#or. and hear me out. one or both of them get put into a home where they’re actually cared for unlike all the angsty abusive homes ppl hc

[syluss-littlecrow]

release

<Caleb x fem!reader>

where both you and Caleb end up doing more than butt heads about his given curfew for you.

genre/warnings: smut, pwp, mutual pinning, mutual obsession & possession, jealous!Caleb breeding kink, multiple orgasms, a lot of cum..., perverted!MC, friends to lovers?, squirting, unprotected sex, morning sex, pure Caleb brain rot, it gets pretty nasty

a/n: Caleb, Caleb, CALEB XIA YIZHOU 😭😭 the way I've been giggling over Caleb while watching his story and going back to my home screen with Sylus looking at me with his arms crossed.... Anyway, enjoy this Caleb brain rot 🥹🩷 I'll do one with Caleb's military air force uniform when I can 😔🫡

I JUST SAW THE NEW BANNER DROP IM NOT OK IF ANYONES WONDERING.

w/c: 3.5K

Effortless. That is what Caleb feels like when his affections come to you. It bubbles and boils over when he thinks he's able to put a lid over it, and it overflows instead. It leaves him so defenseless. Yet, he can't seem to stop. It's the only thing that keeps him going in this hell. 

The only thing he feels is the metallic necklace barely weighing on his chest. It almost feels like you're here with him. 

And if you are, he wants to keep you here with him. Forever.

His eyes slowly open. His eyes focus on the hologram clock hovering at the side. 

You're supposed to be back already. 

Caleb contemplated on driving out to find you since he has your location pinging on his phone.

Since when did you have that many friends in Skyhaven? Why doesn't he know about them?

He checks the messages he's sent you, all unread. 

Caleb has to remind himself to stop clenching his jaw and biting his tongue. 

His stare towards the door grows anxious by the minute. Then he strengthens his resolve and marches towards the door, ready to leave and look for you. 

The second he pulls down the door handle, the jingle of the door unlocking from the outside sounds and the door swings open, making you and Caleb jump when he catches you in his arms from bumping into each other.

“Caleb!” You squeal, flustered at the way you completely ran into him. His warmth is radiating over to your skin. “Are you okay? Where were you gonna go?”

You watch a small pout form on his lips. He truly looks like a puppy when he does that, you can't help but think. 

“Look for you”, he curtly replies, making sure you've regained your balance before he releases your arms.

You straighten your posture, and sheepishly touch the nape of your neck, immediately avoiding his gaze. 

“Ah, right. Well, I got carried away with chatting with my friends and all…” 

Caleb crosses his arms. His pout turns into a frown, and his eyebrows are scrunched. 

Shit. He looks mad.

You inch closer to him, your fingers grazing over his knuckles. 

“I'm sorry, Caleb. Don't be mad okay? I'm home now, safe and sound, in the flesh, aren't I?”

Caleb breathes steadily, keeping his expression the same, but when you take his palm and nuzzle your cheek against it, Caleb feels the anxiety and frustration dissolve. He wants to reprimand you about the curfew, and why he implemented it in the first place. If you’ve stayed missing for a second longer, he would have completely lost it. But the moment his palm nearly touches your lips, it all dissipates, as if it never existed. 

Caleb exhales a sigh of defeat, letting it go just this time, alongside the countless times he did. 

“Go shower. I left the heater on for you.” 

You respond with a cheeky smile that makes something in Caleb’s chest bloom, and he lets you go, watching you disappear into your room. 

Caleb hears a knock on his door. He walks over and opens it, watching you coming into view. 

“Is there something you need, pipsqueak?”

You squeeze through the crack of the partially opened door and occupy his bed. 

“I'm just bored.”

Even though Caleb cocks his eyebrow, he still sprouts his smile, walking over to join you on his bed.

“Not because you're trying to make it up to me for coming back past curfew?”

Shit. 

Your smile playfully drops to a pout. “I got carried away yapping with my friends. You know I didn't mean to…” 

Caleb crosses his arms again.

“I could tell. My messages were all left unread.”

You curl your fingers to your lips when you realise you've been caught.

Caleb seems upset but you still see the softness beneath. 

He sighs. 

“I'm doing this for your own good, pipsqueak. I don't like you getting caught up in this.”

Caleb likes to think that it is that way, but he knows that it's more than just that. 

“As you can tell–” you’re showing off your body–your arms first then your legs, then your abdomen. But what Caleb didn't expect you to do was lift up your shirt slightly, your skin exposed, and have your shorts hike up your thighs, just to prove your point. “Nothing! You can check me for tracking devices too if you want to.” 

Something snaps in him.

“So do you let your friends inspect your body like that?” 

He crawls onto the bed, watching the smile slowly drop from your face. 

Caleb’s fingers trace your bare skin, drawing goosebumps from how ghostly the touches feel. His fingers slide from the top of your knees, and towards your thighs.

“Do you know how worried I was when you didn't answer my messages?”

You’re about to part your lips to respond, but he cuts you off. 

“I was wondering what conversations you were having that you ignored me.” 

“Caleb–”

He’s completely trapped you against the headboard of his bed. He's trapped you with his stare. 

Caleb inches closer, until he's close enough. His eyes glance down to your lips for a split second before his gaze meets yours again. 

Your breath is shaky when he leans in closer. 

Then he turns away. 

What the fuck? 

You watch in disbelief as he pulls away, your breath still caught in your throat from the tension.

Caleb’s signature smile returns and you feel his palm stroke the back of your head. 

“You should go back to bed. It's late.” 

He turns to open his door for you to leave. 

“Maybe I should start coming home later too.” 

He pauses in his steps. 

“I don't think that's a bright idea, pipsqueak.”

You slide off his bed and walk towards his door. 

“Maybe not. But I have brighter ones that consist of escaping your curfew.” 

You’re ready to leave the room with your victory, that is, until the door before you completely shuts. You see his shadow tower over you from behind. 

You turn to face Caleb, your arms are crossed. 

“Didn’t you ask me to go to bed?” 

“Changed my mind. I wanna make sure you're thoroughly inspected.”

You’re facing Caleb, back on his bed again. He starts with your face, but he lets his fingers linger around your lips, brushing across your bottom lip. You turn away, and his fingers catch your chin, forcing you to face Caleb.

“No looking away.”

His eyes are devouring every patch of skin that exists on your body. Even though you're clothed, you feel naked when he has his eyes on you this intensely. His fingertips trace back to your lips and he slides it down painfully slowly–past your chin, down your neck, through your sternum, past your stomach, and stops right above the elastic of your shorts. 

You want to shift, but you realise you can't–your body suddenly feels weighed down to the bed, and that's when you realise Caleb has you held down with his Evol.

The softness in Caleb’s eyes disappears, and something else replaces it. You watch him tug your shorts off you, and all you can do is watch helplessly. 

His kisses tickle from your ankle, and he builds them upwards at an agonising pace, each kiss feeling warmer as he travels up your thigh. 

Your heartbeat only accelerates from there, watching Caleb inch closer and closer to your cunt. Your thighs tense up from the sensitivity, the warmth of his lips spreading over your skin when you feel his tongue come in contact with your skin. 

“That tickles”, your voice is soft, as if the defiance in your tone before never existed.

Caleb’s lips press against your clothed pussy. Despite the fact that you’re trembling slightly, you've completely soaked your panties, and Caleb is more than happy to soak them even more. 

He buries his tongue, wetting the fabric even further. The pleasure draws soft moans, but evidently, it's not enough. 

“Caleb… Could you lighten your Evol?” You plead. You want to feel him so bad. 

Your body instantly lightens, and you almost think you're gonna fall off the bed. 

Something else holds you down this time, and it's Caleb. 

He tilts your chin up to have your lips meet his, now his kisses melting off the thoughts in your brain. Warmth burns through your skin. It takes you seconds to realise Caleb is lifting your shirt off you.

The clothing article is the next victim tossed somewhere else on the bed. 

You take his cheeks to your palms.

“I really need you now, Caleb.”

The softness returns to his eyes momentarily. 

“Are you sure you're okay with this?”

“I'll hop off right now and head straight to bed if you don't”, you huff. Fuck, the anticipation is just clawing through your insides, begging for Caleb to do something.

He playfully scoffs. 

“We both know you wouldn't.” 

Caleb tugs your panties to the side, and lines himself to your hole.

He thrusts into you in one swift motion, and you feel it all the way in. It knocks your breath out of you. Caleb watches you helplessly gasp for air and adjust to his size. He’s just filled you so full. 

He’s still supporting you so you don't fucking pass out. He feels you scratch all over his back from the pressure but he stays still, at least, until you've adjusted. 

“Shit. You're so fuckin’ warm for me”, he hisses into your neck, trying his best not to thrust into you. You feel so tight for him, he feels so good just staying there.

He stretches you open for him–your pussy fluttering at the feeling of him filling you up. The pressure slowly fades and you quickly adjust to his size.

Your vision blurs when he thrusts into you from below–the sensation so overwhelming that it's making you tear up. 

“So good”, you sigh, struggling to keep your eyes open–almost impossible when his cock is hitting your g-spot over and over again. Sparks burst into your eyelids whenever he hits the spot and it's evident that he knows he’s able to unravel you just like that, so easily. 

“Caleb…”, you moan. Caleb’s still fucking you, feeling the way you're just squeezing him, watching the way your fingers have gone clawing his back to his bedsheets, the way your tits are bouncing from fucking you, the way your eyes practically form hearts when he knows he's hit your sensitive spots.

“Faster, please. You feel so fucking good.”

He knows you shouldn't have said that. You're the only person who can rile him up like this. How the hell are you making him break his resolve when he's supposed to be upset with you?

He leans in, practically hovering over you. His fingers cup your cheek and he forces you to meet his violet eyes. 

In your fucked out haze, you blink, confused when he slows down. He pulls out completely, and you're about to complain until he rolls your soiled panties off your legs, tossing it to somewhere on the bed. 

You gasp when you feel his thumb graze over your wet and throbbing clit. 

“I'm gonna make you wonder what the fuck wrong with your body”, Caleb’s voice reaches your ears. His words sends a shiver down your spine.

“Your little pussy is gonna throb every time you think of me.”

That's all the warning he gives before his arms tower over you, holding your wrists down above your head. 

He fucks you into an orbit and you're practically helpless–forced to take his thrusts over and over. But fuck, it feels so good. It feels like fucking heaven. 

You like how dizzy it makes you feel. You like how he's not stopping, no matter how much tears stream down your face, and how pathetic you sound crying and moaning his name. 

“Fuck! Caleb, it's too much–” you whimper, the strange feeling building up in your stomach. It feels like it's about to snap any second. 

He acknowledges your words, but he doesn't bother slowing down. 

“Didn’t you promise me to be a good girl and take all of it?” 

“Caleb–!”

Your voice sounds so heavenly when you call his name.

The fluids fountains out of you, soaking everything near it's vincity–including the both of you. Your orgasm continues to wash over you and more fluids spray out.

Caleb watches you squirm and jolt while you make a mess all over him. 

He lets go of your wrists, the slight redness forming onto your skin, and his thumb caresses your bottom lip. 

Despite your arms feeling sore from resisting against his hold, you wrap them around his neck, pulling him close to catch his lips. He's taken back for a split second, but he returns the kiss, letting his soft moans drown into your lips while you clench around him.

When you both pull back, it's Caleb’s turn to have his eyes glazed and his cheeks dusted a soft shade of pink. 

“y/n, if you keep doin’ that–fuck”, Caleb groans, his fingers closing into a fist against the sheets. His breath is shaky. The euphoria is threatening to spill over–the fact that you're trapping him in like this with you, just the two of you solely existing together right now–he could get high off this feeling. He doesn't need anything else. 

“I'm so close. Shit.” You watch the bead of sweat trickle down his temple, down to his cheek, to his chin, and then it disappears into the mess the both of you made below. 

Caleb’s voice makes you refocus on him. 

His palm presses against your cheek again, his thumb brushing lightly on the corner of your lips. 

“You're gonna take all of it like a good girl, yeah?” 

You nod, almost too eagerly. Caleb can't help but think that your face after being fucked looks breathtakingly beautiful. It makes him want to hide you further. The world doesn't deserve someone like you. 

He crashes his lips with yours, melting into the kiss while he pumps you full with his thick cum–making sure he has himself seated deep inside so nothing spills out. At least, not until he pulls out.

The high slowly descends, and the both of you are left panting, getting lost in each other’s eyes just for that moment before Caleb slowly pulls out. 

Caleb then reaches for the glass of water perched on his nightstand to offer you. You take a good few sips of water, and hand it back to Caleb, who takes a couple of sips as well. He notices the way your cheeks are still flushed and that you're blinking more. He plants the empty glass onto the nightstand, ready to carry you to wash up and probably change the sheets after.

In a daze, you notice Caleb’s cum seeping out of your hole in small loads. You wet two fingers and slide them to your pussy–and you push the thick fluids back in, your body jolting in pleasure while you're pretty much fingering your pussy with Caleb’s cum.

Caleb swallows hard while he watches you pleasure yourself. He’s about to say something but you cut him off.

“Your cum keeps leaking out”, you point out, giving him the full view of your cum-soaked pussy. You look up at him with an innocent, poison-soaked gaze–your lashes wet and your thighs trembling from each time you feel his cum leak out of you.

“It’d be such a waste–”, you mutter, shivering one more time when your fingers fuck you again, the room only filled with your voice and the wet squelching sounds from your pussy.

“–if it doesn't stay inside.” 

You barely have time to process what happens next. The next thing you knew, Caleb has your hands pinned above your head with one hand, and the other on your cheeks. His legs stop you from closing yours, and you feel his wet thickness hard once more, resting on your pubic bone.

“You know, pipsqueak”, his voice drops an octave lower. His voice is clear, and he makes sure you hear him. “It's okay to just ask for more.” His eyes reflect such a gorgeous shade of wild you've never seen before, and it looks fucking good on him.

No warnings–your cunt is just wet and sopping that Caleb stuffs you to fullness once more–you give up trying to keep your eyelids open, your mind only processing the way he’s fucking so deep into you again and again.

“You know I'll always give it to you.” 

The way his fingers are cupping your cheeks stops you from answering. Well, he doesn't need a verbal response, especially not when you’re clenching him so fucking tight when your orgasm hits you for the…how many times was it now?

You feel stings that slowly dull around your shoulders and chest. The bites Caleb’s given you are as red as the ruby on his apple necklace. 

The night is drowned with sounds and sensations of both you competing to send each other to the heavens. 

What day is it now? 

Caleb blinks his heavy eyelids open. He soaks in the atmosphere around him, and it doesn't take him long to realise that you're lying on his arm.

Thankfully, it's not numb. Your hair tickles his cheeks. 

He notices the light peeking through his curtains. It's probably daytime. 

Caleb presses his lips against the back of your head, while he pulls you closer. He almost jolts when he hears a soft moan coming from you.

For some reason, something feels funny. 

He attempts to shift slightly, and realises the predicament–his dick is still hard as fuck, and he’s still nestled so fucking deep in you. Fuck. Did the both of you fall asleep mid-sex? The feeling bleeds into him again. 

Are you even awake to realise this? 

Caleb bites his inner cheek, the hardness only builds. Shit. Even after all of that, you're still this warm and tight? 

He watches your breathing steadily. 

He hooks your leg over his arm almost too easily, giving himself easier access to fuck you deeper. Your sleepiness is slowly dissipating, overtaken so fucking quick by the burning desire once more.

His thrusts bear slight friction at first, but somehow that only adds to the pleasure–the rawness, the fact that he's left a mess in you and kept that way, and that he gets to do it all over again in the morning. 

