#firecracker x oc

[tonixe]

I saw you were looking for The Boys requests. Please I beg of you ANYTHING between Firecracker and reader. She’s so beautiful and I need to be with her so bad! Literally anything you want to write. It’s just that NO ONE has written for her!!

♱ — country girl — ♱

A/N: Thank you for ur request, I also agree, nobody is writing about Firecracker, our country girl needs some love <3.

WARNING: cursing, tw: abortion, firecracker as a person, tw: tek knight, this might be crackfic sorry.

PAIRING: firecracker x reader

WORD COUNTER: 974

It was so boring at the Tek's Knight party, you were mindlessly taking glasses of alcohol served on a platter to guests that attended, mostly the room filled with important, rich, people of America.

Like you want to be here with these superficial assholes and fucking racists, you had better thing than to be here in this party but you were forced to attend. Most of the members of the seven were here, including you. Here you are, in a party filled with old people who controlled the country, you looked up at the seemingly staring Tek Knight portrait that was on display, "Creepy" You muttered, before you gulped down the content in the glass, swiftly placing it on the waltzing waiter passing by.

It was going to be a while till you were able to leave the party. It was an event where people were the best dressed and for you, the best dress was your costume, shut up and stay still while people talked to you, talking about nonsense and political matters you didn't care about.

You just nodded with a smile.

Tap your fingers on your glasses, looking for anything that can occupy your time. It wasn't the worst, free high-quality alcohol was being served, and interesting-looking food was being served around the party. You looked around the room of guests, and your eyes quickly landed on Homelander, Sage, and Neuman. You quirked your eyebrows at the scene, before taking a sip of the champagne in your glass.

"Hm," You exhaled, swirling the liquid in your glass. The sound of heels clicking on the floor took your attention. You looked up from your cup to see Firecracker walking by you, you didn't get to know a lot about her only to know that she was involved in pageants, hate Starfire maybe a pedophile. You kept your eye on her with amusement as she walked toward the group of supes.

You were way too curious about how the interaction was going to play out, especially with her introduction, it was almost comical.

Everyone in the group just stared at her awkwardly, it was all truly funny and made you laugh a bit. Then Sage dismissed her straight, I guessed it was something snarky towards her. You watched her as walked away quickly, it looked like she was upset about what Sage said. "Trailer trash, huh?" You gulped down your maybe 10th glass of the night and placed it on the walking waiter's tray before you strode to the dessert table.

You recognize the greeting butler of the house taking the cake. “Hey, are you going to take that?" You asked the butler holding the chocolate cake in his hand. "Yes, Miss H/N" He stated, “Would you like a slice?” He questioned, “No, actually I’ll take the whole cake” You shot him a smile, grabbing the cake from him. “Thanks for being such an American patriot” you exclaimed before you walked out to follow Firecracker.

You stepped out of the room where the party guests were. You followed Firecracker, you wanted to keep your steps as silent as possible maybe to surprise her a bit, maybe this was a bit creepy, a little at least. You hid behind one of the white columns, hearing the door behind her close with a 'click' sound.

You stepped out into the hallway, with the cake in hand. You paused for a moment when you reached the door. Before putting your ear near the door to hear sniffing coming from her you backed away. You hesitated to knock, so you just waited on the side of the door until she opened up.

Propping yourself up on the wall, it was a couple of minutes until she opened the door. It was evident she was crying with her tear-stained cheek and the reddening of her irises. Bounced off the wall, "God were you crying, you look like shit" You said bluntly, her brows furrowed when she heard the comment escaping you.

"Shit, my bad, cake?" You prominently offered the cake to her, she looked at it and then at you, "Is this a joke?" She said with her strong accent shining through as she spoke.

Narrowed her eyes at you.

"No, actually this was from the good of my heart, I saw the exchange between you and you know sage?' You said you heard her groan as you talked.

"So, are you going to tell me to drink Everclear or SunnyD" She exclaimed.

"Of course not, I was going to tell you to drink some Dr. Pepper and Jack Daniel" You grin at her smugly,

She furrowed her brows more, you got her pissed, "Jokes" You put up your free hand defensively, "But seriously, I saw you upset and what better way to calm down than with cake, especially chocolate cake" You grinned pointing at the chocolate cake in your hands.

"What in god green earth would make you think I would eat cake with you" She crossed her arms, "Geez if you put it that way...I just wanted to support a friend in need, since you are part of the seven, you know..so cake?" You offered her again before she looked at you and the cake.

"Fine"

..

"You know Sage is like a slithering snake, I just should known" Firecracker grumbled, taking a spoonful of cake and shoving it in her mouth, you hummed in agreement.

"The whole thing with the show and live cast with the starlight bullshit, should of fucking know" Firecracker finished,

"How did you...I mean she even gets information about Starlight abortion?" You asked, stabbing your fork in a piece of cake, Firecracker just shrugged it off, "I mean you took those punches like a champ" You said bluntly, Firecracker glared at you.

"Hey Y/N" You turned towards her,

"What?"

"Fuck you"

[ishomieokay]

At a conscious level, I know that Firecracker was probably meant to make a mockery of us Homie girlies, just like Todd is a parody of the incels who idolize Homelander.

Not surprised, it's been known that Kripke is childish like that. Joke's on him, though, bc my honest reaction to that whole arc was oh well, RIP Firecracker but I'm different.

[mrsdesade]

hi, I loved your s4 writings (the one with sister sage and the other one with ryan). if you want to, can you write something with firecracker and ophera as rivals? maybe ophera wants to kick her out of the Seven or she protects Ryan from her. I'm sure anything you write will be great.

btw your art is gorgeous, I love your ophera design!! I'm a beginner artist, and your work really inspires me to learn and be better in this.

Sure!! I love exploring interactions and relationships with other characters from the series (any suggestions is more than welcome), but I suppose now is Firecraker's turn ❤️‍🔥

Btw, thank you for your kind words, I'm honoured! Keep going and never stop drawing! ✨

The fire inside;

Pairing: Homelander x fem!super (Ophera) + villain!Firecracker TW: dark themes, violence, blood, torture, revenge p**n and nsfw (mentioned), Herogasm situation (mentioned) Timeline: season 4 Words count: 6,2k

''I know what's better for him. And for his father too. Anything. I'll do anything for them.''

Firecracker's pedantic voice filled the Seven's common room, while you were the only ones there, waiting for the morning meeting. At first your interactions seemed to go well, there was a sort of mutual respect. She didn't get in the way of your plans. You didn't get in her way as well.

But for some reasons unknown to you, from the moment you were introduced to Ryan, something has changed. Jealousy. Horrible jealousy had begun to flow through the veins of the fiery new addition to the team. You are what she always wanted to be, famous, admired, probably loved.

''I don't expect the same from you. But have the decency to step back and make room for me, who knows what I'm doing."

''You don't know what you're talking about Firecracker. Stay away from Homelander business, it's better for everyone."

The coldness of your demeanor and the superiority complex you exuded, clearly touched a raw nerve.

She took a step closer towards you, trying to look intimidating. Though it felt more like an act than anything else. Firecracker's slender form was considerably shorter, the height difference making it even more ridiculous.

''Better for everyone? Including Ryan? Do you think you're good for him?''

You had no difficulty maintaining a cold gaze, your expression remaining completely stoic. You stood confident, exuding a sense of superiority over her, as if letting her know that you were definitely better, without a doubt. You hadn't appreciated Homelander's decision to make you responsible for Ryan, as if you were his ''mother'', but you decided that you would protect him at all cost.

''Do you know your place or do I need to remind you?''

Firecracker was taken aback by your cold response, not expecting such a confident and dismissive reply. She gritted her teeth, her fists clenching involuntarily at her sides.

"You really think you're something, don't you? Just because Homelander choose you as his public partner? You're just a clown performing on the stage. I bring the truth to people!"

You kept your composure, not showing any signs of intimidation or defensiveness in the face of her aggression. Instead, you let out a soft, mocking laugh, the sound dripping with disdain.

"Please, spare me the charade. You think I'm intimidated by this little act of yours? Things cannot change."

"Act?!" she replied, her voice taut with anger. "I could burn you alive without breaking a sweat. Do you really want to test me?"

You raised an eyebrow at her threat, silently amused by the level of her arrogance. You took another step closer, your confident smile refusing to waver.

''Your weak fire cannot destroy the metal in my body.''

Just as the tension between you was reaching its peak, the sound of the meeting room door opening broke through the air, interrupting the heated moment. Before any further exchange could take place, the door to the conference room swung open. Homelander and The Deep entered, breaking the standoff between you two.

They were deep in conversation, not even noticing the tense atmosphere in the room. Firecracker quickly composed herself, masking her annoyance with a forced smile, while you maintained your composure, watching the two as they approached.

"Ah, there you are. Arrived early this morning, good girls." Homelander said, finally taking notice of you two. He gave you a friendly nod before turning his gaze to Firecracker, his eyes showing annoyance at her big smile.

The Deep shifted uncomfortably, clearly feeling the lingering tension in the room. "Everything okay?" he asked, glancing between you and her.

Firecracker's fake smile remained plastered on her face, her voice dripping with faux cheerfulness. "Everything's perfect!" she replied, shooting you a quick, insincere glance.

And the scene ends like this, you took your seat beside Homelander and you really hope you've been clear enough with her. You hope it no longer intrudes on the extremely delicate balance you're trying to maintain between you, Ryan and his father.

The day quickly transitioned into night, and with most of the Seven dispersed for the evening, you were walking through the now-deserted hall when you heard footsteps approaching. Turning, you saw Firecracker walking towards you, a malicious smile on her face.

''No, not you again, please.''

"We're on the same team silly, did you forget already?" she said, a sly smile playing on her lips. "I was hoping I'd run into you tonight, I have something important to discuss with you."

Her tone was almost too sweet, the false cheerfulness making your stomach churn. "What do you want?" you asked curtly, keeping your voice cold and detached.

"Come on, no need to be so cold." She stepped closer to you, invading your personal space.

You roll your eyes, bored by his extreme closeness. And you decide to move the conversation with a sarcastic tone. ''If you get any closer, I'll start to think that you have some special interest in me. And I don't think Homelander would be happy about that. He is very jealous of his possessions.''

Firecracker's smile faltered for a millisecond at the indirect mention of Homelander. She clenched her jaws, her eyes narrowing slightly, before regaining her composure.

"Don't flatter yourself Ophera. I don't have any ''special'' interest in you." despite her denial, you caught the hint of defensiveness in her tone. Clearly, the idea of you being the object of Homelander's interest and not her had struck a nerve.

"Then what do you want?" you asked point-blank, crossing your arms over your chest.

"I got something about you.''

You raised an eyebrow, trying to appear unruffled. "Oh? And I'm curious what that might be?"

"I have a video. A video of you in… a very compromising position. That, If it were to go public..." she began, her voice dripping with venomous honey. "...would really damage your reputation."

A chill went down your spine as her words stung. You managed to keep your expression relatively blank, but inside you felt a wave of anxiety. How did she get a video of you? Your mind raced, trying to remember any situations where you could have been secretly filmed.

Or she was lying, maybe it's just a bluff, of course, it has to be like that. "Oh please, you're bluffing.''

"Bluffing? No, unfortunately for you, I'm not." she replied, her voice dripping with feigned sympathy.

''Then prove it. Show me this so-called video." you say with a confident grin on your face, keeping your arms crossed over your chest, still thinking she's lying.

"Sure, just to make things clear, let me show you…" Firecracker pulled out her phone, scrolling through the gallery to find the video. Your heart sank into your stomach as you watched Firecracker produce her phone. She was not bluffing. She really seemed to have something. A real video that would certainly cause a scandal.

She found the video and held the display towards you. You could clearly see yourself in the video. In one of your best Herogasm performances. You were always untouchable at that particular event, no one dared to touch you since you were Homelander's public partner. But someone's company wasn't necessary, you could perfectly satisfy yourself on your own, all you needed was an adoring audience watching you.

You had always been so careful, so meticulous in keeping your activities discreet. And yet, here was proof, captured on camera. HD. 4K.

Your initial reaction was anger, both at her for having the video and at yourself for being so unwary. But there was something else behind the anger, an even more primal feeling: fear. The fear of having your reputation and your place in the Seven ruined by one video.

She pushed the phone closer to your face, forcing you to look at the damning footage again. "Imagine this being leaked. How do you think the public would react? How would Homelander react?"

The thought of the whole America seeing this video, the idea of Hoemlander seeing it, his reaction, the damage it could cause - it was all too much to consider. The rage that had just barely been contained now exploded. You could feel your heart racing in your chest, your mind swirling with worst-case scenarios.

"Where did you get this?" you asked, your voice slightly shaky despite your attempts to keep it steady. "Who else has seen it?"

''I have my sources." she responded with a smile. "And don't worry, as of now only I have seen it. But who knows what might happen if this were to get into the wrong hands…"

You stared straight into Firecracker's eyes with a burning glare.

''You have ten seconds to give me just one good reason not to punch you in the face, and destroy your phone with that damn video inside.''

She had underestimated the anger beneath your cool veneer, and now she was taken aback by your threat. Her bravado waned slightly.

"Oh, look to you, all threatening and violence." she said sarcastically, trying to mask her momentary alarm. "Are you sure you want to do that? Even if you break my phone, I have the video backed up. Now, you, the American sweetheart, are about to do exactly as I say."

"I'm listening." you answered coldly and defeated, the anger in your voice barely leashed.

''Mmh. Rather than just listening, maybe you should pay more attention to your surroundings, danger can hide at every corner.'' she smirked, triumph radiating from her. She had you exactly where she wanted you.

You can sense something is wrong, a negative feeling invades your chest. It's too quiet around you, and the Tower of Seven never is. She gave you a smile as realization slowly dawned on you. You had been so focused on the confrontation with her that you hadn't noticed the silence that had enveloped the area around you. Her words, though vague, were starting to paint a more alarming picture.

''What the hell are you talking about?''

''You'll see. Very soon.''

Your worst fears were confirmed when unexpected hands seized you from behind. Strangers. They grabbed you from various points around your body, rendering you unable to struggle as they forced you to the floor.

You feel a needle prick your neck, and an icy liquid invade your veins, making your powers temporarily unusable. You struggled against their grasp, but it was in vain. Now the masked strangers were stronger than you, their grip on you unyielding. You were in the middle of what seemed to be a very well-planned and synchronized kidnapping.

"Don't even bother struggling. They've been paid a lot of money for this. And they're very professional." she said, approaching you as you lay helpless on the floor.

''Ah! Good luck trying to kill me, it won't be that easy!'' you reply, but the strength that usually coursed through your veins seemed to have deserted you, leaving you at the mercy of these unknown individuals.

"Who said anything about killing? Oh no, no. I have something special planned for you, love. I have more creative plans for you.''

''Fuck yourself, crazy ass bitch.'' you're spitting venom with your words, the desire to destroy them all is tearing you apart.

"You see Ophera, I know you're invincible, or that you like to think yourself of such." she continued, her tone mocking. "But now, thanks to that little injection of Compound V inhibitor they've just shot you with, you're quite defenseless."

''The effect of the inhibitor will not last forever, you know that?''

''Yeah, I know silly! But it will last long enough to make you disappear. Gone, forever. No more shows, no new albums, no afternoon with Ryan, no gala dinner with the Seven.''

Then Firecracker reached down and grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at her face.

"And Homelander won't be happy, when he comes back and finds out you're gone. Without any warning or goodbye messages. Oh, I can't wait to see the look on his face."

Despite the effects of the drug rapidly dulling your senses and your powers, a little smirk escaped your lips.

"Oh please… You really think that's going to work? You really think Homelander won't figure it out? He's not blind to obvious sabotage, trust me. He'll find me."

"You think you know everything, don't you? It's time for a reality check, love. This isn't just about a spot in the Seven, this is about making sure Homelander looks at me, me and not you. I want his attention, his praise, his everything. He's the one I want and nothing will stand in my way."

You locked eyes with her, your voice strangely calm despite the effects of the drug and your weakening state. You laughed bitterly.

"You think it's all sunshine and rainbows, being his favourite? Please, you're more stupid than I thought. Homelander's love could be a death sentence. To have his twisted obsession on you. His attention can be a curse as much as it can be a blessing. You're pathetic. And you don't know anything about the burden of being his beloved, trust me."

Surprise is clear on her face. The way you talked, the way you described being Homelander's favorite... for a moment, she didn't know how to react to your words.

"Oh, I bet it's soooo hard being Homelander's little sweetheart, getting all the fame and recognition while the rest of us have to fight for scraps." she spit with venomous sarcasm. "Boo-hoo, poor you, suffering under his terrible twisted obsession. You have everything! His love, his attention, his hands on you… Fuck, you're his damn public girlfriend! You have no idea what I'd give to be in your place."

There it was-the truth. The real reason behind her hostility, her jealousy, her attempts to bring you down.

''I don't think... I don't think you know... what it means to be in my place. His… isn't… love. You're going to...hurt yourself-''

Before you could finish your sentence, your vision began to blur and your head grew heavy with fatigue. The drug finally taking hold, you lost consciousness, sinking into oblivion.

Firecracker gestured to the group of men, and one of them picked you up effortlessly.

"Now. Time for the final act. You know the plan, take her somewhere isolated and secret. And make damn sure no one finds her. Respect the orders, no one will have to recognize her, ruin that pretty face as best you can.''

The masked men nodded in response, lifting your unconscious body with ease and proceeding to carry you to a waiting van outside the Tower. Once you were safely inside, the van doors shut with a loud thud, and the vehicle soon vanished into the night.

