she quickly stopped you.

“Don’t do that. Just ask for another one, just ask Y/N” Darcy said.

“Just ask?” You said

“Yes. Your dad did the same and he broke so many mugs that day” Darcy said

She lets go of your wrist and you don't break it. She ordered more coffee for you then you started to try the food.

✯ ✫ ✯ ✫

You are still on earth with your dad but he is spending more time with Jane. You don't mind because you get to be with Darcy and you keep flirting with her.

“Earth is so much better” You smiled.

“You never left Asgard?” Darcy asked

“I have been to other realms but never to earth. But now I have a reason” You said

Darcy couldn't help to blush and she tried to hide it, but you noticted it. You enjoy listening to her talk and you ask her questions about earth.

—

Darcy takes you to a bar to show you how people have fun. You and Darcy are sitting together and you tried your first beer.

“Do you like it?” Darcy asked

“Yes and I will get another one,” You said

“Don’t break the bottle, Y/N” Darcy giggled

“I won't do it” You smiled

You head to the bar to ask for more beer. Darcy waits for you to come back but her ex-boyfriend sees her. She didn't want to talk to him but he still went towards her to talk.

“Hey, Darcy. You haven't been returning my texts” He said

“Because we aren't dating anymore and stop texting me,” Darcy said

“Come on don't be like that. Maybe we can hookup -” He said

Darcy told him no but he didn't listen. But you arrived with the beers and put it on the table.

“This is a private conversation, walk away,” He said.

“Is he bothering you?” You asked

“This is my ex-boyfriend and he doesn't understand the words leave me alone,” Darcy said

“You heard her walk away,” You said

“I’m not going to listen to you. You walk away or else” He said

“Or else?” You said.

He tried to punch you but you dodged his punch. Darcy gasped then you punched him in the face and then in the stomach. Everyone is watching, You grab him by his shirt and throw him out of the bar, and he is in pain. He gets up and starts to run away and she is speechless.

“Wow, I can't believe you did that, Y/N” Darcy said

“I couldn't watch him harass you while I do nothing. Are you okay?” You said.

“Thank you,” Darcy said

You and Darcy are standing in front of the bar. She is standing very close to you and you kiss her on the lips. She puts her arms around your shoulders and she starts to kiss you back.

“Let’s get out of here,” You said

“I like that idea” Darcy smiled

She starts to kiss you back and you start to smile.

You and Darcy go home together. And your dad is sleeping on the couch with his mouth open. Darcy grabbed some chips from the kitchen and she sat next to Thor. She gets an idea and you watch her put one chip in his mouth, he doesn't wake up. You and Darcy are trying not to laugh too loud.

“Shhh, don't be loud” Darcy whispered

“Let me try” You whispered

You grabbed a chip and put it in his mouth. Darcy grabbed her phone, and she started to record you and her putting chips in his mouth. Then you and Darcy took selfies with your dad and he hasn't woken up yet. But Jane came home and she was loud then you and Darcy moved away from him. Thor starts to wake up and he is confused as to why chips are in his mouth

“Did you fall asleep while eating chips?” Jane asked

“I don't remember,” Thor said

But he starts to eat the chips while you and Darcy laugh in the kitchen.

#darcy lewis imagine #Darcy Lewis x reader #Darcy Lewis x male reader #x male reader #male!reader #male reader #male reader fanfic #male reader fluff #marvel x reader #marvel imagine #marvel x male reader

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zepskies · 3 days ago

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First of all, I hope you're feeling better, hun! Covid's not fun even now, and I've def been there. Ugh. 🥲❤️‍🩹

But man, everybody's going through it in this chapter -- especially the reader, poor thing. 😭😭 (Finally getting a chance to dig into this chapter after almost making it through the week! lmao 💜💜)

Maybe it was time to finally take him up on that offer to ship you off to DC. But, of course, you couldn’t do it.

Honestly I don't blame her for thinking about it. This whole thing is a hot mess of epic proportions, but interesting that she headed the route of "let me go to work" instead of going to the hospital. I'd imagine she just wants to dip into her workaholic self for a while instead of dealing with Stag 1 and Stag 2 going at it over there. 😅

“Well, I’m pretty sure I’d recognize the first woman I slept with after my wife was murdered,” he snapped impatiently, but you couldn’t blame him. The man was really going through it at the moment.