“Ca…Caleb..!” You squeal, uselessly fisting the pillows while Caleb rails you from below. 

“So perfectly warm for me, y/n”, his morning voice dousing you. He takes advantage to litter more bites to the back of your neck and shoulders, and spoils you with his strained moans when he reflects the way you whimper whenever he hits your sensitive spots. 

You sheepishly bury your teary face into the pillows, and Caleb pushes himself impossibly deeper, forcing you to face him when you jolt in surprise. His violet eyes are eating you up. You hear his voice ring in your ears.

“Wanna make you cry more like this. You're so pretty when you cry when I'm splittin’ you open like this.” 

More tears stream down your cheeks whenever your g-spot gets abused over and over. Caleb forces you to meet his gaze. His thrusts are slower, but harder. 

“Shit, you're really gonna milk me dry, yeah?” Caleb hisses when he feels you flutter around him. Your cum is mixed with his, and drips down his cock, to his balls. 

Caleb pulls you tighter, deepening the kiss one last time while he breeds you full over and over for nth time since the last night, devouring your whimpers when the words you muttered to him last night comes into memory. You're so dizzy with pleasure, and Caleb has stolen all of your breaths. 

He finally pulls out, his cum endlessly drizzling out of your abused hole, and it almost sets him off again. 

Nonetheless, he forces himself to get out of bed so he can get a towel and clean you up.

Another loving kiss he presses onto your temple.

“I'm gonna get a towel, pipsqueak.” His husky whispers send shivers down your body, and the warmth of his touch lingers on your thighs for a lot longer than you realise.

He leaves the bed for the bathroom. 

You nuzzle into the pillows Caleb was just lying on, drowning yourself with his scent. The wetness that sticks between your legs–you can't tell if it's your fresh arousal or if it's his cum anymore.  

Not that it mattered since steadying your breath when you realised he was still in you when you stirred before him to see what he'd do next, gave you such a big reward. 

And you'd do it all over again. You would say things to get under his skin, just to get a rise out of him, just to keep his attention on you, always. 

You wanted to keep his strained voice when he called your name, the way he looks at you with so much desperation when he breeds you full, in a bottle and store it for your perverted indulgence. 

No one else needs to know that this part of Caleb exists, because he belongs to you. 

The dim light catches your attention underneath the thick sheets. You take the device, unlocking the phone with your fingerprint. 

6 missed calls. 

You swipe them away. You shut off his phone.

He doesn't need to know.

He doesn't need to remember.

At least, not when he's with you. 

[partiallysame]

Okay okay, I LOVEE your writing. & I was wondering if you could work your magic for a little idea I had. Hear me out fem nanny x John price .

Price divorced dad of an infant hires a nanny to watch over sweet little baby thing while he's overseas but comes home early in the middle of the night without notice, ☀️ nanny hears footsteps in the house and in a frantic rush grabs a weapon and hides the baby & herself 😭 idk why I need this but I need to know how John reacts

I hope you like it!!!

John Price x Nanny!reader

The last thing Captain John Price ever expected was a week old infant being dropped in his hands from a one night stand but here he was. The only thing that got him through it was you, his new nanny. You came highly recommended from a few different higher ups who had hired you to help their wives while they were away for long periods of time. Years of experience and too many references to count, John didn’t think twice about hiring you, especially after he saw how good you were with his tiny newborn daughter. He was scared to even touch the poor thing but you walked him through step by step how to care for his daughter. He had turned down a few different missions but this one he wasn’t allowed to say no to. Leaving his 6 week old daughter for two months was not what he wanted to do but he trusted you, and was overjoyed when he was able to return home a week early.

The first sign that panicked you was the neighbor’s dogs barking. You’ve been living in this house for almost 4 months now and have never once heard them bark. Then the security lights in the front of the house lit up and you could hear the doorknob rattling. Fuck. You could feel the pit in your stomach growing, something’s wrong. Reaching under the bed to pull out a hunting knife you had found one day putting away laundry. You really shouldn’t have been surprised when you kept finding hidden weapons in a military captain’s house. Knife in hand you made your way to the room next to you, to grab the baby. The creak of the front door opening sent you into full fight or flight. Hearing the heavy steps at the bottom of the stairs, you quickly grabbed the sleeping infant. “We’re gonna play a lil game of hide and seek ok?” you quietly whispered to her, placing a soft kiss on her forehead as you peaked out her bedroom door to make sure the hallway was clear before making your way to the large closet in the master bedroom. The only closet with a lock on it. You could hear the footsteps get closer, your heartrate picking up as you locked the two of you in the closet. Holding the sweet baby tight to your chest.  

Now John began to panic when he went to check on his daughter and she wasn’t there. His feet started moving faster to find your room empty too, a glass of water spilled on the floor, one you hadn’t even realized you had knocked over in your rush out of the room. But what really sent him into a frenzy was the small stuffed bear on the floor in the hallway. The one his baby girl never let go of and would not sleep without. The Captain pulled his gun out and began clearing rooms looking for you two.

As you heard doors begin slamming and the noises of the intruder growing louder you placed the sleeping infant behind a few boxes, out of sight, before standing in front of her and facing the door. The doorknob twisted a few times, the intruder trying to get in, one hand covered your mouth to keep from screaming while the other had a white knuckle grip on the large knife. Suddenly the door flew open, Price kicking it down. You twisted the knife around in your hand, bringing both hands up ready to fight for yours and the child’s life. All you could see was the silhouette of a large man with a gun. The light on in the room behind him, keeping his face dark and identity hidden. Price began to lower his gun, seeing it was you and you started to lunge towards him, knife swinging. He easily dodged and removed the knife from your hands.

“Hey hey y/n. It's me. It's John. You're safe.” You almost didn’t hear him from how hard you had been breathing. His hand went to turn the light in the closet on so he was visible to you. He stood there watching you for a moment, chest heaving and hands still in fists as the adrenaline started to wear off.

“What the fuck John?” He didn’t answer.

“Where’s my daughter?” 

“She’s safe” You stepped to the side and moved the boxes you had hidden her behind. John watched you amazed as you revealed his still sleeping daughter all wrapped up in a blanket, safe and sound. Reaching down to hold his tiny girl in his big hands he couldn’t help but look at you. Your hands shaking, eyes full of fear starting to return to normal. He knew he trusted you with his daughter but now? He’d never let anyone else near her. You were ready to fight a fucking home invader and honestly if it wasn’t him who opened the door, he was pretty sure you would have been successful with the knife in your hand. He’s looking at you, standing in your pajamas, hair messy from sleeping and he’s thinking he doesn’t ever want to be without you.

[cosmosluckycharms]

Bug like angel

Girl Afraid

May 12, XXXX

4:45 AM

"Shit," you think to yourself as you realize you're going to be late for school

Yes, your school usually doesn't start till 7 AM, but you have a field trip today, and the bus leaves at 5:30 AM.

"Ms.Rose is gonna kill me if I'm late again! Where did I put my bag? Where are my earbuds?" you whisper to no one in particular

You had a million thoughts running in your head, but one thing was sure, you were so late.

You still had to grab your phone, eat breakfast, put on your clothes, do your hair and makeup on the bus, and run towards the bus and then maybe you can make it in time.

You rush downstairs to get breakfast and realize you don't have to be as quiet because it's empty in the kitchen.

You quickly eat breakfast and finish your morning routine before making it out the door.

It's 5:43 when you make it onto the bus, Ms. Rose was waiting on you and thankfully didn't you much of a hard time.

"Ms.y/n, please be more considerate of others time next time."You sat down next to your "friends"

You don't fully consider them your friends, they're too full of themselves and you all know none of you guys are friends, just close acquaintances.

After finishing the coffee you brought onto the bus ride, doing your hair and makeup, and taking a quick nap while listening to music, you finally made it.

Alchemax.

You were excited for the trip, even asking Dick, Jason, and Bruce if they wanted to tag along as chaperones.

They said no, which you both understood and were also sad about but, whatever, who cares? Anyways- you're at the coolest place!

It's perfect for someone who wants an internship that would look great on your resume.

Why do you want that resume? You don't know. Maybe it's so you can impress your family? You aren't fully sure.

Before you question yourself further, you get off the bus, along with your schoolmates.

You hear them all chatting about whatever, but it's clear to everyone that you are the most excited to go on this trip.

You, who wouldn't shut up about it despite everyone at school and home telling you to. You, who kept bouncing off walls while talking about it. You, who constantly wrote about it in journals.

Nothing could stop your excitement, and that was clear to others.

While you were there, you were practically the only one participating.

The only one wasnt scared to ask questions.

The one that would ask questions for others who wouldn't.

You were sure that this was the best trip of your life! You were so interested in everything!

It wasn't until later in the day after you got home at 7:56 that you saw everyone in the dining room sitting together eating, like usual, without you.

Every time you saw them together your heart broke a little more.

You tried to not make a scene and just walk away quietly, and it worked!

With everyone but Alfred.

"And where have you been, young miss?" He asked in an authoritary tone.

"I've been on a field trip in Alchemax! I just got back! It was soo fun, why?" you asked, knowing what he was going to ask.

"Wouldn't you like to have dinner with the others?" it's clear he just wanted the others to notice you, he knew you've tried so hard to be with them.

"it's alright, Alfred. I grabbed lunch with my friends earlier, I'm still full!" you said enthusiastically. It wasnt a lie, afterwards you all went to your favorite fast food place, batburger. You're sure theres no better fast food place than batburger.

"Oh, that's quite alright then." as soon as he said that you went upstairs to get unready and unpack for the day. you didnt notice Jasons slight dissapointment on his face when you refused and walked away.

It's good that it was a Friday, you could rest tomorrow.

You didn't notice how you accidentally took Project 111 with you. Mustve sneaken in your bag while you went to the bathroom while at Alchemax.

It took you a while to open your bag due to you getting ready for bed, and you screamed when you saw a spider in your bag and crawling onto your hand.

"FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK STOP CRAWLING ON ME LEAVE ME ALONE WHERE DID YOU COME FROM GO AWAY!" the stupid spider kept crawling on you.

It's honestly suprising no one heard you scream. Either that or they didnt care.You didnt know what to do. You hate spiders.

It took you minute or two of just flailing before actually doing something.You tried to reach for your nearest hairbrush to hit the spider with, only to accidentally hit yourself anywhere but where the spider was. Thats gonna leave a mark.

The spider, project 111, ended up biting you on the wrist. You ended up killing it with your hairspray.

You started panicking on whether you would die or not, you may have cried a little before realizing you were being a tad bit dramatic.

You realized the spider didn't look like the venomous ones you researched online while trying to find common ground with Damian back when he was new

So you decide to keep this to yourself, a nice little secret.

3:37 AM

You woke up sweating, panicking, hot, cold, tired, wide awake, hungry, full, thirsty, not thirsty.

You didn't know what was happening.

You forced yourself to fall back asleep.

it's around 12 PM when you wake up again.

You hope it was just a weird nightmare.

You realize you woke up late to breakfast, which was usually at 9:30 for you, so on your desk was some cold breakfast Alfred left for you.

While eating it, you thought about what happened.

Was it a dream? Was it a sign? Were you high?

You start walking in circles trying to figure out what it could all mean...it took you a while to realize you were literally upside down on your ceiling.

Oops?

Before you processed it, you panicked.Why are you on the ceiling? Why were you walking on walls? How were you walking on walls?

So many questions. No one to answer them.

After a bit of panicking and running around making a mess, you realize you sort of have powers.

You could stick to walls, that was one.You could make webs, thats two. You could be a hero, like the others!

At first, you find it so cool!

..then you realized your father doesn't want metas in Gotham...

You decide to keep this to yourself, for now at least.

oml this is so short oops guys i swear im. tryigg my hardest but also im kind of a bad writiter 🙏

anyways the next one of these i make is most likely gonna be emu reader cause shes so silly

anyways

[forgotteneffigy]

Train Home

⋆ kento nanami x classmate!reader - the final part !! ⋆

word count : 588 ⋆₊˚⊹

before you read : jjk spoilers, not proofread, but made with love !! ⋆ read part one and part two !! <- here !! ⋆

You latched onto the idea of working at the same company as Kento ever since he suggested it.

Now you're resting your head against his shoulder, fingers interlaced by the knuckles. He holds you tighter, and the picnic basket in your lap jumps with each bump of the train as it moves.

“When we get older, let's retire here.” You say, sounding tired from your day. Kento smiles quietly.

A low chuckle leaves his chest. In his other arm, he holds the rolled up hibiscus patterned blanket.

“Thinking about retirement already?” he asks, amused by your sudden declaration.

“Why wouldn't I? You already have everything else planned, don't you?”

You look up at him to the best of your ability. Kento finds your attempts endearing.

“I guess so.” He answers in agreement.

“Though..” Kento trails off, looking out the train window. Okinawa's scenery was a blur, colored in a dusty hue. The sun was fully set now, and you and him were going back. Back home. To your grandparents' house.

“I've always wanted to go to Malaysia.” He confesses quietly, his pointer finger running up your knuckle in a comforting gesture.

“Malaysia?” You repeat, pulling your head from his shoulder to look up at him. He can see the renewed freshness in your eyes. The lines under them seem to soften.

“Yes.” Kento nods, his hair getting in the way of his face. “I heard Kuala's beautiful this time around.”

With a gentle swish of your hand, you brush the hair out of his eyes. You always did, and if you didn't, it felt like something from your day was missing.

“I'm gonna stick to you, whether you like it or not. I hope you know that.” You put the last part jokingly, trying not to laugh.

Kento smiles more as you pull your hand away, placing it on the picnic basket. “Kuala it is, then.”

You nod in agreement, leaning back in your seat, looking content with how things went with today's events.

A soft, loving sigh leaves his lips. Kento doesn't know that it's love right now, but it is.

“How will you ever manage without me, (Y/N)?” he asks.

Immediately, you reply, “That's the thing!” You point a finger in his direction, Kento expects an answer, but all he's met with is a stop for thought.

“I haven't quite figured that out myself.”

The pause of registration makes you both laugh loud enough to make the old couple beside you look over from their seats and chuckle to themselves.

“So,” you turn your attention back to Kento. That same shine you had when you were second-years still in your eyes. “If we get uniforms, are we matching or what?”

The idea of matching uniforms was absolutely absurd to him. Coming from anyone else, he'd probably shake his head and say no.

But for you, he replies, with “I’ll think about it.”

“You better.” He hears you say, Kento feels you poke his shoulder repeatedly, a small chuckle leaving your lips.

He retaliates back, returning the favor by flicking your nose with the least amount of force possible with his finger and thumb.

The train reaches its stop. You scrunch at the contact. “Ow!” Hearing your yelp of pain makes Kento pause. He thinks he genuinely hurt you until you let out a hearty laugh.

The sound of your combined laughter fills the carriage again, the doors swish open for passerby to hear.

Kuala can wait. He had you.

⋆ i hope you all enjoyed reading this as much as i had while writing it!! this is really short , but i hope that's okay with you all !! i might open requests soon , depending on the character (^-^)

[zenosanalytic]

When Christians Kill God

I was watching a Big Joel video essay on Nebula this morning(sorry, can't link it rn: he hasn't put it on youtube yet) about the God's Not Dead series of christian-nationalist movies, and it crystalized something for me:

When Nietzsche said "God is Dead"(and I have my Issues with Nietzsche this is not a "Nietzsche is Great" post), he didn't mean god had ltrl had a heart attack or something, nor did he mean ppl didn't BELIEVE in god anymore. He meant "God", as a concept, had lost the explanatory and organizational meaning he felt it had in the past: that "God" was no longer a transcendent and otherworldly point for social cohesion, which provided structure and meaning to society and life, and The Church no longer an institution everyone deferred to and interacted with by dint of its divine-connection, but rather that both had become subordinate to gross political power. He meant that God-as-concept was now a mere rhetorical means to achieve inescapably worldly, political ends(one could fairly argue if "God" had ever been anything BUT that).