Firecracker felt a surge of triumph. Her plan had gone flawlessly. You were gone, out of the picture-at least for the foreseeable future. But the taste of victory was bittersweet. Deep down, she knew that once Homelander discovered your disappearance, hell would break loose.

Indefinite moments, minutes, hours pass. You can't say how much has passed since that evening.

Your eyelids flickered open, a disoriented groan escaping your lips. Your head throbbed with a dull pain, and for a few moments your vision remained a blurry mess. Then, slowly, your surroundings began to come into focus. You were in an abandoned warehouse, the air thick with dust and a musty scent. The walls were crumbling, and the silence around you was interrupted only by the sound of your own shallow breathing.

You tried to move, but quickly realized your limbs were tightly bound to a chair. You felt the bite of rough rope against your skin, the tight ropes digging into your flesh as you struggled. The abandoned warehouse was cold and eerie, the only company provided by the ominous figures that stood guard around you. They were all wearing masks, making it impossible for you to identify any of them.

"Oh great, this isn't a cliché scenario at all…" you muttered sarcastically, your eyes scanning the area for any potential escape route.

One of the men, the tallest one, stepped closer to you at the sound of your voice. He took a couple of seconds to assess your situation before speaking up in a low voice.

"Looks like our little songbird finally woke up. I hope you're comfortable." he said, a hint of mockery underlying his words.

"Well, this is a lovely place you've brought me to." you drawled, feigning nonchalance. "Not exactly the five-star hotel I booked last week."

Despite the situation, the guard chuckled at your sarcastic reply. "Oh, sorry to disappoint. Our five-star prisoner need another room? Unfortunately they're all booked.''

You rolled your eyes, silently thinking of the countless witty comebacks that were at your fingertips but couldn't be voiced at the moment.

Then the men leaned in closer, now mere inches from you. "Now, enough chitchat. We've been paid to keep you here and we have strict orders to follow. So, do us all a favor, stay cooperative and keep your pretty mouth shut."

Their cold demeanor and close proximity sent chills down your spine. It was clear they were not here to joke around. One of the other guys stepped forwards, standing almost directly behind you.

"We were paid for a specific task." he chimed in, his voice dripping with a mocking sweetness. "And that task is: to make you as unrecognizable as possible."

His words sent a new wave of fear coursing through you. Unrecognizable. What the hell did that mean?

You swallowed heavily, a sense of dread beginning to grow in the pit of your stomach. "What exactly do you mean by unrecognizable?"

''Just a few…adjustments to your lovely face, body and maybe hair." the man behind you said.

They really intend to disfigure your face? Ruin your body and fill you with scars? Of course. So that you are no longer fit to be in the spotlight. That's one of your greatest fears, even more than great heights perhaps. You struggled against the ropes binding your wrists and legs, trying to break free, but the only result was the ropes digging into your skin even more.

The man behind you chuckled at your struggles. "Don't bother trying to break free. You aren't going anywhere.''

Another man, the largest one, spoke up. "Yeah, so save your energy for what's coming next."

The tall man started to circle around you, examining you from different angles like a piece of meat on display. Each circle he made around you sent a new wave of disgust through your body, and you had to resist the urge to spit at him.

''So, what's coming next assholes?''

He stopped in front of you, a cold smile on his face. He pulled out a shiny little knife from his pocket, the blade glinting menacingly in the dim light.

"Now, now, that's not a very nice way to talk to the people holding your fate in their hands." he warned, holding the weapon close to your face. Then the blade of the weapon traced a light, teasing line from your chin down to your chest.

The cold metal against your skin sent a fresh wave of fear coursing through you. You didn't want to give them the satisfaction of seeing your terror, though.

"Is that supposed to scare me?" you retorted, attempting to sound defiant. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, but you forced yourself to remain calm. You refused to give them the satisfaction of seeing you break.

The group was momentarily taken aback by your apparent bravado. "Playing tough uh? But we'll see how long that lasts once we start carving up that pretty face of yours.''

When he moves the knife in your direction, you instinctively move your face and pull back in your uncomfortable sit, showing how scary this thing can really be for you. Fuck. How long does it take for your powers to return?

What you need now is just a bit of time, extra time.

''Wait- Wait! Just for a moment! If Firecracker paid you to do this, I can pay you a lot more, absolutely, no doubt!''

The mercenaries exchanged glances, clearly caught off guard by your attempt to stop them. The man holding the knife pulled back, a skeptical look on his face.

"You're really trying to buy us off right now?''

You mask your fear behind a ridicoulous smile, the same you use to charm your fans.

''Oh come on, everyone has a price. Just kindly asking what's yours.''

"You're quite the charmer, aren't you? I never would have guessed beneath all that sparkle and charm is just a desperate, bargaining diva.''

''Desperate? Me? Hardly. I just know how to play my cards and get what I want.''

The mercenary chuckled again, but his expression took on a more serious note. ''But I gotta admit, you're right about everyone having a price. Let's say hypothetically we were open to negotiation. Just hypothetically, of course. What's your offer?''

You took a deep breath, mentally calculating the worth that you could possibly offer to these men if it means they'll spare you.

"How does 25 million sound?" you said, keeping your tone casual.

The men all looked at each other again, clearly surprised by the amount you had just thrown out there. One of them whistled lowly.

"Sweet lord, that's a hefty sum. You're really willing to pay us that much just to spare that pretty face of yours, huh?"

As you talk with them, you feel the time ticking away, and you are still tied to a chair and unable to fight. Frustration would soon turn to anger and you would lose your temper. Then, all your diplomacy suddenly fails.

"What, you didn't think I had that kind of money to spare?! I'm a damn Seven! Of course I can afford it! Believe me, I'm worth much more alive and well than disfigured or dead."

Bad move, really bad move.

Your sudden outburst and loss of diplomacy did not go unnoticed by the men. They were clearly enjoying seeing the cracks in your composure. The idea that you were worth more alive, that they could get even more money from Firecracker to ruin you, was already setting in.

This was turning into a game of cutthroat negotiations.

"Well, well, well." the tallest man chuckled. "Looks like the little diva's mask is coming off. All this time, pretending to be so calm and collected, and now you're getting desperate. It's quite entertaining, isn't it, boys?"

As the men closed in on you, the situation was starting to feel hopeless. You had miscalculated, and now your attempts at bribery seemed to be backfiring. The reality of your predicament was setting in as the men circled around you like a pack of hungry wolves.

"No more deals. You're worth more alive for sure, and we'll talk to Firecracker to get more money to end this work, but in the meantime we can make sure you're not quite as perfect anymore..."

You quickly weigh the options. These men are more interested in doing their job than listening to you. You're tied to a chair. No powers. No escape route. All you can do is bargain, and hope to delay them long enough to get out of this mess.

''Fine...do your worst.''

You lower your head and close your eyes, your only option is to try to resist, until the Compound V inhibitor has finished its effect.

They began to pummel you, their fists raining down on your body. You tried to resist, to fight back, but your strength was fading. The Compound V inhibitor was still there. Each blow felt like it was tearing through your very being, pain radiating throughout your body like fire through a dry forest. You held onto consciousness by sheer determination and will, refusing to show weakness even in the face of pain. You gritted your teeth, refusing to let them see your weakness. Hiding your face, your most precious possession. Your uniform was stained with blood, your skin bruised and battered, but you managed to resist the urge to cry out.

You couldn't give them satisfaction.

Time passes, and your desperate plan finally takes effect. They wasted their time hitting you, without thinking about their main task anymore. How stupid humans are. And you bought the time you needed. The time it takes to regain your powers.

As the men's fists continued to rain down on you, you felt less pain, finally. With a burst of strength, you managed to break free from your bonds and pushing them back. Gaining a few meters of breathing space around you. Your vision was blurred, and your body ached, but you were free. You lunged at the nearest man, knocking him to the ground. The others were taken aback, their surprise momentarily stopping on their places.

The leader, the one holding the knife, was the first to recover. He quickly recomposed himself, a dangerous gleam in his eyes. He quickly realize the situation has changed. You're no longer tied up and sedated, and you've already shown that you're a threat. He quickly pulls out a syringe with another dose of inhibitor inside.

"Grab her, don't let her get away!"

You stay dead silent. Full of fury. With fire inside your body.

As they rush at you, you spot the weapons they have on them. You feel the familiar pull and tug of your powers coming back to you. Taking a deep breath, you focus all your energy on the metal objects around them, using your powers to grab and pull on them. You can feel the weapons being yanked out of their hands, as if invisible strings were attached to them.

With a flick of your wrists and your powers now back in full effect, the weapons float around you, like obedient puppets waiting for your command. Metal barrels, knives, and a few firearms all levitate in the air, circling around you. A dangerous gleam in your eyes. You look like a terrifying sight.

A dangerous goddess dressed in red of her own blood.

Their eyes darting from you to the weapons floating around you. They look at you with fear, finally seeing you for the supe you truly are.

In the meantime, Firecracker stood before the massive glass windows of the Tower, looking out over the New York skyline. Her heart was racing, a feeling of triumph coursing through her veins. She had succeeded in her plan, you were gone.

Homelander was nearby, staring out at the city with a mixture of anger and confusion. The news of your disappearance had already reached his ears, and he was anxiously pacing back and forth, waiting for anyone to give him an update.

Firecracker approached Homelander cautiously, trying to mimic a concerned and empathetic expression. But it was evident that her words were nothing more than a facade.

"Hey..." she said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I know this must be hard for you. I can't imagine how much you care for her. But you know how she is, she's unpredictable, fickle, frivolous.''

Homelander turned his red burning eyes at her. "I don't need your sympathy, Firecracker." he snapped. "I need her back."

Taken aback by his harsh tone, she started caressing his shoulder. "I understand, I really do. But we have to be realistic here. Her role was heavy, she did this job for many years, maybe she was tired. But of course, it's horrible that she didn't tell you anything.'' she adds, to make him doubt your loyalty.

Homelander's face darkened at her words. "She has always done everything I asked of her. Never once did she waver. No, this isn't... right.''

She continued her act, feigning concern while trying to sow seeds of doubt in Homelander's mind.

"Maybe her loyalty wasn't as strong as you thought. Maybe she was just waiting for the right moment to escape.''

"You're trying to say she betrayed me? That she's a traitor?"

He hated the idea that you would betray him, but Firecracker's words were starting to sow seeds of doubt. She could almost see the wheels turning in his mind, the seeds of doubt starting to take root.

But without warning her phone rings, and an unknown number appears on the screen. Her heart skipped a beat, and quickly she excused herself from Homelander, taking a step away and answered the call. She expected to hear the news of your complete disfigurement. So she spoke in a low voice to avoid others from hearing.

"Hello?"

''Kindly, could you accept my video call?'' a familiar voice answered on the other end of the line.

She froze. That was the last thing she expected to hear. It was you, asking for a video call? How? This was not supposed to happen. She quickly looked over her shoulder, making sure Homelander was still occupied and out of earshot.

''Did the cat got your tongue? Turn on that goddamn phone camera.''

She turned away again, her mind racing. She had no idea how to handle this situation. She had been so sure that the plan would be a success, that you would be disfigured and taken out of your position as a favorite.

This wasn't part of the plan. Now you're playing by your rules.

She reluctantly pressed the video call button, turning on the camera to reveal her worried face. Your face appeared on the screen, a small smirk gracing your bloody red lips. You looked exhausted, your face a bit bruised, with a small cut on your cheek. Your uniform, stained from head to toe with blood. And behind you, on the ground, the lifeless bodies of the men who had dared to harm you.

''How...?! How the hell are you-''

"Oh, I'm sorry, you thought I'd be sitting quietly, waiting for my face to be carved off?''

Firecracker snap on the other line, realizing she had been outplayed. With anger slowly boiling inside her, she raised her voice. "Don't act so cocky. I still have that compromising video of you." she warned. "One click and your career is over."

''You know, while you left me with your nice masked friends, I had a lot of time to think. At the beginning I was very worried about that video, it would have really created a big scandal for my image...''

''And you should still be worried about it! Indeed, terrified!''

Your laugh echoed through the speakers.

''But then,I came up with a realisation. Maybe he will get angry at first. But Homelander won't take kindly to anyone who threatens me. He'll eliminate anyone who has seen that footage. And If you release it, you'll become public enemy number one."

Firecracker's heart sank as she realized the truth in your words. Homelander's protective nature towards you was a well-known fact. Anyone who had seen that footage, especially someone within the Seven, would quickly be targeted.

"You... you wouldn't dare. I'll deny everything." she stuttered, her confident facade starting to crumble.

A wicked gleam appeared in your eyes as you smirked again.

"Oh, I would. And Homelander will believe me over you any day. He'll tear you apart If you try anything. So I suggest you delete that footage, love. Because If it ever sees the light of day, you won't be able to save your pretty little face."

Firecracker's hands trembled as she gripped her phone tighter. Your words rang through her mind, each one cutting deeper than the last.

You started walking outside the building, still holding the camera, your voice calm. "And by the way, I found the phone of one of your mercenaries. And guess what I found there? Evidence of your little plan to ruin me. Messages between you and them, planning every detail. If you're still in doubt of what to do next, know that have all the proof I need to expose you."

Her blood ran cold as she watching you in horror. You had evidence, solid evidence, of her plan to ruin you. She could feel the walls closing in around her. She became ridicoulous.

"Wait! L-listen, we...we can talk about this! You're alright! You're fine, you're the mighty Ophera! Mine was j-just...a prank. Sure, a prank! You were never really in danger"

It was a desperate, last attempt to save her own skin.

And you are a merciful goddess, right?

''Mmh. An interesting way to spin things. A prank involving hired mercs, secret planning, blackmail attempts, and the risk of disfigurement. Just a little prank, right?"

"I…I…y-yes. A sick, twisted, and stupid prank. I never meant for it to go that far, really. Just a way to get back at you for…being so perfect all the time. I envy...I envy you, you know!''

Your eyes rolled at her attempts to rationalize her actions. She was really going all in, trying to save herself with excuses and half truths. You could practically see the desperation on her face even through the video call.

With a single wave of your bloody hand, you tell her to stay silent. And she stop with her rambling, confused.

You leaned closer to the phone, a lovely grin on your face. "Just a friendly reminder, Homelander can hear pretty well thanks to his powers. He might be listening to this conversation right now."

She had been so focused on her own survival that she had completely forgotten about Homelander's incredible sense of hearing. The thought that he might be listening in on this conversation sent a chill down her spine.

From her reaction you can guess that they're in that same room, maybe with Ashley and all the other super waiting for any news about you.

''Now, be a good girl and go to Homelander.''

"You…you can't…please, I-" she pleaded in a small desperate voice.

''And give him the phone, now.''

She slowly started walking towards Homelander and the others, the phone in her hands, hardly mantaining a smile on her face. ''Uhm- H-Homelander...I've some good news!''

''Spit it out, what's going on?" raised an eyebrow, dead serious.

"Uhm- I-it's for you." she held the phone out to him

The moment Homelander laid eyes on the phone, his emotions were a mixture of relief and anger. He quickly snatched the phone from Firecracker's trembling hand.

"Ophera?! Where the hell are you?!" he repeated, his voice echoing the frustration he was feeling.

"Hey, love. Sorry to worry you. I'm safe and well, just had a little unexpected adventure."

He clenched the phone tightly, his fingers leaving cracks on the device. "Damn it, woman. You had me worried sick. What the hell happened? Where are you? And are you covered in blood? Is that yours?!"

You felt a tingle of satisfaction as you heard the edge of worry in his voice. You can barely imagine Firecracker's defeated face at that moment.

''Don't worry, isn't mine. You know, the usual, anti-super criminals. I got my ass kidnapped, but don't worry, I took care of it. The morons have no idea what kind of trouble they stepped into."

"Why didn't you call me sooner? I could have come and rescued your ass.''

''I am an independent and strong woman. I never ask anyone for help.'' you smiled confident and charming on the screen.

Homelander couldn't help but smirk at your response. Despite his concern, he knew that you were more than capable of taking care of yourself. "Damn straight you are. Now. I'm coming to get you. I need to know everything about this absurd situation of yours.''

''Sure love, I've a lot of things to tell you. Like a good and all blooody bedtime story.''

Firecracker stood nearby, watching the exchange between Homelander and you on the phone. Her heart was in her throat as she listened to your conversation.

Her eyes widened as you continued to talk with him, your confident and charismatic persona shining through even in your bruised and battered state. She couldn't believe how calmly you were handling the situation, while she was the one who had orchestrated the whole disastrous plan.

''I'm at the old abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city. You know, the one with the graffiti and the broken windows?"

"I'll be there in three minutes, don't move."

Admiration for you filled her, and jealousy as well as she observed Homelander's reaction to your words. The concern in his voice, the protectiveness he still had over you, it was all too evident.

As you hung up the phone, Firecracker couldn't help but feel a sense of relief. You were unfortunately safe, and he was on his way to get you back to the Tower. But she also knew that her actions had consequences. She had crossed a line, and there was no going back.

You ended the call, a satisfied smirk playing on your lips. You had turned the tables on your rival, and now she was the one who was in trouble.

"Well, well, well. Looks like someone's in quite a pickle." you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "I suggest you start thinking about your next move, Firecracker. Because whatever it is, I'm one step ahead of you."

The future was uncertain, but one thing was clear: the dynamic within The Seven had been irrevocably changed.

-------

ALRIGHT, WHAT A RIDE WAS THIS ONE?? I absolutely wanna write more with other canon characters! Thanks again for the request, it was really good to write, hope you like it! Kisses ❤️‍🔥

[p3achj3llyf1sh]

I request Sonic and Shadow reacting to their kid's first word; which is, either fortunately or unfortunately, a swear word. It's used in correct context, though.