Hoooooly SHIT. Diane really DID "get around." 😨 She's playing an even sicker game than I thought. How she got so high into law enforcement is craaazy.

You nodded with a smirk. “Only if you pour a lot of whiskey into my mug, too.”

Lmfao this is definitely an Irish coffee moment. 🤣

“I guess I’m scared to be cruel. It just seems so… unfair to him. Randy doesn’t deserve this. And even if… How are me and Beau supposed to just move on happily, knowing all of this? I’m afraid Diane might win this one. She actually found the goddamn breaking point. I don’t think our relationship can survive this.”

It really is such a messy, screwed up situation, but there's time yet for her and Beau to work this out, even if poor Randy doesn't recover from this. 😭 I feel for him, I do, but of course, I have to love our cowboy sheriff more.

“Yes, we. I don’t have a car. You have to drive,” Randy clarified, the anger in his voice still swinging punches at Beau’s face. Every word out of Randy’s mouth spelled the same message: You owe me. Beau could hardly argue with that. “Which one’s yours?” Sourly, Beau pointed straight ahead. “The red Jeep.”

Omfgggg of course Beau has to deal with this too. 🤣🤣 I shouldn't laugh, right? But Randy is (understandably) staying in his sour patch kid phase, even as he's demanding help from his ex-best friend/partner. Talk about reluctant allies. lol

Beau swayed his head from side to side, actually considering the option. “You’re not wrong. Can’t seem to get rid of him… And I realize that makes me sound like an asshole.”

Ooof yes Beau, that's an asshole statement, but I get why he feels that way. 😂 And it also tracks that Jenny is the one he's honest to about that, probably knowing she'll call him out for it! 😂😂

“Uhm… anyways, put out an APB. I’m here now, so… just get here too, okay? I love you. Bye.”

Oh Gooood, she dropped the "I love you" just in case she wouldn't get to see him again, didn't she? 😭😭😭

Girl, you've got me on the edge of my seat now (as if you didn't before), and it's almost Friday so I legit can and cannot wait for what happens next here!! Beau and Randy better work together on this, if the reader doesn't somehow safe herself! I believe in them! 😅😅

Polaris – Chapter 11

Series Summary: When Beau Arlen moved to Montana, he left behind a past he wasn’t proud of. But when a series of murders requires the FBI’s help, Sheriff Arlen‘s ghosts come back to haunt him one by one. With a wrong turn waiting at every crossroads, it’s hard to make the right choices and find his way back home – back to you.

Pairing: Beau Arlen x FBI Agent!Reader

Warnings: 18+, angst, more serial killer shenanigans & a twist

Word Count: 5.3k

A/N: So sorry for being so elusive this week! Still playing catch-up on everything after being sick for so long 🤪 I'll be back fully by Monday and talk to you guys again soon. Meanwhile, I didn't want you to wait for this chapter, so enjoy 🤍

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist || Tag List

Chapter 11: You With Me

Once you had waltzed right through those cursed glass doors of the hospital and ended up at the parking lot, you stopped thinking and kept on running – literally. Out of breath, you started the car and drove until the building was out of view. And before you knew what you had done, you had passed the town sign of Helena as well.

But your dire need for escape didn’t last long.

It would’ve been so easy to just keep driving and leave all of it behind you in the rearview mirror. Maybe your big pile of cow manure would still make a decent fertilizer for the local farmers. But the ache lassoed around your heart tugged you back.

Pulling over to the side of the road, you took a moment to clear your mind. Head in your hands, you let yourself fall back into your seat and took a few deep breaths. You only ever made it through one yoga class, but you remembered the breathing had helped.

Still, every bone in your body wanted to bolt and never see either one of them again. In your mind, you had already asked your boss for a transfer. Maybe it was time to finally take him up on that offer to ship you off to DC.

But, of course, you couldn’t do it.

With a screeching U-turn, you headed back to town. Your destination wasn’t the hospital, however. Instead, you ended up at the Sheriff’s Department.

“Agent Y/L/N?”

On your way inside, a middle-aged man in a long, gray coat jumped up from a bench in front the building. He looked distraught, half his face hidden by a navy, voluminous scarf, but you still recognized him instantly.

“Mr. Hughes,” you said with a hint of surprise in your voice. He was the last victim’s husband, and you wondered what he was doing here. Had Jenny brought him in for more questioning?

“I heard you caught the killer. Is that true?”