There's a moment in one of the latest of these movies subtitled In God We Trust[1](we'll get back to this) that is VERY telling. The hero of the film, a conservative pastor running for congress, is debating a strawman liberal and the liberal says something like "Isn't do unto others the main message of Christianity? Isn't Love Thy Neighbor central to the teachings of Jesus?" to which the hero says "No." both times and then responds "central to the teachings of Jesus, IS Jesus." and follows it up with "the only reason the teachings of Jesus resonate is because he was the son of god" meaning that christianity isn't about following Joshua's teachings or example, but just baldly about worshiping him, as a deity and like:

First off Josh Says(Im going to have to quote the Gospel of John quite extensively here to make a point, so plz excuse that) pretty clearly

I am the way the truth and the life

That how he lived is The Life dedicated to god, and his example the WAY to god, and his life's teachings AND example the TRUTH of god, and reiterates it later when asked by Phillip to show them god by saying

have I been with you all this time, Phillip, and you still do not know me?

in other words 'WHAT HAVE I BEEN TEACHING YOU That you don't know god yet? Haven't you been paying attention to my words and actions?' and later

The words that I say to you I do not speak on my own, but the Father who dwells in me does his works

in other words 'The Words of my Teachings are the Work of God. I. HAVE. BEEN. TEACHING YOU. GOD' and then, still, following from that

Believe me that I am in the Father and the Father is in me, but if you do not, then believe because of the works themselves. Very truly, I tell you, the one who believes in me will also do the works that I do and, in fact, will do greater works than these, because I am going to the Father.

and later still

Those who love me will keep my word, and my Father will love them, and we will come to them and make our home with them. Whoever does not love me does not keep my words, and the word that you hear is not mine but is from the Father who sent me

It Could-Not-Be-Fucking-Clearer: Joshua is saying DIRECTLY 'If you believe in me you will live by my example and my teachings, and if you do not live The Way and The Truth I have brought to you FROM GOD, then you DO.NOT. believe in me' His message could not be clearer.

The people who made God's Not Dead: In God We Trust made it's culminating moment a DIRECT RENUNCIATION of Joshua's teachings, and John 14 specifically, in favor of worshiping divinity in-and-of-itself. They reject his life, his teachings, his works --Everything the Gospels equate directly to Joshua and through him to God-- to merely worship a god for being a god, and in doing so mark themselves out as not christian at all. They DO NOT keep his words, and so they do not love him, and they are PROUD OF THIS!

So, No, God's Not Dead: In God We Trust(which you CLEARLY DONT DO, Actually): Christ is NOT "the central message of christianity", his WORDS are his BODY and those who KEEP them in their Hearts make themselves a HOME FOR GOD. When you reject his Words, you reject his Way, you reject his Life, you reject God, You. Reject. Christ.

I am no christian, but by the standards of the professed beliefs of the people who made this work, of the VERY TEXT they claim is their inspiration and truth, bowing down to divinity is NOT Enough. You HAVE to Walk the Way; you MUST Accept his Words.

But more to my point: What better proof that "God Is Dead", no longer a pillar to build your life around and bring ppl together by, now nothing more than a tool for unscrupulous power-seekers, than a gang of wealthy liars calling themselves ~Christians~ proudly celebrating their Rejection of "The Way The Truth The Life" in favor of scraping at divinity's feet, as a tawdry tactic to drum up votes for an election.

They Spit on their God and call it "Faith".

[1]That they'd name it this is particularly galling, given everything else, because of course that Wasn't The Original Motto of the US, E Pluribus Unum(Out of Many, One) is, but rather one adopted in 1956 after a long campaign of political christians campaigning for it. In other words: That "In God We Trust" is the official US motto is yet another example of God being reduced from something holy to a political football. ↩︎

[irisintheafterglow]

move like an odd sight, come out at night

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺ now playing: hozier - "movement"

summary: you escape to hell's kitchen, but your reputation follows you no matter where you run. the vigilante on your roof, however, believes you're more than just a weapon.

wc: 2.9k

cw/tags: black widow!reader, canon-typical violence and blood, minor injury, explicit language, pre-ddba bc i put bullseye and fisk in this as antagonists, angst with happy ending, iris loves matt murdock's ass

note: *cautiously approaches 'marvel x reader' writing tag, sets this on the doorstep like a cat with a bird, and runs away*

likes, reblogs, and replies are appreciated <3

Truthfully, neither of you were very skilled at working with other people. It’s why you were vigilantes, not superheroes; heroes worked on teams and played nice on the playground. You preferred more direct forms of getting the job done, of swinging your pink plastic shovel and beating away kids threatening to invade your square of sandbox territory. Or at least, you did in the past. As of late, you only donned your tactical gear again because unfortunately, the best hiding place you could find was truly a shithole. 

“Got anything yet?”

“No. Whoever’s talking about you, they’re making a point to do it quietly,” he replies, his expression blank as his ears sort through the noises of Hell’s Kitchen trying to find a needle in a city-sized haystack. He’s crouched on the brick ledge your legs dangle off of, looming over the street below like a gargoyle guarding a cathedral. “What was your plan the other night?”

“The night where you crashed my surveillance spot, you mean,” you quip. “And the same night I made the Devil jump out of his skin.” He sends a heatless glare in your general direction.

“What I’m hearing is, you didn’t have a plan and you’re avoiding the question.” Smart-ass.

“My plan was to listen in on police comms and get some extra energy out, but there was a trespasser on my roof.” He hums, satisfied with your answer. To your unwelcome surprise, you ran into both of his identities within twelve hours of moving into your crummy little apartment–Matt at the deli down the street and Daredevil on top of your building. Both times, you also caught him off guard to the point where he nearly threw the nearest cylindrical object at you. The first time it was a sandwich, and the second time it was a baton, but you only had Foggy to save you in the shop. 

You can’t go throwing sandwiches at pretty ballerinas that come into the shop, Matt, you heard Foggy say when he thought you were out of earshot. 

They’re a ballerina? Foggy snorts, assuming that Matt already knew you were jaw-droppingly stunning. In fact, he was waiting for the day his best friend came out as not actually being blind and only using it to reel in women.

Yeah. You would know they were a new teacher at the studio down the street if you weren’t busy trying to assault them with pastrami. 

They caught me off guard, Matt dodges. What’d you want me to do?

Not scaring them off would be a good start. Jeez, I thought you were the charming one in this duo. 

“I can’t say I’m a fan of a spy who can slow their heartbeat,” he admits, finally cracking the smallest of a smile. “It’s a cool trick, but pretty unfortunate for a guy who relies on hearing the bad guys.”

“Good thing I’m not an opponent, Murdock.” Like you, he’s not used to people knowing both his vigilante and his civilian faces interchangeably. You pieced together each other’s alternate identities the moment you interacted on the roof for the first time; your mind clocked his gait, his height, and his voice while he sensed the faintest scent of perfume he smelled earlier in the deli. Because of the accidental encounter, a severe lack of information regarding your new home, and a few other reasons you were purposefully hiding until the need arose, you begrudgingly asked Matt if you could run surveillance with him. He agreed, shrugging and asking if there would be people trying to come after you. 

A buzzing in your pocket grabs your attention and you scowl when you see the dollar sign notification with a hefty amount of zeroes. “Problem,” you huff. 

“What is it?”

“He put a bounty on my head.” The muscle in Matt’s jaw clenches. “Said to bring me in alive, thankfully, but I guess he doesn’t like I’ve been ghosting him. He also didn’t verify how alive I had to be.” 

“He’s used to getting what he wants,” Matt explains with severe distaste. “Fisk isn’t a kind of guy you say ‘no’ to. Last guy who tried to tell him something he didn’t like–”

“Got well acquainted with a car door,” you finish unexpectedly. “Intelligence community, remember? We hear everything, including the brutal executions. It’s why he wants me in the first place.”

“A Widow in his pocket’s like having the Winter Soldier for a genie.”

“Ex-Widow,” you correct. “You know, I met the guy once. Big metal arm. Scary blue eyes. Not my type, especially the greasy hair.”

“Oh?” Matt allows amusement seep into his tone, despite the fact that your freedom just had a price tag put on it. “And what is your type?” You loose the first thought in your head like an arrow straight into his heart. 

“A blind vigilante with a ton of Catholic guilt really get me going,” you answer casually and bite back a smile when he tries to hide his speechlessness. “I figure it’s easier to explain my history to him than Martin the accountant living a few doors down. Plus, the vigilante’s got a nicer ass.”

“I’ll bet,” Matt remarks and you allow yourself to feel the flutter in your stomach at his softer tone. You weren’t used to having a friend, let alone a friend who would help make sure you weren’t used as a weapon again. It didn’t hurt to flirt with him, just a little bit. 

His head suddenly jerks to the side, concentrating. “Found ‘em.”

“Where?”

“Warehouse six blocks down. Fisk’s best prepping for a hunt.” A chill runs through your body and you exhale slowly through your nose to center yourself. It’d been months since you were freed from Dreykov’s mind control, weeks since you first arrived in the Kitchen, but the need to fight for your life was something that would never disappear. It constricted your throat, blurred your vision, and made your palms too clammy to hold a knife. Without the one-track-mind of a Red Room assassin, you found yourself able to feel fear…and it terrified you. “You alright?”

“Peachy,” you deadpan, your voice no longer melodically carefree. 

“You’re not telling the truth,” he says and you swallow thickly. “It’s the one time I hear your heartrate go up, when you’re afraid.” Up until now you would work exclusively solo and you’re unfamiliar with someone who would call you out when you were scared. Your defenses raise immediately.

“Yeah. What about it?” He takes your standoffish nature in stride, rising from his crouched position and holding out his gloved hand to help you from yours. You take it with only a moment’s hesitation and let him give it a comforting squeeze. 

“You’re not fighting alone anymore, you know. As long as you don’t shoot me, I’ll have your back if you have mine.” You nod and even if he can’t see it, it’s mostly for yourself anyway. “Unless, of course,” he continues with a shit-eating smirk, “you’ve got another blind vigilante in mind you’d rather–”

“Alright, Murdock. You’re done,” you chuckle, feeling more at ease. “Let’s get this done quickly; I’ve got class tomorrow.”

—

The confrontation could barely be considered a fight, and you easily would handle them on your own had Matt not been with you. Though, it was much faster having four fists throwing punches instead of two. 

“You didn’t use the guns at all,” he notes once you’re both done knocking out and disarming the three dozen enemies in the warehouse. Catching your breath, you stick your batons in the sheaths on your back and shrug.

“You’re the one who said not to shoot you,” you point out.

“I appreciate the thoughtfulness.” His head tilts and you watch him listen to the labored breathing of a nearby thug. “One’s still conscious. I’ll get him.”

“He’s all yours.”

He stalks toward a guy who you would’ve assumed was unconscious and grabs him by the collar to reveal him very much awake. “Why’s Fisk after them so badly? Answer,” he hisses, “and I won’t break your hands.”

“I’ve found they talk if you dislocate their shoulder,” you suggest nonchalantly, your voice muffled under your mask. The guy’s eyes dart over to you, wide and bloodshot with fright. “Then, relocate it but slightly misaligned. Makes a weird kind of friction if you swing it back and forth.” Matt visibly pauses, considering your stomach-churning advice for a good ten seconds. He wasn’t used to working with others, let alone someone with your skillset; it was like having a slightly more stable Elektra, and that wasn’t much of an improvement. He doesn’t have time to act on your words, though, because suddenly the dam of information in the guy breaks.

“He’s scared of you!” The man exclaims and your eyes narrow. 

“Scared of who?”

“Both of you,” he squeaks and looks back at you. “You were supposed to kill the Daredevil, not team up with him, you deceitful bitch!” Shit. Matt’s body goes deathly still. 

“Fisk hired a Widow to kill me?” He asks lowly. Shit!

“He tried. That’s why he’s pissed.” The scene feels frozen, like a snowglobe on a high shelf. You didn’t necessarily feed Matt a lie; you rejected Kingpin’s offer the same night you went up to your roof, looking for a way to punch out your anger. “And you weren’t supposed to get involved,” he spits on the cowl and it’s the last thing he says before Matt knocks him out cold. 

You stare at his back while he stands, your muscles tensed and ready to retreat or fight, however he reacts. 

“You can take your hand off your gun,” he says without looking at you and your attention flicks down to your hands. You hadn’t realized your fingers found the cool metal on pure instinct. They feel naked without access to any immediate weapon.

“Are you upset?”

“Why would I be?” He turns to face you squarely. Every nerve in your body wants you to run, but you root yourself into the floor because your mind can’t understand how this so-called ‘friend’ could ever hurt you. 

“Because I was supposed to kill you. Your archnemesis wants me to kill you.”

“And you didn’t,” he states patiently. “Your heart is racing.”

“I’m waiting for you to attack me, so I’m not sure what you expect,” you reply carefully. Puzzlingly, his posture remains relaxed, and it’s impossible to read what he’s thinking. “I lied to you. Aren’t you angry?” 

“Why would I be angry for actions you didn’t take?” You blink and look down, suppressing your reflex to bolt when he approaches you until his boots are in front of yours. He murmurs your name, so quietly that only you can hear it. “I’m not Dreykov. You don’t need to plan an escape if you do something I don’t agree with. You’re your own person now.” 

“Am I?” You whisper. “I get out, and yet I still feel like I’m nothing but a weapon.”

“I don’t think you’re a weapon.” Your body is still stiff as a board, waiting for a berating or a beating that won’t come.

“Then what am I?”

“A friend.” 

Your mouth opens to reply, but a flash of movement catches your eye in the doorway you used to enter the warehouse. Acting on its own, your body shoves Matt to the side as an object goes flying past you and a stinging sensation blooms on your upper arm. You duck behind a storage container and find that your self-proclaimed ‘partner’ has disappeared into the shadows. Warmth drips down your arm and you remove your gun from its holster for the first time that night, steadying yourself. 

“Alright, Widow. The boss is mad, so let’s not keep him waiting,” your assailant announces, his voice echoing off rusted metal walls. You hear him make a noise of disgust and kick something solid. “You left a shitshow to mop up, too. I thought you people were supposed to be clean killers. Quick with your target, just like me.” You fight through the adrenaline and finally piece together his identity with one word: target.

“Fuck off, Poindexter. I’m not going,” you snarl and immediately change positions to avoid a small knife that moved with the precision of a homing missile. The blade lodges itself in the metal where your head used to be and you don’t bother trying to yank it out. “Missed.”

“That was a warning, darling.” Creeping carefully from container to container, you catch the reflection of his nearly-identical Daredevil suit in the broken glass on the floor. It crunches beneath his feet as he paces leisurely, waiting for you to reveal yourself. “Let’s go, Widow. Don’t make this harder than it has to be. It’s just you and me here.” He thinks it’s just you.

He doesn’t know that Matt is here. 

“How do I know you’re not gonna kill me when I step out?” Another phrase, another quick change of positions. 

“If I wanted you dead, you wouldn’t be alive to mouth off.”

“You say that with such confidence.” 

“This confidence is turning to impatience, so let’s go. Don’t make me take you in struggling,” he warns.

“Fine, but don’t throw anything at me, asshole,” you say with as normal of a voice as you can muster, reholstering your gun and stepping into the exposing moonlight. “Entrance in the front’s too exposed. There’s an alley out back we can go through unseen.” Without another word, he follows you to the rear doors and, for once, you’re relieved for your heart to be beating out of your chest. You figure it’s easier for Matt to track your movement.