Flare's first word(s) -around a year old- was a response to dropping her favorite crayon, "God Damn it" She picked it up from shadow, because god isnt really a thing in mobian culture and Shadow picked it up being raised by humans. Flare tends to say little, but when she does speak its loud and passionate.

Dynamite is a case where he could speak but he simply chose not to. He's very softspoken, prefering to speak in a low voice rather than a loud one. "Dad, I don't like shirts. May i wear pants instead?" Was a response to having to wear shirt when not wanting to, and finally being too annoyed by it to stay quiet.

both Sonic and shadow were rather amused that their children were cussing back and forth, but amy scolded them for it

[xenussx]

Forgot that I haven’t posted these doodles here-

This is my new occ!!

[sehtoast]

kripke's just jealous i put homelander in a loving healthy relationship with my trans man oc and can't cope

[evil-daily-ac]

looking through some old files rn

[indigomarina]

Hazbin OC x Canon Week: Day 2 - Date Night (RadioStar)

For @hazbinocxcanon

Levity takes a deep breath, steeling her nerves as she approaches Alastor in the hotel lobby. He's humming to himself, straightening a painting on the wall. She clears her throat, catching his attention. Alastor turns to her with a grin, "Ah, Levity! To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, my dear?" she asked. Levity smiles nervously, "Hey, Al. I was wondering if I could ask you something?" she asked.

Alastor raises a brow, "But of course, little songbird! You know I'm always happy to lend an ear." he chuckles, "Well, figuratively speaking, of course." Levity takes another deep breath, "Right. Okay. Here goes." Levity said, she looks him in the eye. "Alastor, would you like to go on a date with me?" There's a beat of silence. Alastor stares at her, smile frozen on his face. Levity starts to fidget, second-guessing herself. "I mean, it doesn't have to be a big deal or anything! Just, you know, dinner and maybe a show? I heard there's a new jazz club downtown that's supposed to be-" Levity started to ramble. Alastor holds up a hand, cutting her off, "My apologies, Levity, but I'm afraid I must decline your invitation." Alastor said. Levity tries to hide the disappointment on her face. "Oh. Right, of course. I understand. I wasn't really expecting you to say yes anyway." she said, forcing a laugh. "I mean, what would the infamous Radio Demon want with little ol' me, right?" Alastor's smile faltered slightly, "Now, I never said that, darling. My refusal has nothing to do with you personally." Alastor pointed out. Levity shrugs, trying to play it off, "It's fine, Al, really. You don't have to explain yourself. I just thought I'd shoot my shot, you know? No hard feelings." she said. She turns to leave, shoulders slumped. Alastor watches her for a moment before sighing and reaching out to catch her wrist. "Levity, wait. Please, allow me to clarify." Alastor started. Levity pauses, looking back at him curiously. Alastor tugs her closer, expression serious. "It's not that I don't find you attractive or enjoyable company. Quite the opposite, in fact. You are a fascinating and delightful creature, Levity." Alastor complimented. Levity blushes, "Oh. Um, thank you?" she said shyly. Alastor smiles wryly, "But I am not a man prone to romantic entanglements. Matters of the heart have never been my forte, and I fear I would only disappoint you in the end." she said. Levity bites her lip, "I get that, but… maybe we could just take it slow? See where things go without any pressure?" she asked. Alastor chuckles softly, "You are a persistent one, aren't you?" he considers for a moment before nodding. "Very well. One date. Dinner and a show at this new jazz club you mentioned." Levity's eyes widen. "Wait, really? You mean it?" he asked. "I do. Call it a experiment of sorts. A chance to test the waters, as they say." Alastor said. Levity beams, throwing her arms around him in a hug. "¡Gracias, Al! You won't regret this, I promise!" Alastor stiffens for a moment before relaxing into her embrace, hugging her back tentatively. Perhaps this could be the start of something new and exciting. Only time would tell.

Later

Levity stands in front of her mirror, nervously smoothing down the skirt of her dress. It's a deep purple number, more modest than her usual fare with a sweetheart neckline and a skirt that falls just below her knees. She takes a deep breath, hoping it's not too much. "Okay, Lev. You can do this. It's just a date. With Alastor. The Radio Demon. No big deal." Levity mutters to herself, she groans, "Dios mío, I'm gonna puke." A knock at the door startles her. She takes one last look in the mirror before heading to answer it. Alastor stands on the other side, dashing as ever in a red pinstripe suit. His eyes widen slightly when he sees her, static crackling around him. Alastor clears his throat, "My, my, Levity. You look positively ravishing, darling." Alastor complimented. Levity blushes, ducking her head, "Gracias, Al. You clean up pretty nice yourself." Alastor offers her his arm with a grin. She takes it, and together they head out to the new jazz club downtown. The atmosphere inside is lively and warm, the air thick with the scent of cigars and liquor. A live band plays on stage, the soulful wail of a trumpet dancing with the deep thrum of a double bass. Alastor inhales deeply, "Ah, now this is more like it! Shall we find a table, my dear?" he asked. "Lead the way, mi ciervo." Levity said. They settle into a cozy booth, ordering drinks and perusing the menu. Conversation flows easily between them, punctuated by shared laughter and lingering glances. As the night goes on and the alcohol flows, they find themselves drawing closer, knees brushing under the table. "Dance with me, Al?" Levity asked, emboldened by the liquor. "I thought you'd never ask, little songbird." Alastor said. He leads her out onto the dance floor just as the band strikes up a slow, sensual number. Alastor pulls Levity close, one hand resting on the small of her back as the other clasps hers. They sway together, lost in the music and each other. Levity smiles up at him, "I'm really glad you said yes to this, Alastor. I'm having a wonderful time." Levity said. Alastor grins down at her, eyes soft, "As am I, dear. I must admit, I had my reservations about this whole 'dating' business. But with you… it feels natural. Right, even." he admitted. Levity leans her head on his chest, "I feel the same way. Like this is where I'm meant to be." she said, chuckling. "Who would've thought the Radio Demon would sweep me off my feet?" she asked. Alastor tips her chin up to look at him, "And who would've thought Hell's own siren would ensnare my heart so thoroughly?" he countered. Levity's breath catches. They stare at each other, the air between them electric with tension. Slowly, giving her time to pull away, Alastor leans down. Levity meets him halfway, their lips brushing in a soft, tentative kiss. It's sweet and chaste, but filled with promise. When they part, they're both smiling. Alastor clears his throat, looking almost bashful. "I do believe I owe you an apology, Levity." Levity blinked, "For what?" she asked. "For not agreeing to this sooner. Clearly, I was a fool to deny myself the pleasure of your company for so long." Alastor said. Levity laughs brightly, hugging him tighter, "Well, you know what they say - better late than never, cariño." They spend the rest of the night dancing and talking, wrapped up in their own little world. It's perfect, the start of something beautiful and real. As Alastor walks Levity back to her room at the end of the night, he can't help but marvel at the demoness who's managed to capture his blackened heart. He kisses her once more at her door, soft and lingering. Alastor murmurs against her lips, "Goodnight, my birdie. Sweet dreams." Levity smiled, eyes shining, "They will be, now that I have you in them. Goodnight, mi corazón." Levity said softly. They part ways reluctantly, both already looking forward to their next encounter. It seems the Radio Demon and Hell's Diva are a match made in… well, not Heaven, but certainly in something close to bliss.

[tonixe]

hii i love ur writing and the k you for the noir fic!! there’s not enough content for the boys and i appreciate it so much!! can i request jealous homelander x reader? tyia!

♱ — rapacious — ♱

A/N: I was itching, with no craving to make a homelander fic, and ideas just ran through me, but thank you anon for requesting this, and letting my devious idea run free. P.S. Im not sure bout that black noir fic, this was asked in July, but yk thank you for still requesting <3. Btw H/N is hero name.

WARNING: oral sex, p in the v, no condom we fuck raw, creampies, non-con, tw: homelander, gagging, cursing, non-con, threats, forced breeding and nudity.

PAIRING: jealous! homelander x reader

WORD COUNTER: 2.1k

Life with Homelander was great, something so great that it makes you go insane, crazy...good crazy may be bad for some, but you could take it, right?

Vought, was another thing, watching over your shoulder and making sure everything went well, I mean with you there were a lot fewer casualties than usual. Soon things got less complicated with Edgar and Madelyn being gone from Vought, basically Homelander leading the company with Ashley as a puppet.

It was chaotic per se, where Homelander's watching eye was everywhere in the building. His leadership didn't make anything better but worse. With the seven keeping on being replaced and disappearing mysteriously, surprisingly you were still there with the same everything, no new rebrand, no nothing just staying in place.

You didn't mind it at all, I mean you still had a job and were still getting paid. Even with the weird shift of Black noir, instead of his quiet demeanor, he was talkative which was a change. It was evident it wasn't noir and everyone in the seven knew it, but nobody questioned it. You didn't mind but preferred the change, and even started talking to him.

He was a little better than old noir, not in combat but in being amusing, even spending time with outside meetings and regular superhero activities.

"So how the fuck did you manage to even fly like that?" You asked while you walked with him down the hallway,

"I have no idea, it just happened?" Black Noir II shrugged, you nodded at his words as you took a sip of the peanut butter frappuccino from Vought's cafe, it was a plus that he wasn't allergic to peanuts like the old noir. It wasn't a glow-up from the old noir but a plus. You two chatted as you got into the elevator, it was abruptly stopped by a red, white, and blue cape fluttering into wedging between you both, making you step back, it was Homelander.

The atmosphere immediately got tense than it was once a carefree mood, it was quiet.

"Good morning Homelander," you said, it was met with a nod from him, "Morning Sir," Black Noir said to him, only for him to glare at him, "Don't fucking talk" Homelander ordered, clearly annoyed that he was talking.

It was suffocating being in the elevator, you just took a sip of your frappuccino, praying for the elevator to open up quickly.

Guess your answers were answered rather quickly, as the doors of the huge elevator opened to the meeting room, the giant seven table in front of you.

The Deep, Sage, Firecracker, and A-train were already in their seats. "Good morning sir" The deep stood up, saluting him which made you laugh a little. You immediately took your seat next to Firecracker, and the meeting started. It was a blur to you, something like finding the leak in Vought, which you had many questions about.

The whole meeting was led by a different Sage, your eyes flicked towards Homelander, he was staring at Black Noir. You averted your eyes away,

God, you have to pay attention more often.

You couldn't help but take a sip of peanut butter frappuccino, "Would you fucking stop" Homelander's voice interrupted Sage's presentation, all attention was at him and he was staring directly at you.

"Um...Sorry" You hesitating looked back at him, and you felt eyes on you. You couldn't help but your heart to beat faster,

You watched Homelander rubbed his head in annoyance, closing his eyes before staring to you, "Could you slurp any louder?" He said, his voice dripping with annoyance and sarcasm.

"Sorry" You muttered, putting it back where it was,

"No..nope" Homelander repeated, he pointed at you again, "Be a good girl and put it in the garbage" He snapped. You looked around, with everyone staring at you, "Okay" you responded, slowly getting up from your chair, taking the cup in your hand, and throwing it in the garbage before sitting down.

"Good"

With that statement, the meeting continued on, with your face heating up in embarrassment, as you sank further into the chair.

Sage's voice engulfing your thoughts,

You got interrupted by a note being thrown at you, it was obvious it was from Noir that somehow got to you without Homelander looking, you grinned a little bit, secretly opening up the crumbled piece of paper.

[I'll buy you a new drink after the meeting] - Noir

You read the note, before turning your attention to him and smiling, quickly putting the note in the pocket of your suit before Homelander can see it. Combing your hair back and leaning back into your chair.

Soon the meeting ended, getting up from your seat, and everyone else was doing the same, yours scanned and the room soon landing on Firecracker still in her seat. But you didn't care much to ask why, but more excited to hang out with Noir after this awkward meeting.

"Everyone can go expect H/N" You heard Homelander's voice mentioning your name made you freeze. You stopped where you were, "You can go Firecracker" Homelander turned to her,

"But..um Homelander sir—"

"You can go," Homelander said again but in a more threatening tone, "Now" After he said she scrambled out of the meeting room.

Soon it was only you two left in the room, you watched hesitantly as Homelander turned to you. "Y/N, we need to talk," Homelander states, you could hear his voice straining, with concealed anger.

You looked up at him confused, "About..what?" You asked.

You watched as he walked around you, his pace was slow, you listened to his footsteps echoing around the empty meeting room, before he stopped suddenly, " Do you think I'm just stupid?" Homelander said, his tone catching you off guard.

It wasn't confusing that Homelander was speaking to you in anger, you rarely got him angry knowing you both were together and your relationship wasn't publicized due to his status.

"No, definitely not John," You replied, using his name instead of his hero alias, made him freeze before he stared at you.

Jealously was gnawing inside of him when he looked at you, "Tell me...are you fucking him" Homelander snapped at you, your brows knitted together in confusion at his words. "No, we're just hanging out—why would you ever think that?" You stuttered over your words, as Homelander walked closer to you.

He reached out for your face, harshly grabbing your chin with his hand, tilting your face to meet his eyes. You felt his glove hand digging into your face, his eyes closely turning red, you just felt fear, you were terrified. You knew he could smell your fear, and hear your rising heartbeat. "John...I would never cheat on you, I'm yours" You entreated, trembling under his grip.

Finally, his grip got looser and then he dropped your face, making you stumble a bit.

"Then show me," Homelander said,

You were confused about his words, "What?"

"If you love me..show me" Homelander sat down in the seat in front of you. It took you some time to process his words, confused at what he was saying, "Come on, strip for me" signaling towards your chest.

Your brows furrowing, "Come on, if you don't do it" Homelander leaned in his seat, "You won't like it if I do it" He finished,

"Now strip" He repeated, his tone more irritated.

You took a breath in and started undressing. Unzipping your suit, feeling the cool air on your bare skin. Your suit falling on the marble floor echoed through the room, leaving you in your bra and panties.

"Bra and panties too" Homelander eyed your chest.

You comply, putting your hand behind you and clipping your bra off, discarding it on the floor, and stepping out of your panties, leaving you fully naked in front of him.

"Come here" He patted his lap, "Crawl" he pointed at you. You sank down to your knees and crawled towards him and stopped in front of him. "Come on, you know what to do" You felt his hand on your cheek, stroking it.

You looked down at his growing member in his pants. Hesitatingly looking up at him through your lashes, as you started to undo the bottom of his suit revealing his cock, you looked up at him, "Use your mouth" You leaned in and inched his cock into your mouth, before taking him whole. Homelander moans out feeling your warm mouth enveloping his cock, feeling his hand gripping your hair making you wince.

You slowly bob your head down on his length, his grip on you getting tighter. Your ears perched up at his straining voice barely containing his whimpers as he watched you intently, taking him whole. "Fuck, your good at this" Homelander groaned, jerking you away, taking his cock out from your mouth. Staring at your disheveling appearance, spit dribbling on your chin.

His hand still fisting your hair, "Your pretty when your like this" Homelander chuckled, before forcing you down his cock, making you gagged. Tears prick on your waterline, saliva staining your chin, his grip never loosening as he abused your throat,  thrusting into your mouth, the sound of slick, the sounds of wet suction filling up the room.

His pace turning frantic, fucking your mouth.

Homelander threw his head back as waves of ecstasy washed over him. His hips buckled uncontrollably as he lets out a guttural groan, filling your mouth with his cum. "Fuck, ..." He pants, chest heaving, before he gripped your face, "Be a good girl and swallow it" He threatens, feeling the hot liquid going down your throat, swallowing it.

His grip loosening and releasing you. You panted for air, feeling his gloved-hand stroking your cheek. "Now, stand and lean over at table" Homelander ordered, as you got up from the floor and obeyed his order, propping yourself on the table, and bending yourself over the glass. You couldn't help but to feel excited for the pain, the slick dripping down your legs. You waited in anticipation,

Before feeling his cock stretching you out, biting down at your lip at the simmering pain, arching your back. His hands on back of your waist, "Fuck" you mumbled, gripping the end of the glass. Before he thrusting into you, "You think Noir would please you like I do" Homelander growled into your ear, his breath warm on your skin "N...no" you mumbled, feeling his cock tearing you open, feeling himself stretching your cervix.

His ministration was more painful next than the next, feeling his cock stabbing you over and over again. The sounds of flesh slapping filled the room, letting out a gasp, your voice wavering in pain. His thrust driving deeper into you, clenching down on his cock, feeling his grip digging into your skin.

You hated how you were slowly enjoying this, feeling yourself coming close to your climax. Your body tensing up as you feel your skin warming up,

His hips stuttering against yours, "Fuck, I'm close" You felt his hands stroking your hips, "What if I just cummed inside you, breed you myself, have my kids, and have a family...then ill have you to myself" He whispered,

You felt your heart in your throat, "Pull out" You tried to get away from stone grip, "Homelander, please" You begged, only for your face to be shove down on the glass table. Scrambling underneath his grip, just to get him off you. "please" you cried.

His pace getting frantic until he thrust into you for the last time, feeling on cue your body shuddering as he came into you. Feeling himself spilling inside you, making you freeze on the spot.

Feeling him finally pulling out of you, leaving you there stunned. He kissed your shoulder, the kiss feeling lingering on you.

You heard the sound of him putting his pants back on. He stared at you before walking towards you, before sighing, you turned your head to him, "I forgive you, you know" He said, his hand behind his back watching your pitiful form,

"Just don't do it again" he pats your head,

"Now get dressed, we have a date" He smiles, listening to his footsteps descending from you.