Small towns, you scoffed and rolled your eyes internally.

“Mr. Hughes, I’m very sorry. I know you want answers, but please understand that I can’t share any more information with you at this point. The Sheriff’s deputies will update you as soon as we know more,” you gave the procedural answer and suddenly accelerated your pace, looking for the safety of the station in a hurry – and not only because it had gotten cold.

“Is it that DA?” he asked desperately as he followed you and cornered you again by the door.

So close…

“Mr. Hu–”

However, he didn’t let you finish this time and cut you off, “Because if it is, there’s something you should know.”

“You sure that’s her?” you asked for the third time as Mr. Hughes stared intensely at Diane, handcuffed to a metal table in Interrogation Room 1 this time.

Diane grinned like she had just won the lottery, even though no one was in the room with her. You had hauled her from her little jail cell just so Hughes could properly identify her. Although he recognized her in photos, you wanted to be sure. God knows Diane would rip that testimony apart in court, otherwise.

Hughes nodded vehemently. “Yes, I’m positive, Agent Y/L/N. How many times do I have to tell you?”

“I just had to make sure. I’m sorry. I know this is hard for you, Mr. Hughes,” you reiterated.

“Of course. We believe you, Mr. Hughes. Thank you for coming in and letting us know,” Jenny said and took over, seeing the exhaustion on your face. “There’s some coffee in the lobby. Why don’t you help yourself while Deputy Poppernak fills you in on the next steps.”

With a heavy head, he nodded and dragged his weary feet out of the small room. “Alright. Thank you kindly, ladies.”

You exhaled a deep breath as soon as the door closed and ran a hand through your hair. You couldn’t catch a break, could you?

“Hughes is pretty shaken up,” Jenny noted pensively.

“Yeah, I mean, can you imagine finding out you unknowingly slept with your wife’s killer?” And suddenly, it dawned on you – the irony of Diane’s plan. “Shit,” you muttered under your breath.

Jenny raised a brow but gave you a comforting smile. “How are you holding up?”

“Not gonna lie. Been better,” you replied dryly.

“Wanna fill me in over coffee?”

You nodded with a smirk. “Only if you pour a lot of whiskey into my mug, too.”

Jenny grinned. “Deal.”

“I almost bolted today,” you told Jenny as the two of you sat at the big round table of the station’s break room. You clasped the warm mug even tighter in your cold hands. “Made it past the town sign, too.”

“Why did you come back?” Jenny took a sip from her own drink, hiding her knowing smile behind her cup.

“The job.”

Jenny snorted and cocked a disbelieving eyebrow. “Really?”

You smiled, your eyes focusing on the mug in your hands. “No.”

“You love both of ‘em?”

You nodded but didn’t meet her eyes. “In a way, yeah…”

“But it’s Beau,” Jenny stated like it was obvious.

“I-…” You let out a sigh. “I guess I’m scared to be cruel. It just seems so… unfair to him. Randy doesn’t deserve this. And even if… How are me and Beau supposed to just move on happily, knowing all of this? I’m afraid Diane might win this one. She actually found the goddamn breaking point. I don’t think our relationship can survive this.”

“Maybe not,” Jenny agreed quietly. She knew you had found yourself in an impossible situation. No matter where you looked for a solution, you only ever found dead ends. “Look, maybe you and Beau can’t get past this. But staying with Randy because you feel bad and don’t want to hurt his feelings is just going to hurt him more in the end. It’s crueler if you stay. You’re not doing him a favor.”

“Oh, I know. Trust me. I’ve been through this a thousand times over the last twenty-four hours. No one’s winning anything here,” you said and took a big sip from your alcoholic coffee. Then suddenly, your gut got that familiar twinge again. Your eyes widened as they found Jenny’s.

“What?” The blonde blinked at you. “I know that look. You found something.”

“We need to speak with the other victims’ husbands,” you informed Jenny, urgency swinging in your voice.

“You think she slept with the others as well?”

“What d’you think?”

Jenny sighed and blew the frustrated puff of air into her mug. She shook her head and muttered grimly, “Fucking Diane.”

“Let’s get back to work.”

Breathlessly, Beau stood in front of the hospital, hands on his squared-off hips. He looked left and right, but as far as he could tell you were long gone.