“Fisk is pissed about your little tantrum the other night, but enough groveling will get you back in good graces.” 

“Like I care about that,” you retort. 

“You should. He won’t stop hunting you.”

“If he does, I’ll come after him myself.” You step out of the warehouse and the top half of your face is hit with frigid air. He was lurking somewhere, you could sense it. A small rectangle of paper crinkles under the toe of your boot and you peer down at it, smiling when you recognize the familiar font of Nelson, Murdock, & Page. “I’m not an asset anymore, Poindexter,” you declare once you’re both shrouded in the dark alley. “And I don’t fight alone anymore.” 

Your stealth training takes over, slowing your heartrate and disappearing from his senses, if only for a moment. Before Poindexter can attempt to find you, there’s a whoosh of air in front of you and the sound of gravel beneath another pair of boots. Matt doesn’t give his enemy a chance to grab any projectiles, bruised knuckles striking in the darkness while you slip behind and knock out his legs. 

When your enemy regains consciousness while slumped on the wet asphalt, there is no trace of the Daredevil or the Widow to be found.

—

Your students catch wind of your fondness of the ‘hot lawyer down the street’ a few weeks after you move into his apartment, and Matt doesn’t do much to keep your relationship a secret.

“Let’s, uh,” your voice trails off when you see him enter the studio for the first time, his mere presence making your cheeks outrageously hot. “Let’s run that combo one more time and call it a day, yes?” Your students follow your eyeline to the man waiting for you by the door and they all perk up at the same time, dancing with near perfection that makes you wonder if Matt should show up at the end of all your classes. 

“Hope it’s alright I came to walk you home,” he greets with that easy smile that sends all sense of reason into the atmosphere. 

“You were a definitely a distraction, but considering that we call the same place ‘home,’ I’ll let it slide,” you reply. His hands pull you by your hips and you press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, your forearms resting on his shoulders.

“Can we go out tonight?” 

“Don’t we always?” You ask, confused. “We’re out so much where I think our collective sleep hours are in the negatives.”

“Not on patrol,” he corrects. “Let me take you to that place you’ve been wanting to try. The one with the rotating pie stand.” Your mouth gapes. If there was someone who had a worse work-life balance than you, it was your boyfriend. Yet here he was, recommending you both skip patrol. “I wanna give you a proper date. Please?”

“Since when are we allowed to take nights off, Murdock?” You tease.

“Since I made a deal with Spiderman to swing through the Kitchen once a month,” he drawls, attempting to kiss you and frowning when you gently pull back like you’ve offended him. “Sweetheart.”

“You can’t kiss me until you tell me how you managed to pull off a deal with Spiderman.” His forehead creases above his red-lensed glasses.

“I called in a favor.” You know he can hear the skepticism on your face. He exhales before continuing, “I told the kid I’d proofread his friend’s job application. Some opening as a photographer for the Bugle.”

“You tell him you were a lawyer?”

“I told him I’m a very good lawyer.” The last of your students wave goodbye, their eyebrows waggling as they leave the studio.

“Well, counselor, if it is your professional opinion that we should go on a date tonight, I’d be happy to oblige.” 

“God, I love you as a partner,” he breathes.

“For romance or vigilantism?”

“Both.”

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

[echoingbirdsofprey]

Back Forty View (On Our Piece Of Ground)

9 - Wrapped Round Your Finger Like This Ring I'm Wearin'

Pairings: Tyler Owens x OFC Georgia Tennley-Owens, Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x OFC Samantha Kazansky

Rating: EXPLICIT (MDNI!)

Warnings: SMUT at the end. Talk of pregnancy/getting pregnant again, exactly one use of the phrase 'i'm in heat' LOL! other than that just the usual swearing and wildness you've come to know and love on the Owens Ranch. Also dad!Tyler! Gifs by @kaizsche except that one in the right bottom corner and yes, that is from the Longest Ride. You'll get why I picked it when you read. Pictures from Pinterest!

A/N: Jake and Sam are going home soon but not before Jake tries to beat his brother in a competition, and buys a truck hahaha. As always hope y'all enjoy and those likes, comments, reblogs make me super happy! Also, if you wanna be on my taglist just let me know and I will add you. I'm very happy to!

Tags: @mrsevans90 @djs8891 @gpsmississippihippie @barnesboo1967 @dizzybee03 @coloraturadiva @kmc1989 @khouse712

It was early on a Sunday morning, most people at church, breakfast, or home from work for the day. The only thing you could hear on the highway was the loud roar of two truck engines. They were racing. Tyler in his blue square body Ford and Jake in his green Chevy sped down the bottom end of Highway 7, heading out of Dardanelle. Both boys planned to turn down 65 and then head back up through the back of the Emory Family’s fields that abutted the Arkansas River. They were going way over the speed limit of 75. At least ninety at one point and laughing their asses off as their trucks rumbled and rattled being pushed to their limit.

Just as they turned onto 65, they saw blue lights in their rearview. Jake yelled out his window.

“Aww what the fuck!” Jake had the urge to speed up but as the lights got closer, they knew they should stop. Both boys pulled to the side of 65 and parked, sirens blaring as the cop stopped behind them. They turned their trucks off so that they could hear the cop. He got on his speakers.

“If it ain’t the Owens boys. How did I know? Get outta yur trucks and put your hands up.” The cop announced and the boys complied. The cop stepped out, hands hooked in his belt. Tyler and Jake stood, hands up and guilty heavy on their faces. “At ease boys. Putchur hands down.”

“Hi Officer Mullins. Nice mornin’ ain’t it?” Tyler said, trying to soften the situation. Officer Mullins glared at Tyler, so he shut up.

“Boys. I know the roads are empty but ya can’t be speedin’. I’m gonna call Kenny. Stay here. Don’t do anythin’ stupid, got it?” The boys nodded, Tyler folding his arms across his chest. Jake folded his behind his back.

“Well...Kenny is gonna be bullshit.” Jake murmured, glancing around. Tyler sighed heavily.

“Well...we shouldn't have done that.” Tyler said, his gaze settling on Jake.

“Shouldn’t have gotten caught.” Jake mused and then Tyler nodded, punching his brother in the shoulder. Officer Mullins came back then.

“Get back in your trucks and I’m gonna escort you boys home. You’re lucky you’re Kenny and Jeanie’s boys, ‘else I’d’ve given you both tickets.” He said and the boys glanced at each other before silently stepping back over to their trucks. They got in and started their engines, Officer Mullins at the caboose of their caravan as they turned back north on 7.

When they arrived home, Kenny was standing on the porch. Jeanie wasn’t home from church yet. Officer Mullins shook Kenny’s hand from in the car and the boys parked their trucks. They hopped out and Kenny folded his arms across his chest, but waved as Officer Mullins backed out of the driveway and sped away to another call. 

“That was dumb.” Kenny said sternly. The boys hung their heads, feeling shame. They never wanted to disappoint Kenny. 

“We’re sorry, dad.” Tyler said softly, Jake agreeing. Kenny stepped over and patted them both on their shoulders.

“You should be. Don’t fuckin’ get caught next time, ya dodos.” Kenny said, a lilt of humor in his voice. The boys glanced at each other and then at Kenny as he walked back into the house. “Go clean the barn and mow the lawn before your momma gets home.”

“Yessir!” They said in unison, Tyler running to the tractor and Jake sprinting to the barn.

🌪️🛻🛩️⚓

Competition was always in the air when Tyler and Jake were together. 

“Okay here's the deal. You gotta run the barrel pattern, cut a cow out and pen it, and then breakaway rope a cow outta the chute.” Tyler said from atop Rascal. He glanced around, earning an agreeable nod from each of the other competitors. His competitors being Georgia, Jake, Boone, and Lennon.

“And don't you for one damn second think ‘cause I just had a kid that I ain’t gonna smoke all y'all’s asses.” Georgia said, as Tulsa jigged beneath her. She rubbed up and down the filly’s neck to get her settled.

“It's been years since I roped but I think I can still get it.” Jake said, comfortably sat upon Twist. He scratched the middle aged mare’s withers gently, and talked softly to her. He was thankful they had a horse available for him to ride.

“Well I ain't never roped, ‘cept cowboy joustin’, so this should be entertainin’.” Boone said, atop Ophelia’s gelding, Poplar, who was the safest option of all. It had been quite a while since Boone had ridden and he needed the confidence boost. Lennon was atop his rope horse, Kylo, and just glanced around, feeling a little outmatched. Ophelia and Dustin both wanted in but neither knew how to throw a rope well enough so they decided to sit out this one. 

Sam was standing comfortably outside of the arena, holding baby Jaycen in her arms. She cradled him and cooed sweetly to him. Like she'd told Jake, she never wanted kids until he came along and holding her soon to be nephew, only made the baby fever feel worse. It was an instinctual need that she wanted fulfilled, and damn it Jake was going to make it happen. But not before Jake tried to beat his brother in something.

They had rented a small herd of cows, six to be exact, so that Tyler and Lennon could play around roping, and Jake could have a little bit of fun before he left. They had to tag them their selves, so they numbered them zero through five so that if they wanted to practice penning or sorting they could do that as well. Surprisingly, they had more time in between Jaycen’s feedings than they thought. He mostly slept so they were able to get in some rest and short rides, but both Tyler and Georgia had what felt like a hundred alarms going off throughout the day, every day. It did help though that Sam wanted to hold him and keep him company. It was good for Jaycen to be out in the fresh air. 

They ran the events one by one so that they wouldn’t have to keep swapping cows around. Dustin would help with the cows, and the rest of the Wranglers had arrived to watch. Georgia glanced over from atop Tulsa, seeing Kate begging to hold Jaycen. That made her smile, loving how much their friends loved the little boy. Jake had looked at the same time, seeing Sam’s expression drop slightly as she handed Jaycen to Kate. He wasn’t Sam’s, but Jake could see how much she wanted a little one of her own. Of their own . 

Tyler was first to go, starting with the barrel pattern. He hit two of them but they didn’t fall. Ophelia was keeping time and wrote everything in the notes app on her phone.

“17.55” She announced. Next was Jake who pulled a 16. 

“That’s cause you’re on an actual barrel horse!” Tyler exclaimed, smiling wide as Jake trotted past and high fived him. Boone and Lennon went, both pulling over 18’s. And then it was Georgia’s turn.

“ Last to go, best to go, Peach .” She heard Tyler’s voice and the memory of him saying that echoed in her brain as she kissed to Tulsa, pushing her forward and fast. She ran the barrels smoothly and easily and Ophelia even took a video on her phone. She cheered when she stopped the clock.

“Holy shit 15 flat! That’s NFR worthy!” Ophelia exclaimed and Georgia's gaze shot to Tyler immediately. He nodded approvingly, making the Tornado Wranglers motion with a single finger, and leaned over to kiss her as she backed the mare into the line of horses and next to him.

Next up was the cutting. They needed to cut a cow out and keep it from the herd for at least thirty seconds. Tyler and Jake had no problem with this, easily going over the thirty second threshold. Boone held the cow for a little over fifteen seconds. Lennon held the cow for around twenty seconds. Georgia went last again, and while the mare was no cutting horse, she managed to hold the cow for just under the thirty seconds. 

“Aright so currently we have Georgia in first. Jake in second. Tyler in third. Lennon fourth. Boone fifth. Boone, if you don’t get first here, you’re buying pizza for everyone tonight.” Ophelia said, giggling. That had been their agreement, and first place got a hundred dollars. Georgia was gunning for that because it was going to be the first thing to go in a bank account for Jaycen. She glanced over at Jake and pointed. 

“ You’re goin’ down, Hangman. ” She said and Jake chuckled. 

“Aright, Pinky , easy there.” He chided and she stuck her tongue out at him. Sam, hearing the nickname, raised a brow at Jake. She wanted to know where that came from, but she’d ask him later.

Dustin loaded the first cow for Tyler into his new roping chute. Tyler was so excited to use it and Georgia was ecstatic to see it used. She didn’t know if she could top that for next Christmas, but she’d probably try anyway. She had all year to think of what to get him. They were doing breakaway roping, so they only had to catch a leg for each cow and it was again, the fastest time. 

Tyler was up first. This was one of his best events after bull riding. He would always sub in for others, heading or heeling, and he’d saved a runaway cow one too many times to count. He backed Rascal into the corner of the pen to the right of the chute, loop in his left hand, the slack of the rope and the reins in his right. Tyler nodded and the cow burst out of the chute and Tyler swung his rope twice and threw it, catching the cows back legs. Rascal slid to a stop and as Tyler pulled the slack up, he glanced over at Ophelia with a smirk.

“Goddamn. 1.8 seconds. That’s only like point two off from the world record.” Ophelia said and Dustin gawked at the timer. Jake quietly stepped forward and backed Twist into the corner, knowing he could get close to Tyler’s time but not beat him. Dustin coaxed a cow into the chute, a different one, and Jake nodded quickly. Jake swung the rope thrice and threw it, catching one leg. Twist halted hard and Jake bounced but bared down as the rope broke away.

“Oh my god that was so fuckin’ close! Two flat!” Ophelia said and everyone cheered. Jake smirked and high-fived Tyler. Then it was Boone’s turn and he knew he couldn’t get a time anywhere close to that so he focused on trying to just get one leg on the cow. He did, in about thirty seconds. Lennon put up a blazing 1.9 seconds and then it was Georgia’s turn. She had never roped off the filly, but Tyler knew she could get it done. 

She backed Tulsa into the pen and Dustin put a cow in the rope chute. She nodded and it felt like slow motion as the filly got low and shot out of the chute like a rocket after the cow. Georgia swung the rope and threw it, hooking one of the cow’s hinds. Georgia had to pull Tulsa to a stop but once she figured it out she stood stark still and Georgia glanced back.

“TWO FLAT!” Ophelia exclaimed and the Wranglers all cheered. Sam had been handed Jaycen again and she took one of his little arms and waved it for him, making the little boy giggle and squirm excitedly. Tyler and Georgia both turned at the sound of their son’s joyous laugh. They both hopped down from their horses and walked over to their son. Sam brought the little boy into the ring and traded Georgia for the filly. Georgia turned with Jaycen in her arms, and as everyone else was cooling out their horses, she asked Sam to do something for her.

“Hop on Tulsa.” She said and Sam shook her head.

“Oh no I couldn’t.” She said and Georgia bounced her son in her arms.

“Of course you can. Go walk around with your man.” Georgia said, smirking. Sam took a deep breath, rubbing the filly’s face and then swinging the reins over her neck. She led the bay over to the block and mounted. Jake had stopped by Tyler and Georgia.

“Good job, Pinky.”

“You too, Hangman.” He smirked and then he noticed Sam aboard the filly.

“Well, looky here. You look gorgeous up there, honey bun.” He said, his smile becoming warm. His eyes glistened. Sam blushed and she thanked Georgia. Ophelia came over and took Rascal for Tyler, walking the gelding around to cool him down. Tyler snuggled up to Georgia and his son.

“Think ya won, Peach.” He said softly, pressing a kiss to her forehead. She smiled wide.

“Good. That money can go in that bank account for Jaycen.”

“Perfect.” He said, running his fingers across the little boy’s hairy head lovingly.

🌪️🛻🛩️⚓

After Jaycen was born, Georgia was back on a horse within a few weeks, careful about doctor's orders. Jaycen was now coming about two months old and Tyler couldn't wait for them to be done with everything for the day. He'd gone out in the morning, chased a rather underwhelming tornado for a livestream and now had come home with Kate, Scott, Boone, and Lily all geared up to watch Jaycen for the night so that he and Georgia could go out and have a night to themselves. 