[random-fandom1984]

Hi!! 😆

May I request TFP Yandere Soundwave x human reader?

Thank for reading this (ง ͠° ͟ل͜ ͡°)ง✨

Sorry if it doesn't have that much yandere as you were hoping for.

Okay, so, the only way I can see that you could've gotten his attention is either you're related to one of the three human charges – family or friend. Because of that, you don't know about the Autobots and Decepticons.

Soundwave was given the mission to find out more about the human pets, through humans that are close to them. Out of all of their family and friends, he chose you.

He only went through some of your info, and you're a friend of Miko's host parents that lives in a state up north, in Gravity Falls, Oregon (Yes, I'm making a little crossover with GF, but TFP came out 2 years before Gravity Falls existed, so Weirdmageddon hasn't happened yet, nor have the Pine Twins visited yet.)

You've met Miko a few times when you've came to visit, and it's best to say you don't like how loud, irresponsible, foolish, and doesn't understand people's boundaries. You were a rather quiet introverted person, and she was an overbearing extrovert, so you two didn't mix well.

When it was Christmas last year, they were at your family gathering, and she almost got your cousins hurt with firecrackers, who were mainly toddlers and young children. She even said, quote-unquote, that "They needed to live a little and not have helicopter parents deciding everything for them." The thing was that your aunts and uncles weren't helicopter parents, they were normal, calm, and understanding parents!

Miko was one of the main reasons why you lost faith in humanity, and you despised her with a burning passion. You even told this to her in her face, but she would say that you're just grumpy and should take a nap. As if you were a little child that didn't know better!

You work as an online artist that takes request for people who can't draw certain things like, animals, details, DND characters, Oc's etc.

As time went on, he was starting to get obsessed with learning more about you, and he knows more about you than anyone else you know in your life. Your favorite animal are birds, your favorite color is d/s/f/c (Dark Shade of Favorite Color), you hate people, don't like talking, have a pet European Starling named Jermey, after the crow in the Secret of Nimh because of his love for shiny and sparkly things, who is also the model for your watermarks on your designs, you like dying your hair, and so much more.

You were having a normal day, doing a live stream as you were taking requests from your viewers, when this one person in particular to do a city made out of metal, the people are robots that can transform, and even gave you an image that they "made" that was called Kaon. Interested, you took up this challenge.

It was safe to say that Soundwave wasn't disappointed with the end results of it; It looked magnificent. The image of his home was nostalgic of the good old days of Cybertron, when it wasn't just him and Laserbeak, when all of his children minicons were still alive.

The two of you kept in contact and became friends on the internet. You would tell each other about how your days went; you were told that he works as one of the higher ups in a company, has to deal with an annoying, loud, arrogant assistant of his boss – reminds you of a certain someone –, has a pet bird, is introverted, doesn't talk, doesn't like humanity- you're already hooked.

You turned a blind eye to things, like how he somehow knows where you live, find out about private accounts on social media, knows that you're talking to someone even when there's barely any people around, kind of seeming jealous/overprotective over text. The hardest one to do is when someone insults or steals your art, only to end up severely or lightly wounded somewhere between the next day to the end of the week, saying that a robot version of Slenderman or a metal bird that has an origami themed shape, etc.

There were a few things that caught your attention. How he uses the wrong terminology for things such as units time, parts of the body, even saying organics, fleshies, humans instead of people or others by their names. You were suspicious but brushed it off every time it happens.

At the beginning of Soundwave's his sire growing obsession, Laserbeak didn't even understand what was so great about you. But it changed when he was shot down by Autobots and landed out in the woods, you found him, and repaired him. During his stay, he made friends with Jeremy, and during repairs, you were gentle as you could be when fixing him up, your touched were light, you asked if what you were doing was alright, and he honestly thought of those human films where the mother would help their child when they get an injury. In this situation, he was your the child, and you were his the mother; he understood now.

Knowing Laserbeak's existence was the reason why it was a little hard to turn a blind eye to those that were injured.

When Laserbeak returned, he gave the information to Soundwave, and that's when Soundwave knew that you were the one to complete the family.

When the both of you actually met face-to-face is when you texted him that an ex of yours came back is so persistent on getting back together and won't leave you alone. When it was night, your ex cornered you, and was ranting on and on about how you should be grateful that he's giving you a second chance, even though you were the one to break up with him, only to end up dead on the pavement. You looked up to see Soundwave himself.

The first thought that came to mind didn't revolve around fear. No! It was 'Oh, god, he looks hot-'

So, you were taken aboard the Nemesis, you became a part of the Con Crew. 1.) Because you're close, in a way, to one of the Autobot's human pets; 2.) You hated humans just as much as they did; 3.) It's Soundwave. Megatron trusts him with any decision of his. A reason Soundwave gave, in public? A human to spy on the Autobots- Shut the fuck up random Vehicon, this is a human spy, not Makeshift. This isn't like Starscream's plan.

This happened only a day after Optimus Prime became Orion Pax. Soundwave had a feeling that something might happen, so he had you wear something that will cover up everything, mainly your head/face. He knows the archivist is smart, and if he were to revert back to Optimus, then he would recognize who you are.

Often times, some Vehicons would make comments about a human joining the ranks, or try to get rid of you, and they were met with an electric end.

It was only about a week later, after Orion became Optimus again, when they decided how they were going to get you in their base, and with the help of the newly arrived Dreadwing, they can do just that.

Part 2 coming soon...

So, basically this was a yandere x willing reader. I just hope you're satisfied.

[hannyoontify]

casual - yoon jeonghan [teaser]

member | childhood best friend!jeonghan x fem!oc

genre | fluff, angst and angst and lots of angst, childhood best friends to ????

teaser word count | 1k (full fic est. 12k)

synopsis | throughout her childhood, jeonghan was the one constant in jeong-ah's life. he was her rock and she was his, but there was always an unspoken tension between the two, something that made jeong-ah's stomach flutter and her pulse race. was it casual, like jeonghan said? or was there a possibility of being something more?

warnings | none (in teaser)

notes | inspired from this post i made a while back! bc this was inspired by events that happened irl, i had to make it an oc so that things made sense (like their names) read the fic here!

“You should ask me why we’re in here instead of sleeping like everyone else.”

I let out a sigh that ended in a laugh. “Okay, Jeonghan. Why are we in here instead of sleeping like everyone else?”

Jeonghan immediately straightened his back and turned his body to face me, and I mirrored his movements. The way he looked at me with shining, excited eyes reminded me of the same 5-year old who enjoyed pulling on my pigtails and playing hide-and-seek.

Despite growing a lot in the past decade together, there were still some parts of Yoon Jeonghan that never seemed to change. For example, that mischievous look on his face whenever he was about to do something he wasn’t supposed to. 

“Wait here.” Jeonghan disappeared outside and I couldn’t help but smile at his excited, almost child-like demeanor. Resting my head against the wall, I looked up and saw the sloped ceiling decorated with glow-in-the-dark stars.

The door soon opened again and Jeonghan reappeared with a single cupcake, a match, a candle, and two mini party hats. “I know we all got in trouble with our parents today so we can’t celebrate New Year’s, but I still wanted to do something for you. I know how much you love New Year’s celebrations.”

It was true. When all six of us had gotten in trouble earlier that evening because Jeonghan convinced all of us to try and help him set up a booby trap in his grumpy neighbor's backyard involving popping firecrackers, I was greatly disheartened when our parents decided that our punishment would be a bedtime of 9:30 and no New Year’s celebration.

I was particularly more upset than others because my parents had promised me a year ago that this New Year’s celebration would be the year where I finally got to try champagne.

“Jeonghan, I-” I faltered. I couldn’t find the words to describe how grateful I was to have him at that moment. 

Jeonghan scrambled to sit in the empty spot next to me. “You can thank me and be impressed later, just put this hat on. We only have a minute left.” He snapped on his own party hat before sliding its identical piece over my own head.

With a shaky hand, Jeonghan struck the match and lit the candle that was stuck atop the cupcake. We had made these cupcakes earlier today, with the help of our siblings. It had always been a tradition of ours.

My family would go over to the Yoon family’s house for the New Year’s and we would spend the night. Jeonghan, his older brother, and I were the older ones so we usually resorted to playing video games, board games, and baking while our younger siblings played with toys or watched TV. Our time together was always fun and a big highlight of my winter break every year.

But two years ago, when Jeonghan and I kissed in the summer, something changed. Our conversations became more stiff and awkward and he seemed to avoid me and my text messages more often.

When I consulted my mother about this situation (minus the kissing part), she had laughed and told me, “It’s because both of you are going through puberty now. It’s okay, it’s natural! Your relationship is going to return to normal in no time.”

Albeit it did take two years and a global pandemic for the two of us to be back on speaking terms again, but I was thankful to have my best friend back.

Jeonghan looked at me with a bright smile as he softly began to count down, his phone propped up against the wall so we could keep an eye on the clock. The single flame of the candle seemed to reflect the hundreds and thousands of stars that Jeonghan held within his eyes. His long lashes fluttered against his pale cheek bone and that tear-shaped mole on his right cheek that I had always been fond of. 

“Five… four…” I joined him in the count down, our hands holding the small cupcake together. 

I’d grown to accept the fact that Jeonghan wanted to pretend that kiss never happened. I did a lot of thinking and reflecting to realize that it was our silly pre-pubescent emotions that had gotten the best of us in that moment. It never meant anything.

“Two… one! Happy new year!” Jeonghan cheered. “One, two, three!”

11 years of friendship helped me to immediately recognize Jeonghan’s intent when he began counting again.

When he reached 3, the two of us blew at the single candle and the flame flickered for a moment before it disappeared, leaving a small trail of white smoke in its wake. Jeonghan pulled the candle out of the cupcake and I dipped my finger into the frosting and smeared it across my best friend’s cheek.

Jeonghan smiled with a mischievous glint in his eyes before dipping this thumb into the white frosting and spreading it across my forehead. “Simbaaaaa.”

We both erupted into a fit of childish giggles as I tried to smear another glob of dense, sweet frosting onto his face, but he dodged my hand successfully. But because Jeonghan was blessed by the genetic gods and had much longer arms than I did, he was able to reach over and smudge another spot of white frosting onto the top of my nose.

“Ewww!” I cried loudly.

Jeonghan tried to shush me but it was too late. We heard a door upstairs opening, and a pair of footsteps moving down the stairs. Jeonghan and I held onto each other with bated breaths and when we heard the footsteps slowly fade away, we let out a quiet sigh of relief.

“Maybe they’re just grabbing water or some-” As Jeonghan whispered into my ear, the doorknob of the small door rattled and opened, revealing Mrs. Yoon, half disheveled with a face mask.

I clamped a hand over my mouth to suppress the giggle that was threatening to erupt as Jeonghan fumbled to find the right words. “H-hi, mom. We were just-”

“Out. Both of you. Now.”

Uh oh.

PLEASEEE LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK

and as always, reblogs and feedback is always appreciated ^-^

[arias-archive]

heyy!

can you write about the hawthornes and the girls finding out about/meeting alisa’s boyfriend and they are all shocked, please??

Thank you!!

a/n: okay i am deeply sorry for how long this took to come out but YES. i loved writing the last alisa fic so much so this is really exciting

warnings:

description: alisa has never been big on relationships. she'd been in one her entire life and it was comfortable. nice. but this? this was new.

part one | tig masterlist | masterlist

taredo y firecracker: II (an alisa x oc fic)

It was good to be back.

No, not just good. Brilliant.

As much as she missed Spain, she craved the normalcy of an actual work day. Lazing around the pool was not her idea of productivity.

But taking one look at the build-up of work she had left provoked a slew of several curse words. Damn you, Avery Kylie Grambs. Why had Alisa trusted her when she assured that the work would be taken care of? Total incompetency.

She pressed two fingers to her temple, using her other hand to take a sip of coffee, grimacing at the taste of the bitter slush. It wasn't comparable to any cocktail that she tasted on vacation, but it was familiar. Home. Somewhere she was useful, necessary.

She quickly drained the cup to its dregs, she tilted her head side-to-side, preparing herself to sit here all day.

Once her fingertips touched the cool metal of the keyboard, she lost herself into the world of work, the quiet tap-tap-tap of keys or the occasional printer spt-sput-sput filling the room.

Busying herself with the endless list of tasks meant she wouldn't have the mental capacity to reminisce on her short break. Or the certain someone she met there. They had spoken almost every remaining day in the country, and he insisted on dropping her off to the airport. Whatever had bloomed between them was new, unspoken, but there was something.

An even crazier coincidence was that Hot-Spanish-Guy was going to be moving to Texas. At first, Alisa was convinced he was just saying it to tease her, pretend he was moving for her.

Turns out Mr. Cardenas had a new job in Texas at his father's charity. He had traveled to Spain as a last act of freedom before he really started to work at a company that would belong to him someday. He had seemed pretty passionate about the causes they supported, going into great extent about what exactly their plans were.

When Alisa (reluctantly and very much begrudgingly) admitted she worked as a lawyer for a 'well-known' charity, he swore they were soulmates. Alisa had rolled her eyes. A lot.

But she couldn't stop thinking about him. About them. About the part of her traitorous heart that surrendered itself to the taredo who practically stalked her on the streets of Spain.

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

Eventually Alisa had single-handedly, and with many coffees, tackled the vast bulk of the list, crossing off each complete item with far too much energy.

Every joint in her body cracked as she pushed herself out of her chair, crossing the room to assess the remainder of her planner. She had pre-written the impending tasks about a week before she left. She liked to stay ahead of the game after all.

A quick skim of the page told her that the board of the Hannah The Same Backwards as Forwards Foundation had one final meeting with the Cardenas Charity company in an hour. Perfect, she thought as she turned to go back to her laptop. Yes she missed her job, but she also missed the sandals she freely wore in Spain. She couldn't wait to go home and toss these tight stilettos far away from her-

Wait.

What?

She almost got whiplash from how fast she turned back around, marching up to the planner. She blinked once, twice, leaned in closer but the writing hadn't changed. There it was, in Alisa's perfect print, a 'meeting with the Cardenas Charity' written on the page.

What... the... hell?

No freaking way. Not at all. Maybe it wouldn't be him representing the company. Maybe his father would come in. Whywouldyouwanttomeethisfather?

Glaring the planner into submission didn't change the writing either. Neither did checking her digital planner. Nope.

What were the chances? Clearly the universe couldn't stand their temporary distance anymore than she could.

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

If Mateo Cardenas shot one more flirtatious smirk in her direction, she would actually throttle him. She was having a hard time keeping herself together as it was and his distractingly stupidly handsome face wasn't helping.

Alisa Ortega was on the verge of blushing like some besotted schoolgirl, in front of the entire room. Oh how she wished this meeting was over so she could talk to him. To scold. Definitely scold.

She didn't even realise she was dreaming about their potential interaction until she felt a small nudge to her arm. She looked up to see the entire room staring. Nice.

She brushed off the look of concern in Avery's eyes, and the smug smile on Mr. Cardenas face, clearing her throat to regain her senses. Dear Lord. Damn it, what were they talking about?

She opened her mouth to ask Avery to repeat her prior statement when Mateo opened his mouth, a cocky glint in his eyes.

"After some consideration, Ms Grambs," Mateo said, schooling his features into a serious professional, "I believe we could come to a partnership deal."

Alisa nodded briskly, pulling out the necessary documentation for him to sign as representative as Grayson Hawthorne started his speech about finances which had Alisa fighting to pay attention. She watched as Mr Cardenas signed the stack of documents, noting the way the light reflected off his watch. He looked comfortable like this, like a natural.

He must've felt her gaze like a brush of her fingers against him because she chose that moment to look over, giving her a once-over. "Gorgeous," he mouthed with a smirk, winking at her before returning to the papers.

Alisa's eyes widened as her stomach fluttered. Her gaze darted around nervously, hoping nobody saw that small interaction. Grayson was too busy engaged in a verbal sparring match with the Cardenas company's other representative, while Avery and Jameson were not-so-subtly making eyes at each other. More so Jameson than Avery. That boy has always been trouble.

Thank goodness nobody saw-

Oh.

Oren raised an eyebrow in slight amusement before letting the stoic mask fall back on. Dear Lord, was there nothing the man didn't see? Alisa didn't even remember he was standing in the shadows, his posture erect and ready.

A slight prickle of heat painted her face as she ducked her head down, wishing she could take her hair out of her signature bun to shield her face.

She just had to make it through this meeting.

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

Alisa Ortega was a professional. She had rigid rules about demeanour inside the workplace and how one should carry themselves. It was a matter of decency.

Alisa Ortega was also just a woman. A breathless woman whose smudged lipstick was evidently all over the flushed face of a very smug man.

As soon as the meeting ended she intended to speak to Mateo. Professionally. About everything that had happened, was happening.

However, it was clear he had other ideas when he had all but yanked her into another room and pushed her against the wall.

Alisa had protested. Several times. But when he slid his sinful lips over her mouth for the third time, there's only so much someone can resist.

She glares at him as she pushes him off, scolding him for being so reckless. He just pulled her in again, looking at her with a reverence reserved for goddesses. He leant his forehead against hers, pressing a kiss to her nose. "I assume that explains what stage we are at?"

"You cannot just-"

Her words were cut off by the sound of a door being pushed open, three faces staring back her. Grayson had his eyebrows raised, blinking slowly. Avery's jaw was slack, eyes wide as she clutched her boyfriend's arm, who was grinner wider than the Cheshire Cat.