Hearing an exhaustive sigh behind him, he spun around and found his old partner fully clothed. Randy ripped off his hospital bracelet and let his lungs fill with a breath of fresh, cold mountain air. He shivered a bit in his thin denim jacket and t-shirt. Diane must’ve not left him with clothes appropriate for Montana’s dropping temperatures. Winter had rolled into the country – in more ways than one.

Beau lifted an eyebrow. “Did they discharge you?”

“Nope. Discharged myself,” Randy retorted and looked across the parking lot.

“Randy–”

“I’m fine,” he bit. “There’s nothing wrong with me, so can we please just go look for my wife?”

Wide-eyed, Beau stumped. “I’m sorry… we?!”

Spending any more time with Randy was definitely the last thing Beau needed.

Sourly, Beau pointed straight ahead. “The red Jeep.”

Randy’s brow furrowed. “That rusty old thing? Where the hell did you get that?”

“Mexico.”

“Sounds about right.”

“Hey, I know you’re angry with me, but don’t take it out on Pedro and hurt his feelings,” Beau said, hoping his lightheartedness would be contagious. Randy was immune, however, and didn’t break a smile. “Just stay here, go back inside, and let me look for her alone.”

“Oh, you would love that, wouldn’t you?”

“Actually, I would.”

“Forget it. I’m not staying here,” Randy huffed and opened the car door, heaving himself into the passenger seat.

Beau sighed deeply, tapping Pedro’s roof with his flat palm. “‘Course you’re not,” he muttered bitterly, rolling his eyes back.

“Congrats, Diane,” you said and slapped yet another folder down in front of her. A smirk played across the murderous prosecutor’s lips. She hoped you’d find the smoking gun eventually, and you hated the fact she always seemed to be miles ahead. “So far, I’ve spoken to seventeen husbands of your previous victims, and you… Wow.”

Honestly, you were speechless. As were all the husbands when you had the honor of telling them over the phone they might have screwed their wives’ killer. But you weren’t just looking for confirmation. Something had bugged you since Randy had magically appeared in a hospital bed.

Diane shrugged coolly – and proudly. “What can I say? I got around. Please give them my condolences.”

You scoffed a humorless chuckle and sat down across from her. “You know, something keeps gnawing on me. First of all, how the fuck did you know Randy was still alive?”

The cold-hearted lawyer smiled. “Can’t blame you. That’s a doozie.”

“And even if you did find out, how on earth did you get him out of the cartel’s claws? I mean, that alone would deserve some applause. Hate to say it, but I’m honestly impressed,” you admitted, even though your admiration was just a honey trap.

“Thank you, Agent. I appreciate your honesty. I know that must not have been easy for you to admit,” Diane replied and leaned forward on the table. “Truth is, getting him out was easy. The cartel wanted to get rid of him. He was just dead weight that attracted too much attention from law enforcement.”

“So you made a deal with them, and they just… gave him to you?” It sounded unbelievable, and you knew she was hiding something, only revealing parts of the truth to you.

“As I said, they wanted to get rid of him. In a way, you owe me. I saved him. They would’ve executed him a week later and put his head on a stick for you to find,” Diane argued, shrugging her shoulders.

It was hard to deny. In a weird way, she was right. She did save Randy, even if it was just for her personal gain. Blowing up your life or not, Randy was back – thanks to her.

“Fine,” you relented. “The second thing that keeps bugging me, though, is: How did you let Randy escape from the bunker? Was there a timer on the door, and it just opened? ‘Cause Randy said he only remembers someone stabbing him with a needle before he woke up by the side of the road. I looked at his tox screen, he still had enough in his system when he got to the hospital. It couldn’t have been more than a few hours. So, either you almost gave him a lethal dose and he got lucky, or…”

“Or what, Agent?”

You met her icy gray eyes. “You’re working with someone,” you stated determinedly. You didn’t need her to confirm it. You knew. Every bone in your body, every drop of blood – you knew.

A smile flickered alive in the corners of her mouth. Warm. Fond. “Well done. I knew you’d get there.”

Abruptly, you rose from you seat and stormed through the door, leaving Diane behind. You had to find your second killer.

“Good luck, Agent!”

“Beau.” Jenny rose from her desk with an arched eyebrow at the strange man following the sheriff inside the station. She witnessed a brief (and rather heated) exchange of words between the men before Beau walked her way with a furiously creased brow.

“You seen Y/N?” With a shake of his head that was supposed to release some of his exasperation, the sheriff took off his hat and ran a hand through his locks.