Jake and Sam had taken their dogs and driven down to see Jeanie and Kenny for a couple of days before they were supposed to head home. They had planned to drive home, because Tyler had convinced Georgia to sell her truck, and Jake had offered to buy it. It would be a nice road trip for them before going back to their busy life in Miramar. They had to drop the rental truck in Little Rock, so Jake had driven the Denali, so he could really be sure it was what he wanted, which of course, it was. Jake, Sam, and their dogs would head back to Stillwater for one more quick goodbye before getting on the road to California.

And little did Georgia know, Tyler had a new truck waiting in the wings for her, as well as a trailer. 

Jake loved his truck at home, but ever since he’d been in Oklahoma, he’d grown fond of the black lifted Denali, and since Tyler was skeptical that it should ever tow again, he didn’t want Georgia driving it too much and getting reattached to it. She had agreed it was time to let it go in favor of something else, and Tyler had told her they could go look at trucks together. Obviously they did not. as Tyler had already planned out a reveal.

Tyler had driven up, finding Georgia just stepping down from riding Tulsa. Javi dropped Scott off, and Boone, Lily, and Kate piled out of the Green Monster, which was what they were affectionately calling Boone’s truck.

“Tyler...just for shits’n'giggles...would you take Tulsa for a spin?” Georgia asked, batting her lashes at her husband. 

“Darlin’ I don't know how to ride a real barrel horse. Them things is like sittin’ on a rocket.” He said, placing his hand on her lower back. 

“Oh c’mon you ride rope horses...it’s similar enough. Just once on the pattern? Pretty please? For me? She's not gonna kill ya.” She said, turning to place her hands on his chest. Everything tensed in excitement for Tyler. Not only was tonight their first date night alone since having Jaycen, but Georgia had seen the doctor this morning and was given the okay to have sex again. Tyler had been so patient, ever respectful of her and her comfort. Tonight over dinner, he was going to talk to her about seriously having another kid. He wanted one. He just wanted to make sure she did too. 

“Tyler?” He blinked to the sound of her voice hitting his ears. 

“Shit. Sorry. How ‘bout another time? We gotta get to dinner.” He said and she smirked and kissed him, handing him the mares reins.

“Just one time. Now...else I might be less inclined to give you the surprise I have for you after dinner.” She said and his eyes widened. 

“I'm gettin’ a surprise? Well shit.” He said, shaking his head. Georgia would always get what she wanted from him and not even because she held anything over Tyler's head. It was all because he would do anything to make her happy and keep her that way.

Tyler climbed into the saddle which was rather small for him. He usually rode in a big roping saddle so the little barrel saddle was squeezing him in ways he didn't necessarily want to be squeezed, but it was only a quick run. Georgia fixed the stirrups for him so that he at least had those. 

“Good thing I been ridin’ Twisty a lil bit otherwise I'd be shittin’ myself on this one.” Tyler said as he trotted Tulsa off in a circle.

“Tulsa is way safer than Twist. She's faster too.” Georgia said matter of factly as she folded her arms across her chest. She kept an ear out for the baby monitor. Jaycen had been down for a nap for about an hour and he usually woke up around the hour and a half mark during the day. He slept a little longer at night. 

“I want you to get this thing ropin’ more than just whatcha did the other week. Handles pretty nice.” Tyler said as he cantered by Georgia, getting a feel for the filly. 

“Well, Arkansas, she handles pretty well around barrels. Lemme see it!” She exclaimed and Tyler came to a stop in front of her.

“I ain't breakin’ your horse, Gee. Gimme a user manual here.” He said as Tulsa shifted beneath him. He rubbed up and down her neck and she blew out a loud breath.

“Point her at the right barrel first. Grab the horn with the hand furthest from the barrel and gently pull the rein closest to the barrel toward your knee but don't pull her around the barrel. Relax your hips around the barrel so you're not blockin’ her with your seat and then point toward the next. Rinse and repeat for two and three. Don't let her run home after three, guide her diagonally toward home and say ‘woah’ as you cross the quarter line of the arena.” Georgia explained, taking Tyler's hand and showing him where to pull to and where not to. “And don't kick her. A click with your tongue means ‘put in more effort’ and a kissin’ sound means ‘faster.”

“This is why you train ‘em and I just ride.” Tyler chuckled as he asked the filly to trot and headed toward the pattern. She picked up a quick canter and as soon as she was around the first barrel, she dug in hard for the next two. Tyler always surprised Georgia with how good of a rider he was. It looked smooth and effortless. He did exactly what she told him to do around each barrel and going toward home, Tulsa responded perfectly to him. When he stopped, he dropped the reins and patted her, letting her walk. 

“I took a video.” Georgia said with a smirk. Tyler groaned as he hopped off and handed her the reins.

“Felt good. Lemme see.” He said and Georgia handed him the phone as she walked the filly a few more times around. Tyler chuckled to himself. “Ey, put that on TikTok. When your husband steals your barrel horse.”

Georgia laughed and then she heard rustling on the baby monitor. “Oh shit. Can you...”

“On it!” Tyler said, running into the house. They both had the monitor paired to their phones and it pinged for movement as well as sound. While Georgia put Tulsa away, Tyler went in and checked on Jaycen. The little boy was just waking up. He stretched and yawned and then whimpered. Tyler was quick to pick him up, carefully, and he talked softly to him as he rubbed his back.

“Good afternoon, buddy. How was your nap? Pretty good? I think we should change your diaper before your momma comes in. Let's get that goin’ huh?” Tyler placed Jaycen down and changed his diaper first and then he fixed his socks. “Buddy, you can't be takin’ yur socks off. Yur lil’ feets are gonna get cold.”

“Tyler.” Georgia said sweetly as she entered the room. She admired her husband, having heard him talking to their son. He glanced over at her, his smile warm and inviting. She walked over just as he was picking Jaycen back up. The little boy made grabby hands for her and Tyler handed him off. He placed his large hand over Georgia's on Jaycen's back. The little boy cooed happily and stared up at Georgia. She glanced over at Tyler, eyes trained on his wife and son with reverence. Georgia spoke softly. “Your daddy is the best, did you know that Jaycen? The best daddy in the world.”

Tyler smiled as he wrapped a hand around Georgia's waist and gently pulled her close but not enough to squish the little boy. Jaycen made a small noise as he turned his head to look at Tyler, then back at Georgia. 

“He's probably hungry.” She said, stretching up to kiss Tyler. 

“Say no more.” He said, returning the kiss and placing one on Jaycen's head as well. “I'll go get ready. What do you wanna wear?”

“Pick somethin’ for me.” She said, going over to the chair in the corner. Tyler pulled the door closed behind him so that Georgia could feed Jaycen in peace. Waffles liked to go in and try to lick the little boy's feet which made him laugh, so it would just minimize distractions. 

Tonight, Tyler had picked a quiet restaurant and made a reservation. Georgia had gone over everything with Kate and Lily for Jaycen. Boone and Scott were there for their significant others, and because they enjoyed watching them with the little Owens boy. 

Tyler and Georgia didn't want to leave Jaycen but their friends had suggested it, offered to care for him as a team, and they'd only be gone for two hours at most for dinner. He would be full and happy. Once Georgia was done feeding him, which now only took about twenty minutes without the dogs trying to investigate, she brought him downstairs to see everyone. Kate was the first to step up and take him into her arms. Every chance she got, she asked to hold him. 

Tyler had come down then and told Georgia to go get changed. Lily had asked to hold Jaycen next. Boone was afraid he was going to drop him and it was always a hard no for Scott, which Tyler thought was hilarious. Scott would wave and say hi, maybe offer a finger for the little boy to latch onto with his chubby hand but that was the extent of it for him. 

“Let us know if anything seems off. He's pretty quiet and usually he's easy to get to sleep. You don't have to put him back upstairs for another hour and half though. When he’s up, he’s tryin’ to investigate things after eating. Tyler carries him around the house when he seems restless. The dogs are extremely careful with him. They'll follow you around when you go for a walk.” Georgia explained and Kate was nearly pushing the two of them out the door as Tyler had begun to say “oh and when you burp him...”

“It's two hours guys. Get out! He'll be okay, we've got him!” She said, closing the door, leaving them out on the porch. They hopped into Ole Red and headed to the restaurant.

🌪️🛻🛩️⚓

When they came back, two hours on the dot, and in the dark, there was nothing to report. Kate had just put Jaycen to bed about fifteen minutes before they'd gotten home so Georgia and Tyler had a couple hours to themselves before he'd be awake and hungry again. 

They thanked their friends and as they were leaving, Dustin was heading to his room. 

“Horses are all set. I'll do night check tonight so y'all can have a break. I know you're up anyway but I gotta finish my report so I'll be up too.” He said and Tyler thanked him. They both took a deep breath, relishing in a slow moment to sit on the couch in silence. The fire was dying, so Tyler extinguished the last of it and put the hallway light on. Georgia ushered the dogs to their beds, though they were only suggestions. Grits generally slept atop the couch, Waffles by the fireplace and Pancake on the smaller couch with her head om the arm, watchful of the front door.

“Hey. Go upstairs, and sit on our bed.” Georgia said, wiggling her brows at Tyler. He smirked and turned so fast he lost his balance but caught himself on the wall. He headed towards their bedroom, just popping his head in on Jaycen in the next room quickly. He closed the door so that any noise downstairs from the dogs or Dustin wouldn't disturb Jaycen. He padded into their bedroom, and then as he sat on the edge of the bed, he pulled his belt and socks off. He began to unbutton his shirt when he heard the soft tap of footsteps on the floor out in the hallway. The house was extremely quiet, save for the heat kicking on every couple hours so it could only be one person.

“Ah, ah. I'll do that.” Georgia whispered as she closed the door behind her. Tyler's mouth dropped open, taking in the sight of his beautiful wife, in a red bra, tits spilling out of it, and a matching red thong that connected in the back by a longhorn skull.

“Fuck. Where did you get that?” He asked, voice low and gravelly.

“Online. You like?” She asked, stepping toward him slowly, her hands behind her back. He raised a brow.

“Course, mama. Whatcha got there?” He asked, motioning for her to come closer. She pulled a strip from behind her back and handed it to him. “What's’is?”

“So...I told you the doctor cleared us to have sex...because I told her we wanted more kids. She also said it can be difficult to get pregnant while breastfeeding. So she said to use these test strips to see when I'm ovulating.” She explained, stepping into Tyler's space. His smile widened significantly. He placed the strip on the bed and then his hands wound around her waist. 

“And I take it you're tellin’ me this because you're ovulatin'...now?”

“Yes... I'm in heat, Tyler . And I want you. I can't wait anymore .” Georgia's voice was thick with lust as she caressed his cheeks and ran her fingers through his hair. He let his eyes close for a moment and then he couldn’t help the next question that came out of his mouth.

“How many kids do you want, darlin’?” His voice was husky as his grip tightened. Georgia paused.

“I don’t know, Tyler. I can’t give you an exact number.” Her fingers headed for his shirt, unbuttoning it slowly.

“I just ask because...I can’t even begin to understand how hard this has been on your body. I just want to know how many more times you wanna do this?” Tyler was always concerned with her comfort and she loved that about him. She appreciated it much more than he knew.

“How about you tell me how many more kids you want and we’ll see how many we can make happen? I know we haven’t had him that long but I want another. I want him to have brothers and sisters. I want him to grow up and have fun and have a better life than I did. I know you can help me make that happen.” She explained, as she finished with the buttons on his shirt. She pushed it off his shoulders and he threw it to the side. 

“I think four is...reasonable? Big family like I said...” Tyler murmured as her hands met his bare chest. He was particularly hairy as of late and Georgia had been wildly aroused by it. She loved the feeling of the wiry hair under her fingers and the rippling muscle it covered. Georgia leaned down and pressed her lips to his and he hooked his thumbs in the band of her thong, guiding it slowly down her thighs, exposing her already wet core to him. He swiped a finger through her folds and then brought it up to his lips. She smirked as he licked her arousal from the digit and her cheeks went red. 

“That was fuckin’ dirty.” She moaned softly, as she dropped down to her knees. Tyler's eyes lit up as he moved all of her hair over one shoulder, and then ran his calloused fingers along the nape of her neck and down the curve of her spine.

“You said you were in heat , Peach, I just wanted to see if that made it taste  different'sall.” Tyler watched as she unbuckled his belt then and unzipped his jeans and he shimmied out of them with her help, letting his cock spring free. He was hot and hard and ready to go. Georgia took him in her mouth, savoring his length for a few pumps before taking him deep, her breath coming out short through her nostrils. Tyler's fingers threaded through her hair for a beat before she let go of him with a loud pop. Lustful blue gazed up through hooded lids before she was rising and standing between his thighs. His fingers traveled up her back, then pressed into her hips. She mounted him, her hands reaching for his cheeks and he let a long sigh fall from his lips. As they continued making out, Georgia sparked up their conversation again, and all of her words brought him closer to his end even though they hadn't begun their final act yet.

“Three more babies? I think I can do that Tyler. I want to try to give that to you. You didn’t have to take me back...you didn’t have to let me back in...you didn’t have to keep lovin’ me after what I did...but you did...and I want to give you everythin’ you want because of that. I love you so much, Tyler Owens. So, so much.” He purred at her use of his full name, his fingers etching his need into the skin at her hips.

“I love you too Gee. An’ I know you spook easy. You’ve always been like that. You were always lookin’ for a way out if you needed it.” He said as his hands spread her, waiting for her okay. Her voice was even softer this time

“I don’t need it anymore, Ty. I don’t. I didn’t think I could love this life, but you made me love it. You, Tyler . You and that beautiful little boy that we made together. And I want more of this life with you Tyler. So I’m here to stay. I promise you that...now if were done having the deepest conversation ever...” She reached down and guided his cock into her dripping entrance easily. As she sunk down, her head fell back, mouth open and the sight of her enjoying the first pass as much as she did had Tyler teetering where he knew he couldn't come down from.

“You're really gonna let me getcha pregnant again?” Tyler moaned the sentence and it made a wave of heat wash over Georgia. 

“Well I can't do it all by myself. And there's some spots in the house that we haven't fucked yet.” She murmured, beginning to bounce up and down on his lap. Their mouths met, and Tyler took his opportunity to adjust his grasp on her hips tighter so that as she got closer to her orgasm he could take over. He always did. 

“Darlin’ we got a lifetime to fuck all over this house.” He said and Georgia couldn’t help the whimpers coming from her mouth as Tyler fucked her. It was not long before he was spilling inside her and then, pulling out and switching positions. He climbed over her, thrust inside her again, his refractory period short with all the build up they’d had. Georgia’s walls were clamping down on him, drawing him ever closer to a second release. He purred her name, told her how much he loved her and then emptied his seed deep inside her, leaving them both panting, gasping for air in the shared space. 

[live-laugh-lenney]

feeling ###nosy if you feel like telling what are your current works in progress 👀

i'll give you a few sneak peeks below of some current wips! hoping to get these out as soon as possible; some are just taking a bit longer than others to work through. <33

as well as getting locked in posted, i've got another lengthy arthurtv fic started off, in the early stages (and i've left a sneaky peek down below here) where the reader is george's best friend and falls in love with arthur so i'm excited for that one to take off!

a lot has been started so hopefully they'll be with you soon but enjoy these sneak peeks! the prompts are in bold and italics! x

George was having a terrible day (for any reason) and he’s down and gloomy about it, but the reader (a friend of his) takes care of him and makes sure he’s okay and long story short they fall in love and end up doing it on his couch while Arthur and Chris are away.