It took Alisa longer than it should've to jump back from Mateo, her face hot like she'd been slapped by a skillet. She futilely attempted to smooth down her clothes, rubbing a finger around her lips to clean up the smudged colour. "Did you need something?" Alisa asked in her iciest voice, crossing her arms sternly, ignoring Mateo's chuckle.

"Uhm... I did knock?" Avery replied instead, still processing what the hell she just walked into. Jameson's full-blown laugh forced her out of her stupor. "Oh, we- I can get it later. Enjoy?"

With that she turned around, dragging a wolf-whistling Jameson away while Grayson followed, muttering something about self-restraint in a work place.

Alisa turned the full force of her glower onto Mateo Cardenas who threw his hands up in self-defence. Before Alisa could get a singular grumble out, her phone started buzzing rapidly, tickling her thigh. She yanked it out of her pantsuit pocket, horrified to find her messages filled. Xander, Thea, Max, even Rebecca had messaged.

Word of Hawthorne hook-ups spread fast indeed.

But it was the last message that had her heart stuttering slightly. Nash.

[moxanji-real]

♡ The Touch Starved Firecracker ♡ Moxanji fic

✎ One-Shot, Romantic, Angst, Fluff

✎ One Piece Fanfic, Sanji x Oc, Sanji x Self insert

✎ 1k words

Ever since Moxie joined the crew, she hadn’t been the same. The wild, chaotic woman with spiky red hair and a booming, malicious laugh had softened into someone much quieter, almost unrecognizable. Her confidence seemed to vanish, replaced with an awkwardness that even a forced smile couldn’t mask.

At dinner, she barely spoke. She’d quietly eat Sanji’s food, excuse herself without a word, and retreat to her room. Everyone noticed her change, but it was Sanji who took it to heart.

He understood, though. How could she not struggle? Her entire life had been spent with her family, only to have them ripped away when Luffy had forcibly brought her onto the Sunny. Sanji sighed, watching Luffy wolf down a pile of meat. The captain meant well, and Sanji was glad Moxie was here… but it hurt to see her so miserable.

Suddenly, Nami appeared, dressed in a new outfit. She spun around, flashing a smile. “What do you think, Sanji?”

Usually, Sanji would’ve been on his knees, singing her praises. But this time, he barely looked at her, his thoughts elsewhere. “Yeah… you’re beautiful,” he muttered, barely glancing her way as he lit a cigarette.

Nami’s jaw dropped, and the rest of the crew exchanged confused looks. Since when did their love cook react like this?

Sanji, oblivious to their stares, stood and stubbed out his cigarette. He headed toward Moxie’s door, determination in his step. Once there, he knocked softly.

“Can I come in?” His voice was gentle, and he lit another cigarette to steady himself.

A strained “Yeah” came from the other side.

He stepped inside to see her sitting on the edge of her bed, staring at the floor. Her legs bounced nervously, the sound of her boot tapping against the wood filling the room. The air was thick with her anxiety—Sanji could feel it immediately.

“Mind if I sit?” He gestured to the space beside her, his tone kind but careful.

She hesitated, still not looking at him. “If you want to, I guess…”

Sanji moved slowly, giving her time to adjust as he sat down. His eyes softened when he saw her face. Sadness, worry, and something he couldn’t quite place swirled in her expression. Taking a drag from his cigarette, he exhaled the smoke away from her and placed a hand gently on her shoulder.

She flinched slightly, finally looking up at him.

“What’s wrong, Moxie-Moon?” His voice was low and soothing, a rare seriousness overtaking his usual flirtatious tone. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

Her gaze darted away, guilt shadowing her face. Sanji could tell she was holding something back, too ashamed to say it out loud.

“Whatever it is, you don’t have to hide it from me,” he added with a small, playful grin. “If you need something, just tell me. You know I’ll do anything for you, Moxie-Moon.”

Moxie’s head whipped toward him, her eyes glistening with tears. “If I told you, you’d think I’m a freak… a big, stupid freak,” she said, clutching his arm instinctively before pulling away, realizing what she’d done. She turned her face, wiping her tears as her shoulders shook.

Sanji’s heart twisted. “How could you think I’d judge you?” He reached out, gently pulling her hands away from her face and using his own to brush away her tears. “There’s nothing about you that could ever make me think less of you, Moxie-Moon. Whatever it is, I promise, you can tell me.”

She sniffled, her lips trembling. “Pinky promise?” she asked, holding up her finger like a child, her vulnerability shining through.

Sanji chuckled softly, his heart swelling. “Pinky promise.” He linked his pinky with hers, letting the moment linger a little longer than necessary. Both of them glanced away, their cheeks flushing.

“Good,” Moxie murmured, regaining a bit of her fire. “Because if you broke your promise, I’d gouge out your eyes and feed them to a puma.”

Sanji raised his hands in mock surrender, laughing lightly. “I wouldn’t dare risk that.”

The humor faded as Moxie took a deep breath, crossing her arms tightly. “I… I have this weird thing,” she began, her voice barely above a whisper. “If I don’t hold someone—like, physically—I start to lose it. My brother… I used to hold him all the time. He was all I had. Now, without him, I feel all shaky and out of control, and I’m too embarrassed to ask anyone here for a hug because I don’t want to seem weird or clingy—”

Before she could spiral further, Sanji pulled her into a hug, wrapping his arms around her tightly.

Her breath hitched in surprise as he rested his chin lightly on her head, inhaling the faint scent of her hair. “You don’t need to ask, Moxie-Moon,” he murmured, his voice a mix of flirtation and sincerity. “My arms are yours, anytime, anywhere.”

Moxie froze for a moment before breaking into sobs, clinging to him like a lifeline. Sanji held her closer, whispering soft reassurances as she let everything out.

They stayed like that for what felt like hours, wrapped in each other’s warmth, as if the world outside didn’t exist.

————————————————————————

The next day, Sanji was in the middle of bickering with Zoro when he suddenly felt arms wrap around him from behind.

“Moxie-Moon—what are you doing!?” he exclaimed, his face going red.

“You said I could hold you whenever,” she replied, her green eyes narrowing slightly. “Unless you lied to me…”

“Of course not! I’d never lie to you!” Sanji immediately spun around and hugged her back, his hands resting on her waist. His heart raced, but he couldn’t help the goofy smile spreading across his face. “If cuddles are what you want, then cuddles are what you get!”

The rest of the crew stared, their jaws practically on the floor.

“When did this start happening?” Usopp whispered to Nami.

As Luffy started to shout for food, Nami covered his mouth. “Let them have their moment,” she said softly, a small smile tugging at her lips.

The crew watched as Moxie and Sanji stood there, holding each other, her face buried in his chest as tears of relief streamed down her cheek.

For the first time since she’d joined the crew, Moxie looked like she belonged.

[evil-daily-ac]

[mikaylathenerd5]

Open Arms + Chapter 3

Previous Chapter ৹ Masterlist ৹ Join My Taglist Pairing: Roman Reigns x Black Fem OC (Isla Sage Navarro) Content Warning: The chapters of this story may contain NSFW, profanity, potential violence, age gap, and themes that may be triggering. Reader discretion is strongly advised. Intended for mature audiences only. Authors Note: Please feel free to leave a comment. Feedback is always helpful ❤️ Comment on the taglist post if you would like to be added to the taglist for future updates. Word Count: 9.9k Song Inspo: "Open Arms" by SZA

Isla’s car shuddered to a halt in the driveway, gravel snapping under the tires like firecrackers, each sharp pop a jolt yanking her back to a past she’d let fray at the edges, threads unraveling with every mile she’d stretched between herself and this place. She twisted the key, killing the engine, and silence crashed down, heavy as the humid air seeping through the cracked window, thick with wet earth, salt, and the faint tang of gasoline lingering from the long drive. Her gaze snagged on the porch light—flickering, erratic, a dying pulse stabbing against the dusk’s bruised purple, casting jagged shadows that twitched across the peeling clapboard like restless ghosts. It hadn’t stuttered months ago, and the sight clawed at her chest, sharp as the rust she’d tasted fixing it at seventeen—ladder rungs digging into her palms, cold metal biting her skin, Javier’s voice booming over the cicadas’ relentless hum, “Don’t fall, loca—you’re the brains here!” Her shirt had clung damp with sweat, hair plastered to her neck, the bulb’s filament glowing faintly as she twisted wires with trembling fingers, but she’d grinned wide when it flared steady, a small triumph. Mariana had clapped from the porch steps, apron flapping, Javier tossing her a soda, its icy aluminum kissing her calloused fingers, fizz hissing as she cracked it open, bubbles stinging her lips. Now it blinked like a rebuke—proof WWE’s grind had stretched her visits thin, turning this house into a memory she barely brushed, a ghost glimpsed in fleeting rearview glances, fading with every late-night shift. Her knuckles tightened on the wheel, leather creaking under her grip, guilt pooling cold and slick in her gut—she’d once rolled in every few weeks, coffee steaming on the counter with Mariana, grease black under her nails from the garage, laughter bouncing off the walls like a living thing. Now it was a shadow slipping under her neglect, a thread she hadn’t pulled taut, fraying loose.

She shoved the door open, hinges wailing like a wounded animal, a high-pitched scrape that echoed in the still air, and stepped onto gravel that crunched and bit through her sneakers’ worn soles, each step a jolt against the quiet, pebbles shifting underfoot like restless bones. The house loomed ahead—peeling paint curling like old skin, sagging porch defiant against time’s slow grind, boards groaning under invisible weight, nails popping loose in the thick, wet air that clung to her arms, sticky and warm. Jasmine hung heavy, sweet and cloying, snaking through her lungs, dragging her back to firefly chases with Camila across dew-soaked grass, their whispers swapped under a swollen moon—dreams of escape, voices hushed in the rustle of leaves, bare feet slick with earth, giggles swallowed by the night’s embrace. She craved this chaos, this heartbeat of home pulsing louder than her sterile beach mornings—white walls glaring under fluorescent buzz, waves crashing against a silence that pressed too hard—but that stuttering light gnawed, a quiet accusation threading through her ribs—had she let too much slip through her fingers, let it drift beyond reach?

Her eyes drifted to the garage, its cracked door gaping like a scar torn wide, oil stains seeping into the concrete, dark as spilled ink against the fading light, glistening faintly under the dusk’s last gasp. She could feel the summer heat radiating off the workbench, a phantom warmth baking her skin, Javier’s shadow looming over her as she hunched over a carburetor at twelve, grease slick under her nails, gasoline sharp in her nose, stinging her eyes until they watered, blurring the rusted bolts. “You’ve got the touch, mija,” he’d grunted, voice rough as sandpaper, tossing her a rag stiff with grime, pride glinting in his squint as the engine roared to life, a guttural growl shaking the walls, tools rattling on the bench like loose change in a jar. She’d been all bony elbows and grit then, fixing radios with frayed wires spitting static, lamps with cracked bases flickering weak, that damn porch light now winking at her like a betrayal, its glow faltering. Hours had melted away there—Javier’s laughter booming over botched fishing tales, rod snapping in his hands, the twins banging wrenches on scrap metal, their high-pitched squeals piercing the air, Mariana’s voice cutting through from the house, “Wash up, you gremlins, or no dinner!” It had forged her, those oily fingerprints pressed into her life, smudged and indelible—now it mocked a bond she’d let rust, dust settling thick on tools she hadn’t touched in months, their outlines blurred by neglect, handles cold where they’d once been warm in her grip.

The screen door creaked open, a sharp whine slicing the dusk, and a voice burst through, bright and urgent, shattering the stillness like glass. “Isla, mija!” Mariana stood framed in the doorway, smile splitting wide, silver braid swaying as she waved, apron dusted with flour in soft drifts, hands damp and tacky from dough, leaving faint smears on the frame where her fingers gripped, a white imprint against the chipped wood. Her eyes crinkled, warm as the kitchen light spilling out behind her, amber and inviting, casting a halo around her silhouette, and Isla’s chest loosened, a knot untying she hadn’t known was there, tight and aching from the road’s long pull.

“Couldn’t stay away too long,” Isla called, hurrying across the yard, gravel shifting and popping underfoot, sneakers skidding faintly on the uneven ground, a faint spray of dirt kicking up behind her. She hugged Mariana hard, arms wrapping tight around her soft frame, lavender and cumin flooding her senses—home distilled into a single, deep breath—dissolving the day’s jagged edges, peeling back the tech girl façade to the barefoot kid who’d ruled this earth, chasing wind through the trees, fearless and wild, hair whipping free.

“Work still wild?” Mariana asked, pulling back, hands firm on Isla’s shoulders, eyes piercing like they could strip her half-truths bare, flour flaking onto her sleeves in soft clouds, dusting her dark jacket white.

Isla laughed, brushing hair back—a tic she couldn’t shake, fingers catching on a tangle matted by the drive, tugging faintly at her scalp. “Always, but I’m holding it together—barely.” She dodged the details—code crashing at 2 a.m., screens glowing red with errors, Joe’s texts pinging her phone like quiet beacons through the noise—secrets too tender for this whirlwind, too raw to spill over the threshold into this chaos she loved, a storm she’d missed more than she’d let herself admit.

Inside, the house thrummed like a live wire—dishes clashing in the sink, a metallic clatter bouncing off the walls, voices tangling in rapid Spanish and raucous laughter, overlapping in a cacophony that buzzed in her ears, air thick with family and the heat of bodies packed tight, sweat and spices mingling into a heady fog. The kitchen burned with life, chipped tiles slick underfoot from spilled water, cool against her soles, saffron and rice from Esperanza’s Arroz Con Pollo hitting her like a Sunday memory—hands sticky rolling dough, flour dusting her jeans in powdery streaks, the twins sneaking bites with impish grins, sauce smearing their fingers red. Mariana darted beside her, tomatoes thudding onto the counter with wet, heavy slaps, juice pooling faintly under their bruised skins, flour puffing into the air, dusting her blouse like a faint snowfall, catching the light in soft glints. “Don’t overdo the saffron, Mamá,” Isla said, snatching the jar quick, its glass cool and smooth in her palm, the scent sharp and earthy as she twisted the lid, a faint creak under her fingers.

Esperanza swatted her wrist, spoon flashing silver in the steam, laughter rolling like thunder across the room, deep and resonant, shaking her frame. “You’d serve slop without me, niña—this needs soul, not your tech tricks!” Her gray bun held firm, pinned tight against the heat, eyes glinting as they landed on Isla, sharp and fond, cutting through the haze like a blade. “Your mother’s hopeless, mija—save us from her bland mess, por favor.” She stirred the pot, steam curling up in wisps, golden rice swirling under her steady hand, the wooden spoon scraping faintly against the metal, a soft rasp blending with the radio’s hum.

Isla grinned, taking the spoon, steam licking her face, heat radiating through her wrists as she stirred, the rhythm familiar, grounding her like an anchor in the storm, rice parting under her touch, golden and fragrant. “Gotta keep the peace,” she said, voice steady, the pot’s edge hot against her knuckles, a faint burn she welcomed, a tether to this moment. The radio spat salsa, a brassy pulse thumping through the walls, trumpets blaring over the clatter, the beat quick and insistent, and Mariana cranked it higher, the knob creaking under her flour-dusted fingers, grabbing Isla’s arm with a sudden tug that jolted her forward. “Dance with me, mija—you’re home now, let loose!”

“No way—” Isla balked, sneakers scuffing the tiles, rubber squeaking faintly, protest swallowed as Mariana spun her hard, the room blurring into streaks—yellow light flickering from the bare bulb overhead, chipped paint flashing on the walls, Esperanza’s spoon glinting mid-stir like a metronome keeping time. Laughter broke loose, raw and ragged, spilling from her throat as Esperanza clapped, apron swaying, her cackle cutting through the beat, high and wild, a sound that lifted the air. Isla surrendered, feet stumbling into the rhythm, hips swaying awkward then sure, chaos seeping into her bones—a lifeline her quiet beach mornings, all white walls and crashing waves, couldn’t touch, a pulse she’d forgotten she craved. The twins whooped from the corner, banging spoons on the table, sauce-stained shirts flapping as they jumped, and Camila hollered, “Get it, Isla!” her gum snapping loud, a sharp pop punctuating the noise, her braids swinging as she swayed in mock imitation.

Gasping, lungs burning, Mariana let go, braid whipping as she spun away to grab a spatula, and Isla braced against the counter, its edge biting her hip, bruising faintly, face flushed, sweat beading at her hairline, cool against her heated skin, breath coming in short bursts. “You’re a menace,” she teased, breathless, voice rough, grin tugging her lips wide, stretching her cheeks. Esperanza slid her a knife, handle worn smooth by years, wood warm in her grip, familiar as an old friend, its weight steadying her trembling hand. “Carrots, mija—chop before she drags you again, or we’ll never eat tonight,” she said, smirking, her eyes crinkling with mischief, a glint catching the light.

Isla nodded, chopping steady, blade slicing clean through orange flesh, the crisp snap grounding her as she watched their dance—Mariana’s flurry of motion, skirt swishing against her calves, Esperanza’s slow grace over the stove, her hands steady despite their faint tremble, veins mapping her knuckles like rivers. This was her forge, where she’d mended radios with trembling hands, wires sparking under her touch, patched hearts with quiet words over steaming mugs, stitched family threads with every visit—still fierce, still alive, but fleeting now, her trips home rarer than the storms that rattled these walls, rain drumming the roof like a fading echo, a rhythm slipping from her grasp.