“You just missed her,” Jenny informed her exhausted boss.

“Dammit!”

“Rough day?”

“Yup, doesn’t seem to be gettin’ easier, either,” Beau replied, carrying frustration in his voice as he glanced back over his shoulder at his former partner.

“Is that–”

“Randy? Yeah,” Beau confirmed with an annoyed huff.

“Huh. Interesting…”

Beau scowled at the blonde. “What?”

“Nothing.” Jenny gave a shrug of her shoulders and tilted her head at Randy. “Just thought he’d be different. That’s all.”

Suspiciously, Beau’s eyes narrowed, darting from Randy to Jenny. “Are you checking him out, Hoyt?”

“What? No,” Jenny replied a little too defensively. “‘Sides, if I was, I’d be doing you a favor.”

Beau swayed his head from side to side, actually considering the option. “You’re not wrong. Can’t seem to get rid of him… And I realize that makes me sound like an asshole.”

“Yeah, it does,” Jenny replied, a teasing smile on her lips.

“Thanks, Hoyt,” Beau scoffed. “Any idea where Y/N went?”

“Not exactly. We’ve had an interesting visitor today. Remember Hughes?”

Beau nodded. “Husband of our last victim.”

“He came by the station after hearing we caught Diane,” Jenny explained. “He confessed to sleeping with her after his wife was killed.”

Beau’s brow furrowed, green eyes widening. “Wait, did he know that-…?”

Jenny shook her head. “No, he didn’t connect the dots till we had her in custody. But Y/N and I then checked the other–”

Beau squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his temples. “Don’t tell me she–”

“Uh-huh.”

“Unbelievable…” Beau let his shaking head hang, sighing.

“Y/N then had a chat with Diane. She confirmed it,” Jenny informed him further. “After that, she stormed out. Said she was following a lead.”

“You know which one?”

Jenny shook her head apologetically. “I wasn’t in the room. I was still calling husbands. But Y/N had a few more names left on her list from the Texas victims.”

Beau then pulled out his phone and tried you again, but only ever caught the receiving end of your voicemail, which wasn’t rare, considering the spotty service in town. “Still voicemail.”

“What’s that?” Jenny leaned closer, squinting her eyes at his screen. “You’ve got a message.”

“Huh. It’s from her. Ten minutes ago. Voicemail,” Beau said and frowned at his phone, his thumb wringing with the touchscreen.

He then held it to his ear and listened.

“Ugh, voicemail. Again. Stupid woods everywhere…” you huffed a sigh into your phone, your eyes concentrating on the foggy road ahead. “Beau, it’s me. I’ve found something. Driving to your place now. Meet me there,” you said, already rounding the corner to his road. “Diane’s not working alone. She has a partner. Probably someone submissive that she can manipulate easily to do her bidding…”

Parking the car in front of his trailer, you unfastened your seatbelt and hurried out.

“I checked the list of husbands. I think it’s our first victim in Texas. His name is Hal Turner. He is a quiet accountant. Kind of an odd duck when I spoke to him…” Looking through Beau’s planters, you searched for the second key. You knew he hid it here somewhere. “But he did serve some prison time a couple years ago. And while he was in prison, his wife was having an affair… with Diane’s husband, his goddamn defense attorney. And if your mind isn’t blown yet, just wait for the next part. Guess why Turner was in prison in the first place? See, he tried earning some extra cash, doing the books for a biker gang, which just so happens to be connected to our favorite cartel. Yeah… That’s probably how they got their hands on Randy.”

There was a noise. You had realized it too late, and your weapon was still in the car. One breath later, you felt the cool metal of a gun barrel pressing against the back of your skull.

“Uhm… anyways, put out an APB. I’m here now, so… just get here too, okay? I love you. Bye.”

You dropped your phone to the ground and raised your hands, taking a deep breath before you spoke. “Whoa, slow down there, cowboy. I left my gun in the car. I’m no threat to you. You don’t have to do this, Mr. Turner.”

“You’ve figured it all out. She said you were smart,” he said, and you could hear the uneasiness, the jitters, in his voice.

“Mr. Turner, I’m gonna turn around now, so we can talk better, okay?” you pleaded, ordering your body to stay calm.

“What’s there to talk about? I have to do this. I can’t disappoint her,” the man stated. And once you looked at him, you knew he wasn’t of sound mind anymore. Diane had done a number on the guy.