"don't be mad at me."

silence.

"yn, please."

he caught the lingering side-eye that she gave him and a smirk toyed at his lips.

"i'll get on my knees and beg if i have to," he states and the hollow of her cheek became a dimple as she chewed on the flesh inside her mouth, "oh, i see how it is. you want me to beg, don't you?"

the cushions move beside her and she's jostled around as he stands himself up from the sofa and, suddenly, a wave of cool air replaces the heat from his body that he emitted. the television being hidden behind his body and he adjusted the t-shirt that had ridden up his body and had become untucked from his jeans. and she really can't look away from him when he's kneeling before her.

she tries to keep the annoyed look on her face... except... it was hard when he knelt down in front of her, hands flat on her thighs, with a look in his eyes that held a lot more than apologies.

"please, stop ignoring me. i can't deal with it," he whispers, his eyes are level with hers and his orbs are a darker shade than normal, and she can sense her own mirroring his demeanour, "i need you to look at me, i need you to talk to me, i need you to stop being so annoyed with me because i'm an idiot."

his fingers were dangerously close to a zone that would have her like putty in his hands, melting into the cushions around her, completely at his disposal.

"jesus christ," he grumbles lowly, like he needed a pep-talk with his mind to confess what he needed to say, "i need you, yn."

please can you write something with arthurTV and reader going through a dry spell and putting an end to it !!

placing a hand on her back, he retracts it quick once he realised she didn't hear him enter the room, her whole body jumping at the sudden appearance of his touch.

"jesus, arthur."

"i'm so sorry," he laughs softly, setting her mug of tea down in an empty space on her desk and making sure it was away from any piece of paper that seemed important, "i thought you heard me come in."

"i had my music on," she says and slips her headphones down from her ears, letting them hang around her neck and she leant over to pause the song she was listening to, "honestly, i thought you'd have gone home."

"why?"

he moves to stand behind her so he could take in her desk; paper all over the place, scribbles and spider-maps on all of her ideas, chewed pen lids and ripped up post-it notes that weren't that important to her thought pattern.

"because i've been stuck in here all night with work on the brain," she frowns and he shakes his head, "you can go home, if you wanted. i'm not much fun right now and i wouldn't blame you."

"it's okay. i actually like being at your place as opposed to mine," he shrugs with a smile and presses a kiss to the top of her head, burying his nose into her hair as he laid both his hands on her shoulders and gave them a gentle squeeze, "but you should take a break, lovie."

"i can't."

"of course you can," he says softly, digging his thumbs into the nape of her neck and giving her shoulders a soft massage, feeling how the tension building up in her muscles disappeared at his touch, "come on, at least come and have a little nap if you're planning on pulling an all-nighter."

"arthur-"

"or, at least let me help you relax," he drops his head and he whispers the words softly into her ear and she can't help but let her head drop back into a position that collided softly with the back of her chair, "i miss you."

"i can't," she grumbles softly and looks at the way his face twists up in a quick look of frustration that was soon masked with a look of upset, "i want to, i'd love to, but i need to get all this done by tomorrow and i'm so close to being finished."

his lips press against her forehead and she closes her eyes at the soft touch grazing her skin, hands coming up the rest upon his hands that were still resting upon her shoulders.

for the last few weeks, she had been busy with meeting after meeting with brand-deal after brand-deal, talking with companies who were interested in her being the face of their products. spain, france and amsterdam had been places she'd spent three or four nights in, as part of a gifted trip she'd been invited on, and london had definitely been somewhere she had been excited to get away from.

she felt guilty.

she had been to all these amazing places for such amazing deals and opportunities, with new friends she'd met on the way, but she hadn't spent time with arthur. she hadn't been with arthur. and it killed her not to celebrate her achievements with him in a way they normally would.

"i've been really horrid, haven't i?"

i'm currently working on a best friend george x boyfriend arthur fic, too so here's a little something from that one!

“Do you ever wonder what life would be like if we never met? If I never came out that day?” George wonders, “I think my life would be quite boring.”

“I think my life would be even more boring,” YN laughs softly, “you’d still have all of this. You’d still have the podcast, the Tiktok, the Youtube channel, because the charisma that you have would have brought you this kind of life, anyway. The only exciting thing about my life is the fact that you’re my best friend.”

“That’s rubbish,” he shakes his head and sets his mug down on the table, “I think, one way or another, we’d have still ended up in each other’s lives. Just, not as soon as it happened. We were bound to have met eventually, whether it was that day or not.”

The office door opening brings YN’s attention away from George and to the brunette standing in the doorway, wearing a shirt that was almost identical to her own, a nervous look on his face once he realised he’d interrupted something. George’s head turned to follow where her eyes were looking, hand coming up top to wave the other guy in, allowing him to come and join them.

“Arthur, this is YN.”

“Hi,” Arthur smiles sweetly, extending his arm and his hand in an opportunity to shake her hand. To which she gladly mirrored, extending her own arm towards him and wiggling her fingers, their palms connecting in a soft yet hearty shake, “George has told us all so much about you, already. It’s nice to put a face to the name.”

YN couldn’t lie… Arthur was cute.

The handsome-kind of cute with the chiselled jawline hidden beneath the faintest amount of facial hair, shaggy brown hair with a fringe that covered his forehead, lips so pink and soft with brown eyes that held a lot of depth and emotion and she found it hard to look him in the eyes as she said her hello’s yet she found it difficult to look away from him when she finally gained the courage to make eye contact. 

“I mean, you’re all over George’s Instagram so it’s nice to finally meet the guy who he seems to enjoy the company of. I’m not sure whether I should be jealous or not,” YN teases him softly and Arthur lets out a breathy laugh, shaking his head and looking to his feet, “I love your t-shirt, by the way. Considering we don’t know each other, we’re matching today.”

It took Arthur by surprise when she stood up and he saw, in full, the same Natural History Museum logo printed across her chest which matched the same one printed on his own chest, just on different coloured cotton. 

“I seem to attract nerds, don’t I?”

and i also have a prequel started for this fic here!

“Meet me in the bathroom.”

YN felt his warm breath wash over the skin of her neck, the smell of orange juice hanging in the air from the Sex On The Beach he had clasped in his hand with a soaked straw that had been chewed upon with each sip he sucked up, a shiver running down her spine as butterflies bounced around the inside of her stomach. His arm snaking around her waist to pull her closer so he didn’t have to shout or speak loudly over the music bumping in the air, her black flush to his front, her body tensing underneath his touch.

All night, the two of them couldn’t stay away from each other.

From the moment she had walked through the door to Simon Minter’s birthday party, later than the time she told them she would be there, he was attached to her side. The first one to say hello to her, the first one to greet her with a kiss on the cheek, the first one to offer her a seat in the booth and the first one to take her jacket and place it with his so it wouldn’t get lost. He sat beside her in the booth that himself, George, Chris and Arthur Hill had taken their place in for the night and he brought her her drinks throughout the evening, refusing to take one off of her when she offered to buy a round. He kept a close eye on her everytime she got up to dance with Talia or Faith, watching every movement she made when a song they loved came on because he didn’t want anything to happen to her, always weary of where she disappeared off to when he took his eyes off of her for a brief second… only to let out a sigh of relief when he saw her standing at the bar as she topped up her drink.

No one else existed in his world when she arrived. His conversation with George dwindled out when he watched her walk over to them, his attention moved from making Chris the butt of his jokes when she joined in the conversations, and his behaviour changed now that she was amongst the four of them. 

The sexual tension between the two of them almost suffocating.

“Now?”

He nods and drops his hand from where he had placed it upon her hip, slowly dragging it down her body and letting his fingers trail slowly down her thigh and just beneath the hem of her dress, and she felt her knees wanting to buckle under his soft touch.

[watarfallar]

DESERT DUO! *I say staring at the sand on the beach, the people around me questioning my mental stability*

Grian: I’d like to live through a week that’s not a whole new verse of “We Didn’t Start the Fire.”

Scar: Don’t you have any dignity, Grian? Grian: Uh, no.

Scar: Grian is not allowed to violate the dress code, even on 'casual' Fridays. Scar: No matter how many times you say please, Grian. We won't put any of the hats you've been asking about into the dress code.

Scar, playing a video game: This game is so frustrating! I hate it, I hate it, I hate it! Grian: Ok, I think it’s time to turn off the game for a little while. Scar: But I’m having fun!

Grian: Did you ever have like a pet run away and find it or anything? Scar: I had a lizard that I burnt.

Scar: They couldn't find their way out of a paper bag. Grian: That's not true! I found my way out of a paper bag yesterday!

Grian: Scar, I think we have a problem. Scar: What, the fire? Grian: No, the- wait, what fire? Scar: Oh forget about it, this sounds more interesting.

Scar: Question. When they shot Bambi's mother, did you find that a sad moment…at all? Grian: I'm sure she's mounted on a nice wall in a fine home somewhere.

Scar: English is CRAZY. Oregano is both a spaghetti leaf topping and a form of paper art! Grian: What is this "paper art" you speak of? Scar: That shit where you make cranes and stuff out of folded paper! Grian: … Scar.

Scar: We are not mad. We are just disappointed. Grian: No, we are mad. Scar: Yes. We are. We are livid. But we are going to let this one slide. Grian: No, we’re not! Scar: I am not a mind reader, Grian!

Scar: If this plan goes down the drain, where should we regroup? Grian: The afterlife, I guess.

Grian: How was your day, Scar? Scar: Yeah, fine, it's anti-bullying week at school. Grian: Oh? And what does that mean? Scar: It means I can't bully anyone for a whole week.

Scar: What's this? Grian, hugging Scar: Affection! Scar: Disgusting. Scar: …Do it again.

Scar: You use humor to deflect your trauma. Grian: Awww, thanks- Scar: That’s not a good thing. Grian: All I’m hearing is that you think I’m funny.

Scar: I need a long word. Grian: T-rex but the long one.

Grian: Just wondering, did you get any sleep? Scar: Did I get any… leap? Grian: What…?

Grian: That's a nice arguement, Scar Why don't you back it up with a source? Scar: My source is that I made it the fuck up!

Scar: Grian, I screwed up, big time. Grian: Scar, given your daily life experiences, you’re gonna have to be more specific.

Grian: closes a cabinet a crash is heard behind the cabinet door Scar: What was that? Grian: The sound of someone else's problem.

Grian: I can't take you seriously wearing that. Scar: Aw, you take me seriously at all? Grian: Fair point.

Scar: And what do I get out of this? Grian: I will give you a dollar. Scar: What do you think I am? A chump? I would never do it for a dollar! Grian: How bout two dollars? Scar: You got yourself a deal.

Grian, looking at a map: It’s a barren, featureless wasteland out there, isn't it? Scar: Other side, Grian…

Grian: As a responsible adult- Scar: chuckles Grian: … As a responsible adult—

Scar: I'm going to take a shower, I'll be right back. Grian: Why are you telling me this, I don't care. Grian, right after Scar leaves the room: I miss them already.

[squidsinashirt]

U must have some amazing stories about your dad u can share! 🤩

I’ve sat on this one for a bit, sorry Anon. Wasn’t intentional but I… just didn’t know how to answer it.

I mean, I get it. He’s Jeff Tracy, right? The Jeff Tracy. I can remember being just a little kid, and going to meet him off coming home from his latest mission. All these huge crowds cheering for him, those amazing rockets, and little me thinking all this, for my dad?

The thing is, everybody has their own stories about him. It’s fascinating, because you’ll hear all these other tales that exist only thanks to other people. Colonel Casey, Captain Taylor, heck even Kip Harris knew him. All these huge figures have got larger than life tales of the incredible things Jeff Tracy did, and was, and inspired. There’s statues and plaques to him, and you can take a tour at the space centre about his missions, and there’s books and movies and documentaries…

There are five incredible machines he dreamt up, standing by to help achieve this fantastical goal of his to help the world. I suppose in a way, you get to snatch a little glimpse of who Jeff Tracy was, and what he believed in, every time one of them appears to save the day. Every time some kid points an excited finger up at Thunderbird Two or squints after a contrail that was Thunderbird One, there he is. That magic, that excitement, that kind of imposing extraordinary that he did so well.

Anyway, to get back on track. People come bounding up to us, to me, and they ask this sort of question all the time, and that’s the thing about being JEFFTRACYSSON (said in one breath at rapid pace, because that’s the way people greet you). I get the curiosity, I really do. I don’t say it with any malice intended, and it’s comforting to know he still has that kind of impact. I’m always happy to talk about him, I promise!

It’s simple to be JEFFTRACYSSON when you pull on an International Rescue uniform. It took a little practice to ease into at first, but it’s perfected now. It’s really easy to talk about how we believe in his dream, how we’ve all taken on that duty in our individual and collective ways. In the importance of iR, in what it means to us as family. Shiny uniform, perfect hair, smile and wave and save some lives 💪🏻

Please don’t read into this in the wrong way - I’m very proud to be Jeff Tracy’s son. It’s actually quite difficult to really put across how strongly I feel about the weight of that title, because it’s pretty sacred (and also a little intimidating at times). Everywhere we go, it’s “oh, you must be Jeff’s boy” or “oh, you’re a Tracy”, and that means there’s instantly an expectation to live up to, both publicly and privately. It’s a privilege, it really is, and I think it’s a kind of sacrosanct commitment that has really been at the centre of my thinking as I’ve gotten older - how to try and be the sort of man that deserves that kind of birthright.

I don’t just mean the public side of being Jeff Tracy’s son. See, behind the scenes, to me, to us as a family, he was every bit human in a very ordinary way.

He made the best Sunday pancakes.

He cheered far too loudly at swim competitions (and teenage me was perpetually mortified by it) and was every bit as encouraging and supportive as you might guess.

He told these excellent, awful dad jokes, always at just the wrong (or right, I suppose) moments that made you groan.

He used to let me drive his old truck up the drive when he came home from a long mission, playing country songs with the window rolled down.

We loved pranking Mom together by hiding in the laundry bin and jumping out like idiots.

He told the most spectacular, far fetched bedtime stories he swore were real, and my brothers and I could never get enough of them.

He was also away for months on end in space, or training, or lost in his plans and ideas and dreams, and sometimes that meant he wasn’t really here with us, even if he was.

He couldn’t do laundry for shit, and he was absolutely useless at trying to run a house with five young sons on his own, and only a military background to lean on for ideas (thanks Grandma and Scott for saving that one).

Being Jeff Tracy’s son is a little more complex than just the uniform, I guess, and because of that I don’t always recognise the Jeff Tracy in the books and the movies, the one that people are so desperate to hear more about.

I think that’s why I find answering questions like this so difficult, and why maybe my answers never land particularly well with the people who ask this. Because the expectation for them is an entire reel of grand tales that haven’t been heard yet out of me. Some heroic, unbelievable stories that reads like the plaques - and then they are always a little disappointed that it turns out all I can say is that he was a real person. Somebody who was very human and very brilliant and very flawed, and who I loved very much. Because to me, he’s my dad.

And ultimately, nobody wants to hear about that. It doesn’t fit their two dimensional, mythical image of him, or my brothers and I for that matter. Us being a fairly regular family doesn’t really inspire the kind of tales that perhaps lend themselves to be told.

(This is the biggest reason I don’t do interviews, because I’d be like you wanna hear about the time he took us on a hiking trip, got us lost in a storm and Mom nearly divorced him because she thought we’d all been eaten by coyotes? No? It’s hilarious, honestly!)

That’s alright, though. Like I said, the movies and the books are there to tell those stories, and Lee Taylor will happily yap your ear off for an hour about their exploits if you want. Dad’s legacy, in that form, is more than secure.