“Mija,” Esperanza said, voice soft but iron, wiping her apron, hands gnarled by time, knuckles swollen yet strong, flour dusting her fingers like ash. “You’re more beautiful every time—time’s kind to you, not like me, all wrinkles now.” She patted her own weathered cheek, smiling wry, lines deepening around her mouth, a map of decades etched deep.

“Missed this, Abuela,” Isla replied, leaning in to kiss her cheek, skin warm and papery under her lips, sinking into the embrace, flour smudging her shirt in a faint cloud, a soft mark she didn’t brush away. Mariana smiled, wiping flour from her own cheek with a rag, leaving a streak like a painter’s careless stroke. “Always fixing—radios, Javier’s junk computer, that old toaster I swore smoked worse than his truck exhaust. We knew you’d soar, mija, sky-high.”

“More like a terror,” Isla said, slicing a carrot, the snap loud in her ears, juice staining her fingers a faint orange, sticky against her skin. “Lucky I didn’t burn it all down—remember the lamp that sparked, nearly torched the curtains?” She laughed, a quick burst, picturing the acrid smoke curling up, Mariana’s yelp as she doused it with a towel.

Esperanza’s laugh filled the room, warm as a tide, shaking her shoulders, a sound that wrapped Isla tight, pulling her in. “Stubborn, not a terror—blew a fuse, sure, but you fixed it, rewired it better than before. Found your way, always did, even when it sparked.”

“Did I?” Isla mused, their pride threading through the doubt coiled tight in her chest, a knot she couldn’t slice through like the carrots piling up in neat stacks, their edges glistening faintly under the light, sharp and precise.

“Isla!” Camila crashed in, braids whipping wild, grin feral as she barreled across the kitchen, sneakers squeaking on wet tiles, a blur of energy that jolted the air. She hugged Isla hard, nearly toppling her into the counter, all elbows and kinetic force, mango gum sharp on her breath, a sweet tang cutting through the spices, snapping her awake. “You’re back—finally! Thought you’d forgotten us, lost in that tech jungle!”

“You too, trouble,” Isla smirked, steadying herself against the counter’s edge, Camila’s presence a live wire sparking the room, electric and uncontainable.

“You’re too serious,” Camila said, voice dropping conspiratorial, leaning in close, gum popping like a gunshot, loud and sudden. “Need a guy to crack that tech-girl shell—someone hot, tall, brooding, huh?” She waggled her brows, and Joe’s “Hey, glad you made it safe” flashed unbidden—Isla’s cheeks burned, a flush creeping up her neck, hot and sudden, betraying her in an instant, a heat she couldn’t tamp down.

“I’m fine,” she said, steadier than she felt, hands fumbling the knife, blade slipping a fraction on the cutting board, a faint scrape against the wood. Camila edged closer, elbow nudging her ribs, a sharp jab that made her flinch. “Come on, you’re glowing like a neon sign—someone’s got you buzzing, I can tell. Spill it, who’s the mystery man keeping you up late, texting you under the table?”

Isla’s pulse jumped, grip tightening on the handle, knuckles paling against the wood, a faint tremor running through her fingers. “No one’s keeping me up,” she lied, words flimsy as wet paper under Camila’s glee, Joe’s quiet presence a hum she couldn’t shake, a steady beat threading through her skull.

“Right,” Camila said, gum cracking loud enough to turn Esperanza’s head, her grin wicked and knowing, eyes glinting like she’d caught a secret mid-flight. “Bet he’s some big-shot type—tall, dark, all intense, the kind who’d sweep you off your feet if you’d let him. I’d dig for dirt, but you’re too sneaky, hiding him in that phone of yours!” She laughed, a sharp burst, leaning back against the counter, arms crossed, her posture daring Isla to deny it.

Flushing deeper, a wildfire spreading under her skin, Isla ducked as Mariana called, “Mija, help—the rice is sticking!” She bolted to the stove, heat blasting her face, shielding her from Camila’s spark, who trailed behind, softer now, concern flickering in her eyes like a dimming flame. “You okay? You went red fast—seriously, what’s up?”

“Just tired,” Isla said, chopping again, knife a lifeline slicing through the noise—Joe’s voice warring with Camila’s tease in her head, a tangle she couldn’t cut loose, sharp and insistent, twisting tighter.

Dinner erupted—talk crashing like waves against a rocky shore, laughter sharp as shattering glass, the table groaning under platters of chicken and rice, steam curling up in wisps that fogged the air, thick with saffron and heat. Isla shaped tortillas with Esperanza, their questions a warm barrage, dough clinging sticky to her fingers, flour dusting her forearms like a second skin, soft and powdery, grounding her in the rhythm of pressing, flipping, stacking. Marco and Mateo lunged for the last drumstick—Mateo pinning Marco’s arm to the table, his elbow digging into the wood, Marco yelping, “No fair, he’s bigger—cheater!” Plates rattled, sauce splattering across the scarred surface in dark streaks, and Mariana swooped in, voice slicing through like a blade, “Enough, you little beasts—sit, or no dessert, I swear it!” They froze, giggling, eyes darting to Isla, who split the drumstick with a grin and a quick twist of her knife, grease shining on the blade, a clean break snapping loud in the din. “Share it,” she said, their truce her victory, sauce smearing their chins as they tore in, grinning through messy bites, teeth flashing white.

“WWE still busy?” Esperanza asked, stirring the pot beside her, steam curling around her gray bun, the spoon scraping metal with a faint rasp, a steady beat under the chaos.

“Yeah,” Isla said, pressing dough flat, its tacky pull against her palms familiar, grounding her like the hum of an engine under her hands. “New system’s a beast—lag spikes, server crashes, fans screaming on X—but it keeps me sharp, on my toes, always moving.”

Mariana glowed, pride crinkling her eyes, hands pausing mid-wipe on her apron, flour streaking the faded fabric in gray smudges. “From books and wires to tech star—look at you, mija, running that circus, keeping it all spinning.”

Their faith steadied her, warm as the Arroz Con Pollo hitting the table, golden and fragrant, saffron threading through the air like a fine thread, Javier’s tale thundering over the clatter like a storm breaking loose, wild and untamed.

The door slammed, windows rattling in their frames, a sharp bang that jolted the room, and Javier strode in, grease-streaked shirt unbuttoned to the chest, tackle box clanking against his hip, trout dripping onto the tiles with wet, heavy slaps, scales glinting silver under the kitchen light, catching the glow in sharp flashes. “¡Oye, familia! The VIP’s here—bow down!” he bellowed, voice booming like a foghorn, tossing the fish onto the counter, a thud that made Mariana groan loud and Esperanza cross herself quick, muttering “Ay, Dios” under her breath, her fingers brushing the rosary beads tucked in her pocket. His grin locked on Isla, reckless and wide, eyes glinting like he’d hooked the moon itself, wild and untethered. “Mija, you’re back! Too big-time for us now, huh, fixing screens for those fancy meatheads?”

“Hey, Tio,” Isla smirked, but he crushed her in a hug, fish and gasoline sharp in her nose, a pungent wave that stung her eyes, hands rough on her back, smearing grime across her sleeve, damp and cold against her skin, leaving a dark streak she felt more than saw.

“Missed you, kid!” he said, mussing her hair with a meaty paw, laugh booming loud enough to shake the lightbulbs, a deep rumble that filled the room, vibrating the floor under her feet. “Fixing screens for meatheads? I’d tell ‘em their truck’s got more growl than those muscles—give me a wrench over a dumbbell any day!” He flexed an arm, shirt sleeve straining at the seams, then laughed harder, a sound that rattled the plates stacked high with food, a tremor through the chaos.

“Too sharp for your scrap heap,” Camila jabbed, gum cracking like a whip, leaning against the counter with her phone still glowing, screen casting a faint blue on her face, shadows dancing across her cheekbones.

“Scrap heap? That’s an empire, niña!” Javier clutched his chest, mock-wounded, waving a tortilla like a flag, crumbs flying onto the floor in a scatter, dusting the tiles white. “Monster fish nearly sank me—big as Marco, thrashing like a damn beast!” His roar shook the table, twins leaning in wide-eyed as he mimed the fight—arms flailing, chair creaking under his bulk, the tackle box tipping, hooks scattering across the tiles with tiny clinks that echoed like falling coins. “Line snapped—bam!—thought I’d go under, boat rocking hard, water sloshing in my boots, soaking me to the bone, but I wrestled it aboard, bare hands, scales cutting my palms bloody, stinging like hell!” He slammed the trout down again, guts splattering, a wet smack that made the twins squeal, “Again! Again!” their voices high and shrill, fists pounding the table, sauce-stained sleeves flapping.

“Show us!” Marco yelled, jumping up, chair tipping back with a thud, Mateo scrambling after him, snatching a wooden spoon and a pot lid from the counter, clanging them together like a makeshift drum. Javier grinned, wild, grabbing the fish by the tail, swinging it high—droplets flying, splattering the twins’ faces, their shrieks piercing the air as they ducked, giggling, sauce mixing with fish water on their cheeks.

“Javier, stop it—my kitchen!” Mariana snapped, lunging with a towel, swatting his arm, flour puffing off her in a cloud, but he dodged, spinning the fish like a trophy, tail flapping, the twins darting around his legs, a chaotic dance of limbs and laughter, pots rattling on the stove from their jostling.

“Another fish story?” Mariana asked, amused despite herself, wiping her hands on the faded towel, flour streaking it gray, her brow arched in playful doubt, lips twitching upward.

“It’s a legend, mujer!” Javier winked, tossing a fin into the sink with a clang that reverberated, sharp and metallic, water splashing up, glistening on the edge. “Isla, fishing next time—no dodging me, you hear? We’ll hook a monster—you fix engines, I’ll fix the bait, unbeatable team!” He slapped the counter, fish guts smearing across the wood, a dark slick catching the light, and the twins cheered, banging fists, “Fish! Fish!” their voices a high-pitched chant rising over the salsa’s fading notes.

“Maybe,” Isla laughed, picturing his chaos—boat tilting wild on choppy waves, lines snapping like thread, Javier cursing the sky as fish flopped free, water soaking his jeans to the knees, his boots squelching with every step. “If you don’t sink us first, Tio—don’t drag me under with you.”

“No man yet?” he asked, sly now, eyes glinting under bushy brows, tortilla paused mid-wave, hovering like a taunt, crumbs clinging to his fingers. “Got a wrestler stashed in that tech bag—some big shot keeping you busy?”

Her face flamed—Joe’s “Talk soon” searing her mind like a brand—and she stumbled, “No one, Tio,” voice thin, cracking faintly under his stare, a heat she couldn’t dodge. Camila’s brows arched high, a knowing smirk tugging her lips, Javier jabbing his tortilla at her, crumbs dusting the table like confetti, a scattered mess piling up.

“You’re lying! Red as a tomato—I’ll hook you a fisherman, better than those gym rats, someone with grit!” His tale drowned the noise, room electric with his storm, the twins chanting “Fish man! Fish man!” as he flexed again, grease shining on his knuckles, a sheen catching the light, his laughter a thunderclap rolling over them all.

Isla drank it in—clamor, love, heat pressing thick with spices and sweat, the table sticky under her elbows, a faint tack against her skin, plates clinking as hands reached for seconds. Joe hovered, a quiet pulse in her skull, steady and warm beneath the chaos, but home held her fierce, an anchor she’d forgotten she needed, pulling her under its wild tide, deep and unrelenting, a current she couldn’t fight.

Post-dinner, dishes banged in the sink, soap suds popping with faint bursts, a sharp scent cutting the air, family buzzing like bees—Mariana and Esperanza plotting errands over the hiss of running water, voices sharp with plans, Camila herding the twins with candy promises, their sneakers thudding on the stairs, squeals fading into the upper hall as wrappers crinkled. A shadow crept into Isla’s chest, unease heavy as the damp night air seeping through cracked windows, fogging the panes with faint breath, a chill brushing her arms, raising goosebumps under her sleeves.

Her phone glowed on the counter—Joe: “Hope you’re enjoying family time—surviving the madness?” Heart leaping, she slipped to the living room, noise dimming behind the sagging couch, its springs creaking as she sank into it, replying with thumbs brushing the screen, flour still caked under her nails, a faint grit against the glass, rough and real.

Isla: "Yeah, crazy but nice—barely breathing."

Your Tribal Chief: "Keeping you on your toes? Twins still ruling the roost?"

Isla: "Always. Nearly broke the table over chicken—wildlings."  

Your Tribal Chief: "Need an escape? I’m your guy—say the word, babygirl."  

Isla: "Thanks. Nice hearing from you—grounds me when it’s loud like this."  

Your Tribal Chief: "Anytime. Talk later—don’t let ‘em wear you out."

Isla: "Soon. Take care—don’t crash that flight."

Joe’s words lingered, warming her fingertips, a tether threading through the storm, steady and sure. Jess called, ring sharp as a blade, cutting the quiet, insistent and shrill, vibrating the couch cushion under her thigh. Isla stepped onto the porch, jasmine thick in her throat, sweet and heavy, setting her laptop on Javier’s wobbly table, wood creaking under its weight, glow casting shadows across the peeling rail, faint and jagged, flickering with her breath.

“Hey, Isla,” Jess said, voice tight, static crackling like a bad wire over the line, sharp in her ear. “Pre-show stream’s tanking—fans losing it on X, black screens everywhere, #StreamFail trending hard. Help me out—please?”

“Sure,” Isla said, logging in fast, Camila’s shouts—“Marco, brush your teeth or no TV tomorrow!”—echoing through the screen door, a distant clamor piercing the night. “Bottleneck—servers choking bad, pings spiking to 300ms. Rerouting now—down to 50ms, holding.” Fingers danced over keys, laptop humming hot against her lap, glow flickering as she tweaked, breath syncing with each fix, the chaos behind her a dull roar muffled by the dark, cicadas humming low outside.

“Lifesaver,” Jess said, relief softening her tone, static fading to a faint hum, her exhale audible. “Holding steady now?”

“Should be,” Isla said, eyes locked on the screen, metrics leveling green, a bead of sweat trickling down her neck, cool against her flushed skin, pooling at her collarbone. “I’ll watch it—make sure it sticks, no more crashes.”

“Thanks—owe you big. Family okay?”

“Loud,” she smirked, Camila’s voice bouncing off the walls, “Mateo, spit that candy out—now!” a sharp command cutting through. “Surviving—barely, they’re a riot.”

“Enjoy it,” Jess said, warm now, a smile audible over the line. “Back soon—need you sharp for the next mess, tech whiz.”

Hanging up, the door crashed open, hinges squealing loud enough to make her flinch. “Isla! Abuela’s story time—move it, you’re missing it!” Camila yelled, braids swinging, gum snapping, her silhouette sharp against the kitchen light, a burst of energy cutting the night like a flare.

“Coming,” Isla called, shutting her laptop with a soft click, screen fading to black, stepping back into amber glow—tea and saffron thick in the air, curling around her like a blanket, warm and heavy, pulling her in.

Marco and Mateo sprawled on the rug, sauce-stained shirts untucked, wrestling over a toy truck, its wheels spinning wild, plastic clattering against the hardwood, a sharp rattle. Mariana sipped tea on the couch, steam rising from her mug in faint wisps, curling toward the ceiling, while Esperanza ruled her armchair, throw draped over her lap, eyes bright as she settled in, a queen on her throne, hands folded over the fabric. Camila patted the couch beside her, fabric rough under Isla’s thighs as she sank down, worn threads catching her jeans, tugging faintly. “Her first love—go,” Camila grinned, gum snapping loud, elbow nudging Isla’s side, a sharp prod that made her shift.

Esperanza’s eyes danced, crinkling at the edges, glinting with memory as she leaned forward, voice dropping low, intimate, drawing them in. “1975, sixteen—not your abuelo, no, not yet. Raul, tall as a palm, sea-storm eyes like broken glass, all jagged and deep, cutting right through me. Market boy, whistling off-key through chipped teeth—I’d haggle mangoes just to hear it, juice sticky on my fingers, running down my wrists, sweet and warm, dripping onto the dirt.” Her gaze drifted to the dark pane, fogged and streaked with night, reflecting the room in faint smears. “Picnic by the river—crusty bread tearing under my hands, sharp cheese melting in the sun, his grin brighter than the light off the water, dazzling me ‘til I couldn’t look away. Rain hit sudden, a downpour soaking my dress, plastering it to my skin, cold and heavy, but he laughed under a tree, pulling me close, leaves dripping icy on us, his hands warm on my arms. That kiss—sharp, sweet, electric, tasting of salt and storm, his breath hot against my lips.” Her voice softened, hands folding tight in her lap, knuckles white against the throw, a faint tremble in her fingers.

Isla’s throat caught—Ryan’s charm flickered, coffee steam curling between them at that campus café, his laugh a hook she’d chased, warm and fleeting, pulling her in deep, his fingers brushing hers over a chipped mug, “You’re my anchor, Isla,” a vow she’d swallowed whole. “He left for the city,” Esperanza whispered, eyes distant, lost in time, voice cracking faintly. “I waited, mailbox chipping red to rust, checking it daily ‘til my shoes wore thin, soles peeling, nothing came—empty, always empty. Then abuelo showed—steady where Raul was wild, a rock I didn’t know I’d need ‘til he stayed.” She paused, exhaling slow, a breath heavy with years, and Isla felt it—Ryan’s shadow creeping in, his words turning cold, “Too needy, too weak,” slicing her open, leaving her small, shrinking into herself.