“No, you don’t. You heard. I already told my colleagues about you. They’re gonna look for you. It’s over, Mr. Turner,” you explained as gently as possible. “But if you come willingly to the station with me, I’ll make sure to get you a deal with the DA. Please… Don’t do this.”

For a moment, you thought he bought it. He hesitated as if he were actually considering the option to end it all right there. But then you recognized the pity in his eyes.

“I’m sorry. I can’t.”

“Yeah… That’s probably how they got their hands on Randy… Uhm… anyways, put out an APB. I’m here now, so… just get here too, okay? I love you. Bye.”

Half the station had gathered around the sheriff, including Randy, as soon as Beau put your message on speaker after the first few sentences. Beau only snapped his finger at Poppernak, who nodded eagerly and raced to the nearest computer, putting out an APB on Hal Turner.

Randy cleared his throat and excused himself outside before Beau realized what exactly had bothered his former partner about your message.

I love you.

Only Jenny remained standing next to him with a creased brow. He knew that look.

“What?” Beau prompted. “I know. Trust me. I wouldn’t have put it on speaker if I had known beforehand.”

“No, not that.” Jenny shook her head but then changed her mind. “Or maybe exactly that. Didn’t she sound weird to you towards the end?”

Beau shrugged. His mind might have turned off temporarily after hearing those three words. “What d’you mean?”

“At the start, she’s all excited because she solved the case, right? But then there’s this weird pause before her voice changes. She sounds… calm,” Jenny explained.

“You mean because she’s trying to stay calm,” Beau added.

“Because she’s seen something,” Jenny finished. “Someone. Hal Turner.”

Green eyes widened as his chest tightened. Beau thundered outside, passing Randy on a bench on his way to the car.

“Whoa, what’s going on? Where are you running off to?” Randy hurried straight after him and met him by the Jeep. “Are you going after Y/N?”

Internally, Beau sighed, but he knew they didn’t have time for a discussion.

“Get in! Y/N’s in trouble.”

July 2021

“Been a minute,” Beau said as you hopped into the driver’s seat of the SUV. He forced a smile, one he had hoped would conceal his nervousness appropriately. He even let you drive – just so he could get back into your good graces.

If that wasn’t a peace offering, he didn’t know what was.

“Uh-huh…”

Beau wanted to sigh but refrained from doing so. That would’ve probably just annoyed you. He was handing you an olive branch, and you were throwing it into the wood chipper. He supposed he had to live with that.

After the drunk debacle and a dire hangover that almost cost him his job, Beau knew he had to crawl back to Cody. He actually apologized, bootlicked and cowered, and then submissively asked to be partnered up with you again. And after all of that, the dick still had said no.

You went undercover shortly after, and Beau went back home, giving his failing marriage another shot. The old college try. Well, Carla didn’t appreciate any of it. Too little, too late, she’d said.

Now, both of you were back, and the only reason Beau was allowed to share a car with you again was because you had explicitly requested it. Beau had been surprised to hear that, frankly, but it gave him hope things could be repaired. Maybe that had been your idea of extending an olive branch.

“Thanks, you know,” Beau said and focused his gaze on his clasped hands in his lap. “I know you put in the request to be my partner again.”

“Kinda had to,” you scoffed and pushed the key into the ignition, maybe a little too forcefully for the occasion. “No one in the team wants to work with you anymore. They were practically begging me to take you back. You’re a real people person, aren’t you?”

Alright, maybe it wasn’t exactly a full branch.

Had he sulked? Been moody? Absentminded in recent weeks?

Yes, absolutely.

“Still, thanks…” Beau licked his lips. He wanted to make things right – but how? “Look, I’m really sorry about what happened. I am. I swear to you nothin’ like it will ever happen again, alright?”

For a mere second, you stopped every movement. His words sunk in. No, it was exactly what you wanted all along.

Right?

“Good.”

“Alright, then…” Beau exhaled a sigh. He didn’t know what he’d expected to hear, but that answer surely left more to desire. Not to mention, the thousands of questions that gnawed on him like nasty termites.

You started the car and reversed out of the spot, thinking and hoping this conversation was over – once and for all. Bury the goddamn hatchet six-feet-under. But Beau seemed to have a different idea of how you two would spend your afternoon:

“If that’s what you want…”

He said it so passive-aggressively it bordered on childish. What the hell was he aiming for? Had he gone mad?