They’re not going to ever be able to tell you about his favourite pancake toppings though, or his favourite song to dance to in the kitchen or his favourite swear word, and there’s the real privilege in getting to be Jeff Tracy’s son. In getting to carry him forward, not just the stories.

…

…

This got a lot deeper than I intended it to go. I’ve had a beer and I rambled. Sorry Anon.

Ahem. Good question! I guess I’m just not the best person to answer it, ironically enough ;)

I guess the best that I can offer is that if you are ever in trouble and call us, just know that there was a really great human being behind the face that made it all possible, who told the worst jokes, but who cared a whole f-ing lot.

*insert generic story here about Dad and a rocket*

[luvmyboyss]

SAVIOR | SATORU GOJO

✮ Pairing: Gojo Satoru x Fem!Reader

✮ Synopsis: You were trapped in a monotonous life, every day was the same, same routine, same boring people, same boring boyfriend, untill one day it just changed.

✮ Warnings: Stalking, fainting, mentioned panick attack, anxiety

✮ Word count: 1.3k

✮ A/N: I'm thinking about making more parts obiously, but let me know what you think about it, if you like it or not. Also i'm still learning to put warnings so if anyone notice some missing please let me kno. Thank you!

✮ PS: Thank you @hyuneskkami for the blue dividers!! 🫶🏻😭

You were tired, all the days were the same schedule, every day that passed you were more tired, what you should do? You didn’t know, but you felt trapped in a loop, doing the same each morning, each midday and each night.

At 6:30 your boyfriend, who didn’t even want to marry you, after 7 years, you thought the day was coming, but it never happened. He wakes up, and instead of trying to be as subtle as he can so you can rest for 30 more minutes, he is the loudest person you’ve ever met. He goes to the bathroom and the only thing that you are praying is for him to just stay as quiet as he can.

At 7:00 your alarm goes off, and it’s a good thing that your boyfriend is now out of your room, so you can take a nice shower to try to stay calm and start the day nicely. You change into boring clothes, because after trying to be more stylish for a while, you noticed that everyone in the office stared at you, and at first you didn’t care, but after some time and lots and lots of whispering, laughter and mean looks, you started to be more like them.

By the time 8:00 rolls your boyfriend is already out of your tiny apartment and you eat your breakfast alone, the silence feels heavy, and you hate it, but still get trough it because in fifteen minutes you will be taking the train, because you’d be damned if your bf lends you the car you both paid for. 

Then, from 9:00 to 17:00-17:30 you work your ass off and with just some time to eat your lunch and relax, and all you can really think about in that time is how you wished you’d be somewhere else, living your life fully, and even tho you were still young you felt like this was your life for the rest of your stance in the world.

Around 17:45-18:15 you finally get home, no boyfriend at sight, and you are very tired, but still have to do dinner and both of your lunches for tomorrow, because he didn’t like it when meals weren’t done, ‘cause if you spend so much time home why don’t use it wisely? If not you will be met with the consequences of your actions, or lack of them in this case.

When your boyfriend arrives at 20:00 the table is already set, and you are preparing the lunches for tomorrow and setting them in a place where he can see them or he’ll get mad. 

You both eat and even though it hurts you, neither of you talks, and you still did not so long ago, but seeing that he didn’t care and didn’t listen, you just stopped. You should have left him long ago but can’t understand why you still haven’t. You blame it on the fact that flats are expensive and living with someone takes half of it off. 

Around 21:00 you are in your bed ready to sleep but the TV from the living room is just so high, you’ve tried lots of different ways to stop the sound, lots and lots of ear plugs, but none worked, so now you roll on your bed until bf comes to bed and the TV is off.

At 23:00 when everyone is probably asleep, and you can hear your boyfriend snoring you wonder if there is really a meaning to life, if you are meant for this life and if this is how it’s going to be forever.

You hope it isn’t.

૮ ྀི◞͈ ˔ ◟͈ ྀིა

You woke up more happy this morning. Today you had to go shopping for groceries, and that broke your schedule a bit, and you liked that more than you let yourself to admit.

Around noon you got out and went shopping, walking around and getting to the center of the town seeing people expressing themselves made you feel alive again, but today felt different, you felt as if someone was watching you.

You let that pass as your brain tricking you. The thing is, you were indeed being watched by some white-haired man from some miles away.

You went home and started back your routine. It wasn't until some weeks later when you went out again, when that feeling of being watched came back, or rather stronger, because you'd been feeling it since that day when you went shopping.

You were walking around going to your trusted supermarket when you saw him, and how could you not? Even when he was sitting he stood out over everyone else.

Who was that white-haired guy sitting on a bench in front of your supermarket? Why was he wearing a blindfold? Why was he so...ethereal?

Deciding not to pay any attention to him, you get to get your groceries. Everything went well but after like an hour when you got out of there he was still there, and for you it seemed weird because even though he wasn't looking in your direction and wearing a blindfold, you still felt like he was watching you.

As always the longer route seemed more appealing so its the one you chose, half the rout in the feeling of being watched was still there. You couldn't shake it off, and then you saw him.

Even though the reflection wasn't the clearest you could identify him from miles away. Who could't? And he was... following you? 

"No, no it must have been a coincidence he couldn't be following me, right" you thought, but still weren't sure at all.

After some more turns and straights, the reflection gave him away again.

"Now he is following for sure"

You speed up your peace and soon enough the entry to your building was right there. After looking at both directions and seeing the white hair weirdo wasn't there, you decided to enter.

૮ ྀི◞͈ ˔ ◟͈ ྀིა

The next week you felt watched every hour of the day, everyday, it was exhausting, at some point you even felt sick, it was very bad, your body was telling you to stop doing the thing that made you that anxious, you were anxious all the time, you. You thought you even had some small panick atacks.

One day while you were in the office your body had enough and you ended up blocking yourself in the bathroom.

You felt like everyone was watching your every move, you were out of your mind so you did what anyone would do, you took the day off and packed to get home.

Just after getting out you saw him, sitting on a bench but this time he was looking at you, or so you thought 'cause he was still wearing that blindfold.

At that moment, you freaked the fuck out, you started sprinting home, you didn't care about anything, after some meters you turned to another place, the police.

If he was still following you, he was going to meet the consequences.

When you arrived, you waited a minute to see if he was there, but he was nowhere to be seen, so you decided to go back home. 

When you were taking the lift to your floor your heart was racing, you wanted to stay home forever, you swore if you saw him again you were truly filing a police report and moving to another country.

You opened the door to your flat, but there was something weird. You couldn't point at it but the feeling wouldn't go away. And then you saw him.

"What the fuck!"

Your reaction was to leave your apartment, but for some reason there was something blocking the entryway. It made the outside blurry and now that you noticed the light from the outside seemed blurry too.

When he moved, panick moved through your body and you couldn't move "fuck" you thought. 

"Hey you don't need to worry, I'm not trying to do something bad to you, I'm here to talk about something important with you, it is..."

You couldn't even hear what he said because you fainted.

[floral-comet-whump]

slept well!! I was supposed to have a field trip and it got cancelled cause of the weather so I'm not sure what I'm doing now but basically I'm at home. I'm here to do the thing you (fenris) do with destroyer cause it looks rlly fun! my commentary might not his the spot but I'm trying :D

Cyrus wishes to at least have a look around while outside. It would only be a military camp, soldiers walking around, tents set up, maybe some horses on one side. Not a very pleasant nor interesting view.

But at least he would be seeing the sky, and the grass, and people.

AAAAAAAAAAAA IT'S REAL!!! IT'S HAPPENING!!!! this is a really strong start I can already feel the like. yearning

He's not. He's seeing pure black from behind his nullification glasses, being guided by an unrelenting hand on his neck, just above his heavy collar.

yearning!

Not even allowed to feel skin, only the tough material of a glove.

I REMEMBER THAT FROM THE CYRUS & WALENTY RP THINGY!!! that I'm not sure if will be posted but it happened in tumblr dms.

when you asked it there I assumed you were asking cause cyrus can use his magic via any skin contact :0 now I'm wondering if it's that or habit or both...

aaaaaa he's so feared and sad :( I'm gonna read the comfort asks after this. OH can the emoji for the one I sent be changed from 🌺 to ☄️ please?

A strong sensation of nausea hits him when they enter his designed post tent of this campaign. It feels like the protection barriers put around the tents are getting stronger each campaign.

are the protection barriers making him nauseous??

Being on an empty stomach doesn't help, either. Regret fills him from refusing breakfast, but he's sure his stomach wouldn't have kept it down anyway.

ohhh so he's allowed to refuse food??? damn. did wilson also suspect he wouldn't keep it down or is doing things that make him less powerful allowed

"... This is it? The rumors made it look spine-chilling, not... this." A voice from his right side says, a bit far back. Further into the tent, then. Cyrus doesn't recognize the voice, but the words are familiar.

THIS IS ONE OF MY FAVOURITE LW TROPES OH MY GOD. when. when whenw when the weapon is expected to look scary and is not but WILL be scary... I don't like underestimation much in other stories tho for some reason which is weird. oh well!!!

The gloved hand on his neck squeezes, and he stops after a second of trying to figure out if it was out of frustration or a command to stand still.

No scolding comes, so it must have been a command. Or both.

ohhh :( he makes me sad I'm definitely gonna read the comfort ask

That voice he does recognizes in the very core of his being.

good shit 👍

Cyrus doesn't have time to feel ashamed of the words before a pressure on his neck commands him to kneel down. Even with the knee pads, a mercy not chosen by his handler, the impact hurts a bit.

:( he knelt fast then. man...

"Behave." Is what reaches his ear before the leather gloves are unfastened from his wrists.

oooo did wilson whisper that or say it outright?

Magic wraps around the metal gloves that were beneath the leather ones and bend it open. Cyrus didn't even hear the metallokinetic's handler telling them to do that. Maybe this gifted doesn't have a handler, he knows there's some free Gifted that serve the military willingly.

ANOTHER GIFTED!!!! also that's rlly interesting how his restraint is tied to another person's magic

Unlike Cyrus.

yeah I know </3 man this is a bunch of info I know cause I've already been exposed to bits of this story but for future newcomers this is probably necessary clarification

He obediently waits with unmoving hands until his handler applies pressure on his head in another silent command. No one speaks as the nullification glasses are unlocked from his bowed head, nor when his half-necrotic fingertips find the floor beneath him.

ugh he's so well trained

It's not grass, it's rocks. He suppresses a disappointed sigh.

I'LL GIVE YOU ALL THE GRASS EVER SWEET LOVELY BOY </3

The metallokinetic does in fact have a handler, and a black eye. He can't see anyone else, they're all behind him for safety.

That black eye must hurt, there's probably more bruises under the clothing, it never stops at just one.

Cyrus shouldn't care that the gifted was hurt. But he did. They deserve someone to care.

aw man :( yeah he really cares like that! it's genuinely remarkable tbh

"You have permission to use your power, Wither." An uncomfortable eagerness blooms in him at the words.

aaaaaaaaa? wilson my beloved he's so cold

"Yes, sir," Cyrus whispers and his collar beeps, its blue lights turning red as magic comes to life under his skin once again.

ooooooo :D I remember wondering why the art of him showed him with blue lines in his collar when he was a threat level red!!! fascinating :3

It took less than a minute for him to spiral into euphoria this time.

the description of the withering magic is amazing and also pretty long so I don't wanna paste it. but man it's good

Faintly, he knew his lips were moving, in that same eerie murmur of always, singing words he couldn't understand, but also couldn't forget. An incantation that breaks the laws of nature. A chant that was never created... only repeated. The echo of something that always existed.

And so he repeats. From the words, waves of withering magic follows the colorful branches and pushes it forward.

going back to this chapter from wilson's pov, you said it's a fan ver of the tangled hurt incantation? "wither and decay, cease this misery. break this earthly chains, and set the spirit free. bend it to my will. steal the sunlight's glow. take their final breath, and let the darkness grow"

A warm mist swirls on his arms pleasantly. Something similar started filling his eyes, and Cyrus's head was pure delight. His chest shudders with a bubbly feeling as a smile grows on his face.

veins in his eyes!! last time they went black taking cyrus out of the euphoria took 3 days 👍 I rember >:3c

Cyrus didn't even know he had made a noise until the collar beeps again with a warning electrical shock. With a flinch, he goes dead quiet.

(from wilson pov chapter) The weapon knows better than to complain or move without being told to, but Handler gives it a warning electrical shock at the almost pouty whimper. It flinches and goes dead quiet.

aaaaaondonfbofnof sobbing he got shocked for whimpering and didn't even realize until it

Cyrus wants to keep using his magic, why can't he? It's so warm and happy-

I remember you mentioned his species is way better suited for warm climates :(

"Mmn?" The order takes a second to click. "Oh... yes, sir..." To speak was hard, his tongue didn't move the okay he wanted it to.

YESSSS THAT WAS THE ORIGINAL INTENT OF THE PROMPT RESPONSE I DID!!! you changed it from "okay" to "yessir" :000

Should he even be speaking, actually? Wilson doesn't usually like him speaking. Did he say "Sir" as he was supposed to? He doesn't think so... but no shock comes. Perhaps he did. It's hard to remember.

you did say this is unreliable narrator! in the wilson pov he still says "okay" so now I'm curious if he did misinterpret his own informal wording to formal wording

The floor seemed to spin beneath Cyrus when he stood up.

the thehthehthe

He still couldn't hear the metallokinetic's handler telling them to do it, maybe it had been a silent command.

poor metallokinetic whumpee :(

He feels the leather gloves being fastened on his wrists, too, before Mr. Wilson grabs him by the upper nape and guides him out.

oooo so he has gloves on when not working got it got it. leather! I assume it's to avoid skin to skin contact? or his hands are the most effective conduit and the higher-ups don't want him touching anything with his hands?

On the way back, there's no longer any murmuring. Even blinded, he knows everyone is just staring. There's only the sound of heavy steps and the wind slowly bringing the smell of death into the camp.

feared whumpee my beloved

Blindly, he's pushed to sit inside his resting capsule. Oh, that's right, he's at a campaign, his den isn't here... the sad longing only lasts a second.

yeppp you said he's used to being guided blindly in the rp we did. also den??? anyways here's the link to said capsule cause I wanna look at it

The thin mattress is cold, and the restraints are too tight.

!!!! he gets a mattress <:D

Cyrus hates the cold,

ough I know </3 poor baby

Cyrus hates the cold, but it feels so weird, he can't help but giggle. It sounds off, but he can't pinpoint why.

"Quiet," Mr. Wilson scolds sternly, fastening his legs securely inside the capsule. Cyrus flinches and tenses from the upcoming shock that doesn't arrive.

What a silly thing, to flinch from something that didn't even happen. He suppresses another fit of giggles.

>:( wilson when I fucking get you

The pressure building up behind his eyes and neck is getting harder to ignore. His fingers twitch with the need to use his magic again, but the nullification doesn't let him.

oooo is his collar nullifying it? or the gloves? capsule??? I think it's the collar

𝚂𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚞𝚜, 𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎.

Now the shock comes, and Cyrus's flinch is not so funny this time. It wasn't just a warning shock, but he doesn't know why he has been punished. Mr. Wilson doesn't clarify it, either. He's scared of not knowing.

the euphoria narration thing is. so fucking good man. but why'd he get shocked?? this isn't in the wilson pov chapter 😔

The twitches are getting worse. He wants to move. The cold is starting to creep in again, and he wants the warmth back.

someone please give him a blanket istg. I know this is a different kind of cold but can he have a blanket :(

His hands move slowly under the temporarily loose restrictions, trying to relieve some of the painful nervous energy without grabbing Mr. Wilson's attention.