Silence pressed, heavy as the humid air—lost love Isla knew too well, a bruise never fading, tender under her ribs, aching faintly with every beat. Ryan loomed in her skull, his boots scuffing out of her life, Joe tugged at her edges—she gripped the cushion, seams fraying under her nails, doubts etched deep as the lines in Esperanza’s hands, a map of what could’ve been, what might still break her again. “I waited too,” she murmured, unbidden, voice barely a whisper, slipping out before she could catch it, raw and fragile, hanging in the air.

Esperanza’s eyes snapped to her, sharp, seeing too much, and she reached over, hand trembling but firm, squeezing Isla’s knee through the throw, a quiet anchor. “You learned too, mija—waiting breaks you, but it builds you back harder, stronger. Don’t let it hold you still.” Her grip tightened, a promise in her touch, and Isla nodded, throat tight, Ryan’s echo—“stupid girl”—clashing with Joe’s “I’m here,” a war she couldn’t silence.

Camila nudged her, elbow sharp against her ribs, jolting her back. “Someone on your mind, huh? You’re squeezing that pillow dead—spill it.”

“No,” Isla said, heat crawling up her neck, voice tight, betraying her with a faint shake. “Just listening—good story, Abuela.”

“Sure,” Camila teased, gum snapping, a knowing glint in her eye, mischief dancing, but Marco cut in, truck raised high, wheels spinning fast. “Is Roman Reigns the strongest ever?”

“Yeah, top tier,” Isla said, relieved, Joe flashing unbidden, a flutter stirring her gut, warm and unexpected, his broad frame cutting through her thoughts. Mariana shooed the twins—“Bed, now!”—their protests fading up the stairs, thumps and whines echoing down, a fading storm. Isla cleared cups, tea rings staining the table in dark circles, Joe and Raul tangling in her head—trust a tightrope stretched over a chasm, fraying at the ends, swaying with every step she dared.

She hugged Mariana fierce, arms trembling with the force, kissed Esperanza’s cheek, a soft press against papery skin, dodged Javier’s fishing vow—“Next time, Tio, I swear!” her laugh shaky, “Soon, mija,” Mariana called as Isla stepped out, jasmine thinning in the cooling air, porch light flickering into the dark like a heartbeat fading, weak and unsteady, a pulse she couldn’t steady anymore.

The highway unfurled, tires thrumming over slick asphalt, a low drone vibrating through the wheel into her palms, headlights carving sharp through dusk’s shroud, beams bouncing off wet road signs, their edges glinting faintly, letters blurring into smears under the rain’s smear. Ocean loomed left, a black expanse stretching endless, salt snaking through cracked windows, tugging at her hair, tangling it wild against her face, damp strands sticking to her cheeks. The radio spat Ryan’s ballad, slow and mournful, steel guitar twanging like a plucked nerve, twisting her gut—knuckles whitened on the wheel, leather creaking under her grip, a faint squeak cutting the silence. She saw him—coffee shop, late autumn, leaves skittering across pavement outside, his hand brushing hers over a chipped mug, steam curling between them, “You’re my anchor, Isla,” eyes soft as the amber light filtering through the window, voice low and sure, a vow she’d believed with every fiber. Days stretched into months, late-night talks in his beat-up Civic parked under a flickering streetlamp, exhaust puffing clouds into the frigid air, his laugh a tether she’d clung to—then sharper, colder, “Too needy, too weak,” words slicing her down in their cramped dorm, his boots scuffing the linoleum as he packed, posters curling off the walls like dying leaves, leaving her small, shrinking into the mattress, shards of herself she pieced alone, ache dull but unsealed, a cut that bled slow, staining her memory.

She sifted the day—Mariana’s embrace warm as fresh bread, dough sticky in her hands, Esperanza’s tale sharp with lost love cutting deeper now, Javier’s storm shaking the walls, twins’ chaos tugging her lips despite the weight. Warmth clashing with her beach’s silence—white walls glaring under fluorescent buzz, empty air pressing heavy, fridge humming too loud against the waves’ crash beyond her window. Joe’s “If you need an escape” burned in her skull, a lifeline threading through Ryan’s echo—“You’ll fall again, stupid girl”—sunset smearing her windshield red and gold, a fleeting blaze swallowed by dark, resolve fraying like the wipers scraping rain, squeaking against glass, a rhythm that matched her pulse. Could she risk it, lean into that pull, or wait for nothing, stranded in the quiet she’d built brick by brick, a fortress cracking under its own weight?

Her lot loomed, engine ticking down to silence, salt air thick on the stairs, railing cold and slick under her palm, rust flaking onto her fingers, gritty and sharp. Toby meowed, a high whine piercing the stillness, curling into her legs as she sank onto the couch, springs creaking under her weight, the day crashing over her like a rogue wave, heavy and relentless. The ocean roared outside, pounding the shore beyond her window, salt spray misting the glass, fogging it faint with a haze she could trace, cool against her fingertip. Toby leapt up, paws kneading her lap, purring loud and insistent, his fur damp from brushing the sill—wild cat, forever chasing shadows across the hardwood, knocking over a mug she’d left out days ago, coffee rings staining the wood dark and uneven like old bruises, a map of her distraction.

Her phone glowed on the cushion beside her, Joe’s last message a beacon in the dim light—Talk later?—and her pulse spiked, need rising like a tide she couldn’t hold back, surging hot in her chest. She typed, fingers trembling faintly, nails clicking against the screen, a soft tap in the quiet.

Isla: "Home. Quiet’s nice—too nice after that storm."* 

Your Tribal Chief: "Break from the chaos?"

Isla: "Yeah, it grounds me, but I’m on fumes—running dry."

Your Tribal Chief: "Glad you’re safe. Family grill you hard?" 

Isla: "Tio thinks I’m hiding a wrestler in my bag—half-right, huh? Still up for that escape? Can I call?"

Your Tribal Chief: "He’s onto me already? Call anytime—I’m here, babygirl, waiting."

Her thumb hovered, then pressed, the line humming alive, and Joe’s voice rolled in, low and steady, wrapping her like a warm current pulling her from the undertow, deep and resonant through the speaker. “Hey, you made it.”

“Yeah,” she said, a smile tugging her lips, small but real, Toby’s purr rumbling louder, tail flicking her arm, a soft thud against her sleeve. “Family’s a tornado—barely held my ground, wind’s still spinning in my head.”

“I get that,” he chuckled, rich and deep, vibrating her chest through the phone, a rumble she felt in her ribs, grounding her. “Mine’s a circus—cousins everywhere, chaos non-stop, knocking over chairs. Tio say what?”

She laughed, picturing Javier’s tortilla jab, crumbs flying onto the tiles, twins chanting below his roar, a scene vivid as the grease on her sleeve. “Needs me a fisherman—or wrestler, can’t decide. Half-right, like I said.”

“Half-right?” he teased, grin audible, a playful edge cutting through the static, warm as a shared secret curling between them. “Which half am I tonight, Isla—fish or fight?”

Her breath hitched, heat curling in her gut, fingers tracing Toby’s fur, soft and damp under her nails, a faint tremble in her touch. “Fight,” she murmured, then louder, “Fight—I’d bet on you over a fish any day, hands down.”

“Smart money,” he said, laugh low and rolling, a sound she wanted to bottle, to keep close, rich and warm like cedar smoke. “Had to wrestle my own tornadoes today—flight’s tomorrow, red-eye, gonna be a mess, engines whining all night. Wish I was there instead, hearing that laugh live, cutting through the noise.”

Her chest fluttered, a spark igniting, and she shifted, Toby nudging her chin with a damp nose, whiskers tickling her skin. “Yeah? You’d brave Javier’s fish tales for that—slimy hands and all?”

“For you? Hell yes,” he said, voice dipping, softer now, a thread of something tender weaving through, tugging at her. “Those tales sound wild—give me the rundown, babygirl, paint it for me.”

She grinned, picturing Javier’s chaos, voice brightening as she leaned into it, the couch creaking faintly under her shift. “He stormed in with a trout, dripping all over the floor—‘big as Marco, thrashing like a beast!’ Arms flailing, tackle box spilling hooks everywhere, twins egging him on, banging pots like drums ‘til Mariana nearly lost it. Chaos doesn’t cover it—tiles still smell like fish guts.”

“Sounds like a champ in his own ring,” Joe said, amusement warming his tone, a quiet intimacy settling in, his voice a steady hum against her ear. “You refereeing that mess too, keeping ‘em in line?”

“Had to,” she laughed, lighter now, the weight of the day fraying at the edges like a worn seam. “Split a drumstick between the twins earlier—nearly lost an arm, they’re feral. Main event stuff, Joe.”

“Main event’s you holding it together,” he said, firm, conviction steady as stone, and her throat tightened, his faith a balm she hadn’t known she craved, soothing a raw edge. “Wish I’d seen it—your grin in the middle of that storm, lighting it up.”

“Next time,” she murmured, heat blooming in her cheeks, fingers clutching the phone tighter, a lifeline across the miles, nails digging faintly into the case. “Abuela’s story hit harder, though—first love gone wrong, too close to home, you know?”

“Really?” he said, gentle now, voice softening like a tide receding, coaxing her open, patient and sure. “You’ve got one of those tucked away, Isla?”

“College,” she said, Ryan looming sharp, chest squeezing, thumb pressing the couch seam until it frayed, threads pulling loose under her nail, a faint snap. “Thought it was real—coffee dates, late talks, promises over lattes gone cold, all ‘you’re my world’ in his voice. Then sour—‘too needy,’ he said, tore me down slow, ‘too weak,’ left me small, like I didn’t fit his life anymore, just trash he could toss.”

“Damn,” he breathed, quiet, a pause heavy with weight, his breath catching faint on the line, a hitch she felt. “That’s heavy—coward’s move, walking out like that, leaving you to pick it up. Had one in high school—chose my friend, caught them at my locker, her lipstick smeared on his collar, red as a betrayal I couldn’t unsee, staring me down. Cut deep, taught me trust the hard way, quick and brutal.”

Her chest squeezed tighter—shared scars aligning, a mirror she hadn’t expected, jagged edges slotting together, raw and real. “Left me scared to trust,” she said, voice low, tracing the seam ‘til more threads pulled free, fraying under her fingers, a quiet unraveling matching her words.

“I hear you,” he said, softer, a lifeline threading through the static, steady as a heartbeat pulsing through the line. “You’re still here—stronger than he ever deserved, Isla. Takes guts to climb out of that hole, to keep going.”

“Does it?” she murmured, Ryan’s “stupid girl” fading under Joe’s words, a shield patching cracks she’d mended alone, his voice a quiet fire warming her bones, steady and sure.

“Hell yes,” he said, firm, unwavering, a rock in her churn, cutting through the doubt. “Rebuilding’s tougher than breaking—takes more than he had in him, more than most. You’re proof, babygirl—standing tall.”

Her grin broke free, shaky but real, weight lifting like fog burning off under dawn’s first light, a lightness creeping in. “Maybe,” she said, voice steadier, fingers easing on the seam, letting it rest. “What about you—dodging anything tonight?”

“Just the usual,” he said, chuckle low, easing her grip on the past, a rumble she felt in her ribs, warm and grounding. “Flight prep, cousins yelling about some match—kept me sane thinking of you out there, holding your own. What else they throw at you?”

“Twins wrestling over chicken,” she said, grinning wider, picturing their sauce-smeared chaos. “Had to ref—Mateo’s got a mean elbow, nearly took me out.”

“Sounds like a title match,” he laughed, rich and easy, pulling her further from the dark. They lingered—his red-eye flight groaning in his future, engines whining on the tarmac, her cat nudging her chin with a damp nose, the worst burrito he’d braved, “grease bomb, swore it moved on the plate, nearly fought back”—until her lids drooped, his voice pulling her under like a tide, slow and sure, washing over her. “Sleep, babygirl,” he said, reluctant, a pause hanging heavy, his breath faint and warm on the line, a tether she didn’t want to snap.

“Thanks, Joe,” she murmured, phone slipping from her grip, Toby’s purr blending with his exhale, a soft rhythm fading into the dark, lulling her.

“Good night, Isla.” The call faded, Ryan retreating to shadows, Joe’s warmth a promise glowing in the quiet, an ember she cradled as sleep took her, soft and deep, wrapping her tight.

Days later, Atlanta’s beige hotel boxed her in—bed creaking under her weight, springs protesting with every shift, skyline jagged beyond smudged glass, sodium lights bleeding orange onto faded carpet, casting long shadows that danced across the walls when she moved. She sat cross-legged, laptop casting a blue glow across her face, metrics scrolling fast—lag times spiking red, server pings flashing warnings, work gnawing at her edges like a persistent ache, but she owned it, pride in every line of code she tamed, fingers steady on the keys, clicking sharp in the stale, recycled air. The hum of the arena seeped through the walls, a distant beast alive with anticipation, its pulse vibrating the floor beneath her, a low thrum she felt in her bones.

Backstage, chaos erupted—screens froze mid-match, Roman’s theme glitching into a jagged stutter of static, crowd’s chants muffled through concrete walls, a dull roar seeping in like water through cracks, X raging with #StreamFail, posts piling up like debris in a storm, furious emojis and all-caps rants. Isla’s fingers flew—server overload, 200ms lag spiking red, alerts glaring bright on her screen, a crimson flare. “Hold,” she muttered, sweat beading on her brow, stinging her eyes, rerouting fast—Roman’s spear sliced through the feed, clean and brutal, fans calming as the stream steadied, their roars filtering back through the walls, a tide turning slow. She exhaled sharp, wiping palms on her jeans, denim rough against her skin, damp with tension—her world, teetering on her shoulders, balanced by her hands, a victory carved from chaos, hard-won and fleeting.

Before pre-show, Jess burst in, voice sharp as a whip, boots scuffing the gritty floor, a quick scrape echoing. “Ghost ping—spiking the stream, dropping frames bad. Fans rioting on X—‘where’s the match?’—can you trace it, Isla?” Monitors flickered behind her, screens stuttering, arena humming low, a beast alive beyond the concrete, its pulse vibrating the air, thick with sweat and anticipation.

“On it,” Isla said, diving in, fingers flying, isolating the ping—unauthorized, internal, a snake slithering through her system, venomous and sly. “Someone’s jacking us from inside,” she hissed, rerouting streams, lag dropping to 40ms, pulse hammering her ribs as Jess exhaled, tension easing in her shoulders, boots stilling on the floor. “Got it—locked them out, but it’s close, too damn close—someone’s playing games.”

Joe texted: “Hope they didn’t grill you too hard out there.”  

Isla: "Sniffed something—your fault, Tribal Chief."

Your Tribal Chief: "Innocent—blame my charm, babygirl."

Isla: "Liar. Trouble with a T—own it."

Your Tribal Chief: "Worth it if you keep talking—don’t ghost me now."

She sent an eye-roll emoji, heat blooming in her cheeks, lips twitching as she tucked the phone away, fingers brushing its edge, a faint warmth lingering.

Backstage, hunched over her laptop, chasing the glitch—pings spiking again, a taunting pulse needling her—a drawl cut through, slow and sour, dripping venom. “Tech queen.”

She froze, eyes flicking up to Austin Theory, smirking against crates, shadow jagged across the scuffed floor, arms crossed tight over his chest, muscles flexing under his shirt. “I’m busy,” she said, fingers hovering over keys, his old taunt—“WWE isn’t your nerd convention”—festering, a splinter lodged under her skin, sharp and unyielding, pricking her with every word.

He stepped closer, nudging her laptop with his boot, screen tilting, cables rattling against the table, a faint clatter echoing in the tight space. “Don’t cozy up to Joe—Bloodline’s going down hard, and you’ll sink with ‘em, tech girl. Watch your back—accidents happen, systems crash, and you’re not untouchable.” His smirk widened, coffee sour on his breath, a bitter tang hitting her nose, eyes glinting cold under the fluorescents, then he retreated, boots scuffing the concrete, screen flickering as the ping spiked—a threat she couldn’t unsee, a shadow stretching long and dark across her work, clawing at her edges.

Gut twisting, hands clenching the table’s edge, wood biting her palms, splintering faintly under her nails—Joe, her work, targets painted red on her back—she forced the system steady, jaw set tight, adrenaline surging hot through her veins, fingers trembling as she locked it down, breath shallow and fast, a storm raging under her ribs. X flickered in her mind—a cryptic post she’d glimpsed earlier, “Tech falls, Bloodline bleeds,” buried in the noise, now sharp as a blade, Austin’s voice threading through it, a warning she couldn’t shake.

At catering, she stared through stale sandwiches, crusts curling dry, Austin’s words looping—Ryan’s lies, her father’s shrugs piling on, a weight she’d fought to shed clawing back, dragging her down. “Yo, tech whiz!” Jimmy Uso called, him and Jey swaggering up, Naomi trailing with a grin, grape popping between her teeth, a sharp crack in the hum, juice staining her lips purple.

Isla forced a smile, mask tight, lips stiff as cardboard, cracking at the edges. “Hype crew now?”

“Keeping you from frying, fam,” Jey said, nudging her shoulder, his grin wide, gold tooth flashing under the lights, a glint cutting the tension.

Naomi leaned in, popping another grape, juice glistening on her fingers, a faint drip hitting the table. “Where’s your shadow? Big man’s late—probably missing you, pacing that hotel like a caged lion, growling your name.”

“Joe?” Isla asked, heat crawling up her neck, tugging her jacket zipper, fabric catching on the pull, a faint snag. “Maybe traffic—Atlanta’s a mess, roads clogged tight.”

“Uh-huh,” Jimmy teased, smirking wide, tossing a napkin that fluttered down, crumpling on the floor in a sad heap. “Brooding, pining—don’t deny it, tech. He’s all ‘where’s Isla?’ backstage, moping like a lost pup, big sad eyes.”