“It’s what I want.”

You’d be damned if you got roped into this one. Beau Arlen would not drag you down into the pits of hell with him. But hesitation had come before your answer, and Beau had noticed.

“You sure?”

For fuck’s sake!

Mind, you still had to navigate out of that incredibly tight parking spot with that fucking gigantic car (and not looking like a damn fool when doing so) while that idiot next you, your partner, kept yapping on. And mind, if you did indeed mess up, he’d surely (and not helpfully) inform you why he never let you drive.

“I’m sure.”

Beau nodded. Not in acceptance – he was thinking. “Just answer me one question…”

“You’ve gotta be kidding me!”

Bringing the SUV to a screeching halt, you both jolted forward into your seatbelts. Another driver leaving the parking lot honked behind you for blocking their way.

“Fuck off!” you yelled, leaning halfway out the rolled down window.

“You want me to dri–”

“Nope.”

“Alright, then.”

That asshole…

Then silence fell. You didn’t move, though, and Beau didn’t pressure you to. The car kept running till you turned it off and sunk back into your seat.

“Why are you so mad at me?”

“I’m not mad.”

“I don’t think the punishment fits the crime.”

“Oh, I think it does.”

Beau rubbed his lips with his thumb and finger and stared out the window. Again, he was thinking. He might as well have taken up chess as a leisure activity.

Was he weak if he wanted to fight?

“Look, if you’re only this mad ‘cause you think you’d just be my rebound, then you should know that never would’ve been the case, alright?”

Beau looked at you, and you met his eyes. You were scared to admit it, even to yourself, but your feelings were harder to ignore when you stared at him.

“I wouldn’t have risked our friendship for nothin’,” he muttered under his breath.

“Don’t.” You clutched the steering wheel in your grasp a little tighter.

“So, what? We just never talk about it?”

Beau knew in that moment that, whatever he felt, it wasn’t just a simple crush that would dissipate over time. It would stay. How was he supposed ignore an elephant this big?

“That’s exactly what we’re supposed to do,” you stated. How could you explain it in a way he’d understand? “Beau, it can’t-…It can’t be you… It just can’t be. You with me on this one?”

“I’m with you.” His heart drowned in disappointment, but he gave you a promise nonetheless, telling you he’d let it rest for good. “Guess I got my answer…”

“Hood’s still warm,” Beau said, removing his palm from your car. It had taken him twelve minutes to race here, knowing he’d never be fast enough to stop it. Your vehicle was here, but you weren’t. “Her gun’s still here, too.”

“Found her phone. Door’s still locked. She never went inside,” Randy said, standing in front of the trailer. “No signs of blood, though.”

“He probably took her somewhere else,” Beau mused, his gut telling him the exact place.

“One of those bunkers?”

“Would be my guess, yeah,” Beau confirmed and rubbed his beard. Everything inside him tried to keep calm, tried not to panic, even though his head was booming and his heart was exploding with worry.

“Why would she leave her phone here? Maybe there’s something on here,” Randy said and proceeded to type in your passcode. Only it wasn’t yours anymore. “She changed it,” he realized with a swallow and found Beau’s eyes. “Do you-, uhm…”

“Yeah,” was all Beau said and proceeded to type in the correct code. Your phone unlocked, but that accomplishment surely came with a price, judging by Randy’s sulking expression. “Last call was to me. Says here her storage is full, but the video was still saved.”

“What video?”

As the men started the clip, they caught your entire conversation with Hal Turner – with his voice and face on tape. Turner held you at gun point before slowly leading you to a car and out of frame. The noise of a starting engine could be heard before it all falls silent and dark.

“Why would she record this? If she had taken it with her, we could’ve tracked it,” Randy said with a frown.

But Beau shook his head. “Turner would’ve probably dumped her phone somewhere before they ever even reached their destination. She didn’t think she’d make it out alive,” he realized bitterly. His heart grew heavier with every passing second. “She recorded it as evidence… in case he killed her.”

As soon as he uttered those words, everything fell into place. Everything made sense. And Beau wanted to break down right then and there.

If something happened to you…

Grabbing his phone, Beau called Jenny’s number. “Hoyt! Turner took her. They can’t be far. Lock everything down, you understand me? Get everybody out of the station and on the streets. Have forensics come by my trailer… Yeah, alright. I’ll meet you here.”