!!! sneaky :0

It doesn't work. His handler always sees everything.

a

also love that. “his handler always sees everything.” !!! love love love that love the sheer amount of fear and expecting danger

"Did I say you could move, Wither?" Cyrus freezes from the gelid tone. His shoulders go up chastened just before a gloved hand fists his hair harshly.

HE'S NOT EVEN ALLOWED TO MOVE WITHOUT PERMISSION??? I mean I expected that but damn. also gloves again. is it a military thing or is this the skin contact thing

That'll form a knot later... he wants to wash up and detangle his hair already, before it gets too bad.

From how harsh Mr. Wilson's grip is, he doesn't think he'll be allowed that so soon.

pfft I love those moments of like. passive caring about everyday stuff in whump. they're funny but then they're not funny

"Stop trying to be sneaky, that's the only warning you'll be given." Cold and firm as always. Frightening as always.

HEY DON'T CALL HIM SNEAKY I DID IT FONDLY >:(

"Yes, sir," Cyrus answers quietly. It's weird how he still feels afraid and sad even when he's feeling giggly and euphoric.

ough.. he's so scared poor baby

He doesn't want to talk, he wants to move.

What weapons want doesn't matter.

HE SAID IT!!! HE SAID THE LW LINE!!!!! HE SAID ITTTTTT

He tries again. "I'm... I won't be sneaky again. I'm sorry, Mr. Wilson," he tries. The hand leaves his hair without any further words.

:(

So you can kill more people with it?

No. What? No, no, no-

Your handler stopped you before the euphoria truly took place. Where is your gratitude, you vile thing? Why must others die just so you can smile?

That's not what he wants, he just... he just wants the colors back, the happy feeling of-

Of killing.

The memories of colored forms change. These were people.

People you killed.

D: man I don't even know what to say this is just rlly fuckin good. guilt my beloved

"Are you crashing already?" Comes the distant, cold voice. It takes long seconds for Cyrus to recognize it's Mr. Wilson's.

YEAH I THINK SO!!

Crashing. Yes. Yes, he's crashing, and he's still on war camp, so he doesn't even get his white den-

okay what is the white den?? is it his usual cell with nothing in it?

...swallowing hard. He tastes blood. He knows it's not his.

huh??? how come he didn't get physically close to any of it

Cyrus's back presses against the capsule mattress, and he can barely separate what is real touch and what isn't. Sharp goosebumps run up his arm, his hands are being held, there's a pressure on his chest and a numbness on his left leg.

is this unreality?? eh

"It's euphoric state was pretty fast this time, it was a good timing to retrieve it," Mr. Wilson's out loud thinking reaches his ear along with a faint noise of screams that mustn't be true.

They're true, you're just hearing them too late.

"Today will be easy, then."

Cyrus couldn't disagree more with his handler.

WOW!!! love the logic and treating cyrus like so much of an object wilson can just talk out loud while he's there. also lemme go get a thing from the wilson pov drabble

As always, it's an active effort to not show any discomfort. If Whumpee sensed uneasiness from its handler, then everything would go to shit. This type of weapon needed a constant, firm, and steady structure.

YEAH!!! this. this thing

man. I love cyrus. I love wilson. I have so many feelings about them both... I rlly love handler whumpers those are so neat I love cold whumpers that are professional. wilson has such a presence in this chapter. cyrus is so cute I wanna wrap him in blankets...

AAAAAAAAAAAAAA ME WHEN HIM ME WHEN HIMMMMM

I loved how this was like. stractured eith the euphoria and conediwn and everything. I also love how despite everything cyrus is still so caring towards others it's so. ough </3

I think that's all I have to say rn pjdondnod I might make a repost with more but probably not

Sweet Creature

Content: magical living weapon, dehumanization, "it" briefly used as pronoun, dangerous whumpee, magical euphoria, shock collar, sensory (visual) deprivation, manhandling, military whump, implied institutionalized whump, magical slavery, heavily implied mass murder, hallucinations.

(chapter 1) | next chapter ->

(Curse of Withering masterpost)

Cyrus wishes to at least have a look around while outside. It would only be a military camp, soldiers walking around, tents set up, maybe some horses on one side. Not a very pleasant nor interesting view.

But at least he would be seeing the sky, and the grass, and people.

He's not. He's seeing pure black from behind his nullification glasses, being guided by an unrelenting hand on his neck, just above his heavy collar. Not even allowed to feel skin, only the tough material of a glove.

Around Cyrus, talk dies down, and muttering comes to life, as he's used to. It never stops making him feel ashamed.

Also not allowed to curl up or hide in any way, he's just dragged forward to keep walking.

A strong sensation of nausea hits him when they enter his designed post tent of this campaign. It feels like the protection barriers put around the tents are getting stronger each campaign.

Being on an empty stomach doesn't help, either. Regret fills him from refusing breakfast, but he's sure his stomach wouldn't have kept it down anyway.

"... This is it? The rumors made it look spine-chilling, not... this." A voice from his right side says, a bit far back. Further into the tent, then. Cyrus doesn't recognize the voice, but the words are familiar.

The gloved hand on his neck squeezes, and he stops after a second of trying to figure out if it was out of frustration or a command to stand still.

No scolding comes, so it must have been a command. Or both.

"Wait until you see it destroying a whole military camp while laughing like a maniac," Mr. Wilson says. That voice he does recognizes in the very core of his being. And by the coldness of it, his handler is audibly used to that question as well.

Cyrus doesn't have time to feel ashamed of the words before a pressure on his neck commands him to kneel down. Even with the knee pads, a mercy not chosen by his handler, the impact hurts a bit.

"Behave." Is what reaches his ear before the leather gloves are unfastened from his wrists.

Magic wraps around the metal gloves that were beneath the leather ones and bend it open. Cyrus didn't even hear the metallokinetic's handler telling them to do that. Maybe this gifted doesn't have a handler, he knows there's some free Gifted that serve the military willingly.

Unlike Cyrus.

He obediently waits with unmoving hands until his handler applies pressure on his head in another silent command. No one speaks as the nullification glasses are unlocked from his bowed head, nor when his half-necrotic fingertips find the floor beneath him.

It's not grass, it's rocks. He suppresses a disappointed sigh.

Cyrus knows better than to look around or shift from his position, but he's still able to see a bit of the tent's inside. The metallokinetic does in fact have a handler, and a black eye. He can't see anyone else, they're all behind him for safety.

That black eye must hurt, there's probably more bruises under the clothing, it never stops at just one.

Cyrus shouldn't care that the gifted was hurt. But he did. They deserve someone to care.

Mr. Wilson blocks his vision of the gifted by crouching down. The direct, practical delineation of where the enemy camp is sinks into his mind easily as his handler speaks. It's easy to map in his head exactly where he needs to focus on.

"You have permission to use your power, Wither." An uncomfortable eagerness blooms in him at the words.

"Yes, sir," Cyrus whispers and his collar beeps, its blue lights turning red as magic comes to life under his skin once again.

𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚎, 𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎.

Pain doesn't even register in the sea of feelings building up in his body. The rocks puncturing the palms of his hands aren't nearly enough to ground him, not after years of the magic slowly numbing his nerves.

The tent disappears and all he can see is colors erupting from the blackness, like thousands of little roots travelling through the grass. Ignoring the surrounding life had become easier over the years, and the withering knew to travel until it's closer to the delineated area than to him before branching to reach all soldiers of the other side.

It took less than a minute for him to spiral into euphoria this time.

Faintly, he knew his lips were moving, in that same eerie murmur of always, singing words he couldn't understand, but also couldn't forget. An incantation that breaks the laws of nature. A chant that was never created... only repeated. The echo of something that always existed.

And so he repeats. From the words, waves of withering magic follows the colorful branches and pushes it forward.

His hands crack and dug further into the ground, and he repeats the chant again. Again, again, again...

𝙰𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗.

Cyrus could see, or in a way feel, the life bursting out of the enemy's camp. It was hard to separate what was greenery and what was people, but it didn't matter in the end.

Wither magic fills the entire enemy camp with thousands of black ramifications that only he sees the colors of. Growing, rotting, decaying.

Every cell in his body beams with giddy energy.

A warm mist swirls on his arms pleasantly. Something similar started filling his eyes, and Cyrus's head was pure delight. His chest shudders with a bubbly feeling as a smile grows on his face.

And then everything goes black. The cold, painful reality crashes down on him, harshly taking all the cheerfulness away and leaving behind an itch, a hysteric uneasiness. A faint beeping of his collar tells him he's done today, it had turned blue again.

Cyrus didn't even know he had made a noise until the collar beeps again with a warning electrical shock. With a flinch, he goes dead quiet. An argument was happening over his head.

Cyrus wants to keep using his magic, why can't he? It's so warm and happy-

"It was fucking smiling, it is fine to keep on! What is the point of having a weapon that can't be used?!" A man behind him almost yells. Not the same one from before, a slightly more familiar one. It might be the general, but without seeing it's hard to be sure.

Yes, Cyrus was fine to keep going, he was! It's been less than a minute with the nullification glasses back on, but he misses the colorful cheerfulness already, his body is taut with the need to move, to do something, anything.

But Mr. Wilson is right there, so he stays obediently still.

"I'm not telling it to launch an attack again! The magic would consume it's head and-" Mr. Wilson pauses, and Cyrus recognizes his temper rising. It's an effort not to flinch. "Ugh, you have no idea how bad it gets. Wither. Up, we're leaving."

"Mmn?" The order takes a second to click. "Oh... yes, sir..." To speak was hard, his tongue didn't move the okay he wanted it to. Cyrus could hear the ecstatic smile on his own voice, and he almost winces at it, but without knowing why. To smile was good, wasn't it?

Should he even be speaking, actually? Wilson doesn't usually like him speaking. Did he say "Sir" as he was supposed to? He doesn't think so... but no shock comes. Perhaps he did. It's hard to remember.

The floor seemed to spin beneath Cyrus when he stood up.

A gloved grip squeezes his arm and Cyrus knows to stay completely still, despite the dizziness. Magic envelops his hands as the metal gloves are bent to fit them again. He still couldn't hear the metallokinetic's handler telling them to do it, maybe it had been a silent command.

He feels the leather gloves being fastened on his wrists, too, before Mr. Wilson grabs him by the upper nape and guides him out. The sound of many boots around them tells him the escort team is here already.

On the way back, there's no longer any murmuring. Even blinded, he knows everyone is just staring. There's only the sound of heavy steps and the wind slowly bringing the smell of death into the camp.

The heavy metal door shuts with the escort team outside, and the only steps that echo inside the container are his and Mr. Wilson.

Blindly, he's pushed to sit inside his resting capsule. Oh, that's right, he's at a campaign, his den isn't here... the sad longing only lasts a second.

The thin mattress is cold, and the restraints are too tight. Cyrus hates the cold, but it feels so weird, he can't help but giggle. It sounds off, but he can't pinpoint why.

"Quiet," Mr. Wilson scolds sternly, fastening his legs securely inside the capsule. Cyrus flinches and tenses from the upcoming shock that doesn't arrive.

What a silly thing, to flinch from something that didn't even happen. He suppresses another fit of giggles.

The pressure building up behind his eyes and neck is getting harder to ignore. His fingers twitch with the need to use his magic again, but the nullification doesn't let him.

The pressure gets worse.

𝚂𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚞𝚜, 𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎.

Now the shock comes, and Cyrus's flinch is not so funny this time. It wasn't just a warning shock, but he doesn't know why he has been punished. Mr. Wilson doesn't clarify it, either. He's scared of not knowing.

The twitches are getting worse. He wants to move. The cold is starting to creep in again, and he wants the warmth back.

His hands move slowly under the temporarily loose restrictions, trying to relieve some of the painful nervous energy without grabbing Mr. Wilson's attention.

It doesn't work. His handler always sees everything.

"Did I say you could move, Wither?" Cyrus freezes from the gelid tone. His shoulders go up chastened just before a gloved hand fists his hair harshly. That'll form a knot later... he wants to wash up and detangle his hair already, before it gets too bad.

From how harsh Mr. Wilson's grip is, he doesn't think he'll be allowed that so soon.

"Stop trying to be sneaky, that's the only warning you'll be given." Cold and firm as always. Frightening as always.

"Yes, sir," Cyrus answers quietly. It's weird how he still feels afraid and sad even when he's feeling giggly and euphoric.

Euphoric. Didn't that word mean something important? The headache is getting worse.

Mr. Wilson's grip only grows even more painful. There's more to be said, but Cyrus's head is not working well. He doesn't want to talk, he wants to move.

What weapons want doesn't matter.

He tries again. "I'm... I won't be sneaky again. I'm sorry, Mr. Wilson," he tries. The hand leaves his hair without any further words.

The need to move only gets worse in the silent. He knows Mr. Wilson knows. Cyrus's body is so tense it hurts.

He needs to use his magic, he needs to. It hurts, it's bad, he wants the giddy energy back, and not this nervous, restless cold creeping in. Everything is still pitch black, and the restraints are too heavy, and he wants his magic free again-

So you can kill more people with it?

No. What? No, no, no-

Your handler stopped you before the euphoria truly took place. Where is your gratitude, you vile thing? Why must others die just so you can smile?

That's not what he wants, he just... he just wants the colors back, the happy feeling of-

Of killing.

The memories of colored forms change. Those were people.

People you killed.

"Are you crashing already?" Comes the distant, cold voice. It takes long seconds for Cyrus to recognize it's Mr. Wilson's.

Crashing. Yes. Yes, he's crashing, and he's still on war camp, so he doesn't even get his white den-

Images strafe his mind. People died. People were killed. By him. And he was just smiling. He giggled to people losing their lives. Not only soldiers, there were medics, and servants, and-

A cold, sharp thing runs his arm and he flinched away, swallowing hard. He tastes blood. He knows it's not his.

Vile thing. You're a plague on earth that should be eradicated.

Cyrus's back presses against the capsule mattress, and he can barely separate what is real touch and what isn't. Sharp goosebumps run up his arm, his hands are being held, there's a pressure on his chest and a numbness on his left leg.

"It's euphoric state was pretty fast this time, it was a good timing to retrieve it," Mr. Wilson's out loud thinking reaches his ear along with a faint noise of screams that mustn't be true.

They're true, you're just hearing them too late.

"Today will be easy, then."

Cyrus couldn't disagree more with his handler.

-

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Want to see Mr. Wilson's pov? This is the drabble this series began as. You can consider it a loose version of this chapter, but in Mr. Wilson's view.

Taglist: @whump-till-ya-jump @floral-comet-whump @paingoes @bonbonbobomb @inhurtandincomfort @half-duck @scoundrelwithboba

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[itspileofgoodthings]

ALSO I am learning how to teach very introverted students, something my natural skillset as a teacher does not help me with.

[qprpbj]

foster curtis bros universe where the three of them are long term foster placements with their parents, darry ages out of foster care at 18 obv but ofc continues to live there anyway, then their parents die and darry has to figure out how the hellllll to deal with custody rights and adoption and proving to the government & courts that he’s fit to keep his found-family brothers all together instead of having them both return to foster care idkkk… 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

[cuteniaarts]

Wine stains on porcelain

(Alternatively: @katkastrofa and I have created 5 OCs in 3 days and I suffer from chronic “I wanna draw the little guysssssss” disease)

[robertleckie]

2024 was one heck of a year, but hey, at least I started 2025 right by finally watching Masters of the Air! Literally can't believe it finally happened, I remember when it was just a whisper on the horizon. I watched Band of Brothers and The Pacific for the first time in like... 2013, and even at that point they were talking about it, but it just never happened.