“Cut it,” she laughed, brittle, Austin’s jab souring the air, her grin faltering, cracking further, a fracture she couldn’t hide.

Joe appeared, frame filling the doorway, broad shoulders cutting the light, a silhouette sharp against the fluorescent buzz, eyes locking on her tension, dark and probing, cutting through the noise like a blade. “Hey,” he said, soft, voice rumbling low, a question threaded through, steady as a bassline pulsing under the chaos.

“Hey,” she echoed, his gaze steadying her tremor, a rock in the churn, solid where she wavered, his presence a quiet anchor. “Just tired—long day, you know.”

He tilted his head, not buying it, brow creasing faint, but smiled, small and real, a crack of light breaking through his guard. “Take care, okay?” he whispered, stepping close, voice dropping lower, a lifeline she clutched silently, his scent—cedar, sweat—brushing her, grounding her pulse, a faint balm against the storm inside.

Naomi smirked at Jimmy, elbowing him sharp, a quick jab. “Vibe’s loud with them—deafening, right?”

“Keeping her solid,” Jimmy chuckled, napkin fluttering to the floor, shredded in his wake, a crumpled mess.

Isla nodded as they split, slipping to the corridor—cool air hitting her flush, easing the heat, concrete cold under her sneakers, a chill seeping up her legs, steadying her breath.

Back at the hotel, skyline glittered beyond her window—lights sharp as knives, sodium glow bleeding onto carpet, a faint hum buzzing through the walls, vibrating the frame like a living thing. Austin’s threat gnawed her ribs—Ryan, her father piling on, voices she’d fought to silence clawing back, a chorus of doubt she hated, this smallness she’d clawed out of creeping close again, a cage tightening around her chest.

Joe texted: “Still up?”

Isla: "Maybe. What’s up?"*  

Your Tribal Chief: "Meet me outside. Lights look nice—better with you here."

Heart kicking hard, a wild thud against her ribs, she pulled on her hoodie, hood up against the chill, stepped out—air biting her cheeks, pavement damp underfoot, puddles reflecting neon in fractured shards, rippling with each step. Joe waited by the curb, hands pocketed, shoulders cutting the night, jacket scuffed at the elbows, hair loose over his brow, a dark wave catching the streetlight’s glow. His smile softened, eyes catching light, warm and steady, a beacon piercing the dark, pulling her in. “Thought you’d be out cold—rough day?”

“Almost was,” she said, arms crossed tight, breath fogging in the chill, sneakers scuffing gravel, a faint crunch underfoot, grounding her.

He shed his jacket—cedar-warm—draping it over her shoulders, weight grounding her, fingers brushing her arm, sparking faint up her sleeve, a jolt she felt in her spine. “Looked cold,” he smirked, breath fogging beside hers, a soft cloud mingling with hers in the crisp air, close enough to feel.

“You didn’t have to,” she murmured, tracing the collar, leather worn smooth, his scent clinging—cedar, sweat, him—flooding her lungs, steadying her breath, a quiet fire against the night’s bite.

“Let’s walk,” he said, gravel crunching under his boots, her sneakers, silence easy, electric, her shadows looming—Ryan, Austin, trust fraying at the seams like a threadbare shirt, pulling apart with every step.

They crossed the lot, hotel lights dimming behind, street stretching ahead—wet asphalt gleaming under streetlamps, a vendor’s cart steaming with hot dogs, mustard sharp in the air, tires hissing on the road, a slick whisper cutting the quiet. A performer strummed by a chipped bench, fountain glinting nearby, water trickling soft over stone—lost love, chords haunting, his voice cracking on “gone, gone, gone,” fingers trembling on strings, calluses catching faint. Joe grinned, arm brushing hers, warm through the jacket, a steady press that lingered. “Our soundtrack?”

Isla laughed, cutting the night, a sharp burst that echoed off brick, bright and free. “Nails it—mocking us, right?”

“Tampa vibes,” he said, leaning closer, shoulder nudging hers, a playful bump that sparked. “Karaoke—‘Sweet Home Alabama.’ Booed off in thirty seconds—voice like a dying cat, crowd threw napkins, soggy with beer, hit me square in the face.”

She grinned, picturing it—Joe fumbling lyrics, crowd jeering, napkins fluttering like sad confetti, a mess of chaos. “Proof?”

“Jimmy’s got video—blackmail forever,” he said, smile boyish, eyes crinkling at the corners, a glint of mischief. “Might rematch for you—pick a duet. You sing?”

“God, no,” she laughed, arms brushing longer, heat sparking up her sleeve, a faint jolt that lingered. “I’d clear the room—screeching, not singing, shattering glass with every note.”

“Doubt it,” he teased, elbow nudging her ribs, playful and light, his touch a quiet claim. “We’d empty a bar—hell of a duet, babygirl, you and me.”

A shout—“Roman?!”—a fan stumbled up, phone raised, beer sloshing in his grip, amber liquid catching light, spilling onto the pavement in a dark splash. Joe stepped forward, firm, voice low and edged, a growl threading through. “Not now—private time, respect it.” The guy backed off, tripping over a curb, muttering curses under his breath, and Joe exhaled, hair falling loose over his brow, raking it back with a rough hand, knuckles brushing his temple.

“Close call,” Isla said, pulse jumping, gravel shifting under her step, a faint slide against her sole.

“Too close,” he said, wry, closer now, frame a shield against the wind’s bite, broad and steady. “Miss quiet—no cameras, no noise, just space to breathe, you know?”

Song softened, performer packing up, she paused, gravel still underfoot. “Simplicity?”

“Sometimes,” he said, eyes on the fountain, voice rough with something raw, hands flexing in his pockets, a faint tension in his fingers. “Less weight then—love what I do, bleed for it, but it’s loud, always pulling. Just want something real, not scripted lines and lights, something that’s mine.”

“Before him,” she said, low, heavy, breath catching in her throat, a hitch she couldn’t hide. “Ryan—serious ‘til it wasn’t. Broke me slow, doubting everything, left me picking up pieces, scattered like glass on that dorm floor.”

“Rough,” he said, hand brushing hers, warm on damp wood as they sat by the fountain, mist cool on her cheeks, a faint sheen. “Had scars—took a while to trust. Worth it, sometimes, when it’s right, when it sticks.”

Chest squeezing—shared scars cutting deep—she nodded, fingers twitching near his, trembling faintly. “Keeps you guarded, locked up tight.”

“Yeah,” he said, fingers curling around hers, calluses rough, sure, locking tight, a steady anchor in the shifting dark. “Some risks feel right—like this, here, now.”

Breath hitching, his grip steadying, fear and want tangling sharp—a cat bolted by, gray streak through shadows, and he chuckled, thumb brushing her knuckles, warm and slow, a quiet spark flaring under her skin. “Beats cameras,” she said, his laugh warming her core, a shield against the chill, solid and real.

They wandered farther, beyond the lot’s edge, where the city unfurled in a sprawl of light—sodium glow pulsing like a heartbeat, amber and white weaving a jagged tapestry against velvet dark, towers piercing the haze like sentinels, windows flickering with lives she’d never touch, stories unfolding behind glass. The air bit colder here, free of the hotel’s hum, pavement glistening wet under their steps, reflecting shards of neon that danced like scattered stars, rippling with each crunch of gravel. A breeze carried exhaust and damp earth, sharp and alive, tugging her hair wild, rustling Joe’s jacket around her shoulders, cedar and warmth clinging to her skin, a scent that anchored her against the sprawl’s chaos. The distant fountain faded, replaced by traffic’s low thrum weaving through the night, a horn blaring faint, sharp as a pinprick through the haze, tires hissing on wet asphalt beyond the curb.

Joe paused by a rusted railing overlooking the drop to the city below, lights sprawling endless, a constellation grounded in concrete and steel, twinkling with restless life. He turned to her, closer, his breath fogging beside hers, a soft rhythm she felt deep in her chest, warm against the chill. “Ever wonder what’s down there?” he murmured, voice low, rough with wonder, his hand gesturing to the glow, fingers splaying briefly before resting on the rail, knuckles brushing hers, a faint graze that sparked. “All those people, stories—makes this feel small, just us, stealing a corner of it, holding it tight.”

She leaned into the rail beside him, metal cold through her sleeves, biting her skin, following his gaze—towers glinting like knives, a plane blinking red overhead, swallowed fast by clouds heavy with rain, their edges smudged against the black. “Yeah,” she said, soft, voice nearly lost in the wind’s rustle, fingers curling into his jacket’s pockets, brushing a worn seam, leather creaking faintly. “Small but ours—keeps the chaos out, just for a minute, like a breath we can hold.”

He shifted, shoulder pressing hers, a deliberate claim, heat seeping through leather, steady and sure, his frame a bulwark against the night’s pull. “Ours,” he echoed, word heavy, a promise hanging in the chill, his breath brushing her cheek, warm and close, stirring the hair at her temple. “Been a long time since I had something this real—no crowds, no script, just you here, cutting through it all.” His eyes caught hers, dark and unguarded, glinting with reflected light, stripping away the distance she’d clung to like armor, leaving her bare.

Her throat tightened, Ryan’s “stupid girl” flickering, a ghost clawing at her edges, but Joe’s presence shoved it back, a shield she hadn’t sought but needed, solid and unyielding. “Me too,” she whispered, raw, hand trembling as it lifted, brushing his knuckles, calluses rough against her skin, a spark flaring up her arm, sharp and alive. “Hard to believe it won’t fade—like everything else, slipping through my hands.”

“It won’t,” he said, firm, quick, his hand catching hers fully now, fingers threading slow, deliberate, warm and sure, thumb tracing her knuckles, a tender stroke igniting her pulse, racing under his touch. “Not this. I don’t let go when it counts, Isla—not with you, not ever.” His voice dropped, gravelly, eyes locking hers, seeing past her walls, past the scars, past Austin’s venom threading through her work, to the girl who’d fixed engines with grease-streaked hands and dreamed big under a swollen moon.

She swallowed, breath hitching, lights blurring into streaks at her edges, amber smearing into dark, and leaned into him, cheek grazing his shoulder, his scent enveloping her—cedar, sweat, him—a quiet fire against the cold. “You sure?” she murmured, teasing yet pleading, fingers tightening around his, needing his certainty to hold her here, to keep her from drifting.

“Damn sure,” he said, smirk softening into something deeper, grip steady, shifting to pull her closer, arm sliding around her waist, tentative but firm, drawing her against his side, heat radiating through his shirt, a solid wall she could lean into. “You’re stuck with me, babygirl—lights or dark, I’m here, not budging.” His breath warmed her temple, lips brushing her hair, a whisper of contact, electric and fleeting, sending a shiver down her spine.

Her chest fluttered, fear fraying, want surging—a tide she couldn’t stop, swelling hot and fast. She tilted her head, meeting his gaze, inches apart, his eyes tracing her face slow, lingering on her lips, a question unspoken, heavy in the air between them. “Good,” she breathed, hand resting on his chest, feeling his heartbeat through his shirt, steady, alive, a rhythm syncing with hers, a quiet pull. He leaned in, forehead grazing hers, breath mingling, warm and close, the space shrinking, electric—her pulse thundered, lips parting faintly, his hand tightening on her waist, drawing her in, a hairsbreadth from closing the gap.

A car horn blared, sharp and sudden, shattering the quiet, headlights flashing across them, and they pulled back, breath catching, a near-miss hanging heavy, unspoken. He chuckled, low, hand still on her waist, thumb brushing her side, a lingering claim. “Bad timing,” he muttered, voice rough, eyes still locked on hers, dark with want, a promise unfulfilled.

“Yeah,” she said, shaky, laugh trembling, stepping back but not far, his jacket still warm around her, his hand sliding to hers again, fingers threading tight. “Guess we’ll survive it.”

“Always do,” he said, smirking, pulling her along, steps slow, reluctant, back toward the hotel’s glow, gravel crunching soft underfoot. The city sprawled below, lights pulsing—a vow etched in silence, tender, unresolved, leaving her aching for more, a spark dangling just out of reach.

🏷️ @trippinsorrows @zoeroxiie @pittieprincess22 @beccalynns-world @duhitzkay380

@keyera-jackson @trentybenty @li-da-savage

[sixx-sixx-sixx]

THE TRADER’S DAUGHTER - cooper “the ghoul” howard x female!oc — PART 2

EDIT: FOLLOW @bonafideyapper FOR FUTURE PARTS!

warnings(?): allusions to bisexual!cooper towards the end; bad grammar/bad writing/bad formatting; (I was intoxicated while I wrote a lot of this); bad depiction of a southern accent (I’m literally from the south); incorrect fallout lore; overall warning for general fallout violence; Daisy is 4/5 here; dbf!cooper

part 1

During Josiah’s time roaming the aftermath of the fallout for the benefit of the vault, he became an important part of forming strong relationships between the vault and outsiders. Under his guidance, the vault had a successful trade relationship that spanned over much of the old territory.

Daisy has very distant memories of the vault, mostly just an old television set that played movies that she could vaguely make out. To her, life didn’t really begin until she woke up on an old couch being watched over by an old woman that owned a shop in the small town. Shortly after their arrival, her father established himself as a trader of chems and other invaluable items, creating a permanent place in the town after a few months.

cooper was a frequent customer at Josiah’s. He’d gotten him a place to take refuge in after escaping the vault with his daughter, after reaching out to an old female friend of his. she owed him a favor for him saving her ass from some raiders, and then for cheatin’ on him with the same fuckin’ raider.

Coop would develop a soft spot for the trader’s daughter. He’d known from the moment he met her that she’d be a firecracker someday. the first time they had met, the little girl was no taller than a bean sprout, and she was hidden behind her father’s legs. she had been playing with a handmade doll behind the counter when cooper walked through the door, greeting his old acquaintance with a big smile.

“Josiah, you son of a bitch. How’re you settlin’ in?” the ghoul drawled easily, reaching out to shake the man’s hand in a faux-professional manner before pulling him forward to greet him.

The brown eyed girl looked up in curiousity at the sound of the bell on the door, immediately getting up to hide behind Josiah’s legs. she had never seen anything like him before, the skin of his face stretched tight and scarred in various spots from decades of radiation exposure (and probably some chem abuse, but whatever, it kept him from going feral). The vest he wore under a long overcoat was buttoned neatly despite his otherwise disheveled appearance, and there was a once-fancy faded blue shirt peeking out from the under the vest. Something in her little brain recognized the pattern of faded gold, she thought she had seen it in one of the many tv-screened dreams she would have each night.

The ghoul set his bag of various meats (totally not just a whole bunch of ass jerky, he saved that for himself whenever he got the chance) and other supplies down on the low countertop between them and tipped his hat to the little girl, offering her a yellowed smile, “howdy, li’l lady. you must be that flower your daddy’s always talkin’ about.”

Josiah looked down at his kid and forced the young girl into full view of the ghoul. He wasn’t raising no pussy, he had to expose Daisy to everything the wasteland had to offer. And, despite his appearance, Cooper had a larger than life aura to him even after all of the damage he had sustained through the years. The father was sure his kid would adapt to the ghoul.

“Introduce yourself, Daze. Coop don’t bite.” He formed a joke and looked over at the ghoul, “Unless you misbehave, then he might eat you right up.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Cooper. My name is Daisy.” She said in a polite little voice, still working on looking up at the cowboy. She wasn’t afraid of him, she just had some nerves was all. Getting used to the new scenery around her was gonna take some time at her young age, but she’d be a natural in no time. Whole town would gonna be in love with her by the time she turns 6.

“pleasure to meet you, little Daisy. you can just call me coop, no need to be ‘fraid of me. i’m the best bounty hunter this side o’ the wasteland, one of the good guys.” coop says the final line with a easy lie, his eyes flashing up to Josiah who had seen the internal conflict he faced in the time he had known the ghoul. He sure as hell wasn’t one of the good guys, but he could be for the few people he cared about in his big age.

“Now, why don’t you go run along an’ let the grown folks talk alone?” Cooper reached down and patted the top of Daisy’s head, watching her run along to the back office.

Josiah pulled a case out from under a shelf and counted out the vials of chems that he owed the ghoul in exchange for the supplies he brought, giving him a couple extra for a cheaper price because he liked the guy.

“You did a good job there, Joe. She’s gonna be a little killer some day, I can tell she’s got your survival instinct already. Between the two of us, she’s bound to learn at least two useful fuckin’ skills.” Cooper leaned over the counter a bit and took the box from his old (lover) friend. Josiah nodded in agreement and looked back towards the door for a moment, “Thank you, Cooper. I’m serious, I owe you more than just a couple extra vials.”

Cooper shook his head and lightened the mood, “Us cowpokes gotta stick together up here, you’ll learn that soon enough, Vaultie. Don’t you worry about her, you know I keep my word.” As soon as Josiah had successfully gotten his sleeping daughter out of the vault, he had made his oldest wasteland acquaintance promise, swear even, to protect the young girl in case anything were to end up happening to the old vault dweller. Cooper had always been a man of his word, no matter how badly the effects of radiation and the fucked up immortality would change him.

a/n: okay!! welcome to the end of chapter 2, definitely leaning towards cooper being (canonically?) bisexual & again definitely some kind of gay tendencies between the old buddies. But anyways, maybe I’ll flesh THAT out if anyone’s interested.

a/n 2: also considering accepting requests for cooper stuff outside of Daisy’s story, gonna try my hand at 2nd person POV writing. if you have something you wanna see me try to flesh out then feel free to message me/send me an ask ❤️

taglist: @savanahc @one-of-thewalkingdead @silverose365 @neverendingdumptser