He ended the call with a strenuous exhale. Although he wanted to, he knew there wasn’t more he could do. Driving down roads, running aimlessly through the woods… He knew there was no way he could ever find you.

Unless he had help.

“We need to find her,” Randy stated the obvious.

“You think?!”

Beau wasn’t mad at Randy. He was angry with himself. If he hadn’t kicked you out this morning, you would’ve been by his side. You would’ve spent the day together. You would’ve come home together. He would’ve been here when you needed him.

“Stop yelling at me! You know I like to think out loud!”

Beau ground his jaw and rubbed his aching temples. “You’re right. I’m sorry. Look, I’m just worried.”

“And you think I ain’t?!”

“Randy–” Beau sighed loudly and stretched out the tension in his shoulders. “Let’s not turn this into some weird competition, alright? We’re both worried. End of story.”

Randy scoffed and rolled his eyes, defiantly crossing his arms over his jacket. “Whatever, man.”

“Look, if we’re gonna work this thing together, I think we need some ground rules. You with me on this one, buddy?”

“I ain’t your buddy.” Randy exhaled a long breath and pondered for a moment with a sour expression on his face. Eventually, he nodded his agreement. “But I’m with you. What did you have in mind?”

Bobbing his head, he thought for a second and scratched his jaw. “I don’t think we should talk about her.”

“She’s the one who’s missing. We’re trying to find her. I think we need to talk about her a little,” Randy argued, mostly out of spite.

But Beau was a patient man – sometimes. Another sigh passed his lips. “You know what I mean.”

“Oh, you mean I’m not supposed to make you uncomfortable by asking questions like, ‘Is Y/N’s passcode your guys’ anniversary date because she used to have our wedding anniversary as her code.’ Those kinda questions?” Randy asked mockingly.

“Uh-huh… That would be a stellar example of what I meant,” Beau said with a pressed smile. He knew this wouldn’t be easy by a long shot, but he was willing to try and make it work. “Second – no sulking.”

“I don’t sulk.”

“Yes, you do. I don’t wanna worry about you anytime my relationship with Y/N even remotely comes up. It happened. Get over it.”

“Get over it?!” Randy gasped. Granted, Beau knew he could’ve chosen better words. “You know, those rules start to sound a lot like just a list of things that are supposed to make you less uncomfortable.”

“Yeah, well…” Beau scratched the back of his neck. “You can add somethin’.”

A peace offering.

Randy nodded, accepting said offer. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Fine. Third rule: You’re not allowed to pretend you’re the only one who cares about her. She’s my wife. I get to decide how we proceed.”

Beau’s jaw tightened. “Fine,” he gritted.

“Which brings me to my fourth rule: You’re not the boss of me. You ain’t my sheriff.” Randy smirked, provoking in nature. Beau could tell he was proud of that rule.

Beau chuckled humorlessly. “You know, Randy, technically, you’re not a cop anymore. You’re a civilian. In my county. So yeah, I am your sheriff.”

Randy only grinned in return. “Well, good thing you can deputize me.”

Beau let another sigh pass between his lips. “Fine,” he agreed to Randy’s terms. “So, that’s it? Four rules? We’re not talking about our relationship with her, I’m not gonna boss you around, and we’re good?”

“We’re good.” Randy gave him a nod. “What are we allowed to talk about, though?”

Beau shrugged. “The case? Small talk, maybe?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know.” Another shrug. “Football?”

Randy shook his head. “Haven’t seen a single game in three years.”

“Right.” Beau hadn’t thought of that. “Politics?”

Another head shake. “Haven’t seen the news either.”

“Uh-huh…” Then, an idea hit Beau. “You know what? That might not actually be the worst. Why don’t you ask me some stuff and I fill you in on what happened over the last few years, huh? Texans, Cowboys, Musk… Anything you wanna know, I’m an open book. Just ask away, man. Anything.”

Randy contemplated the suggestion for a beat. Then a smile rose on his lips and spread to his ears. Beau didn’t like it one bit.

“Alright… How’s Carla doing?”

Chapter 12: Through – JANUARY 3

Welp, let's end it here on a funny note and forget about all the drama of being kidnapped 😂

Posting will resume in the new year with the final two chapters, so stay tuned and happy holidays to you guys! ❤️🎄🥳🥂

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