#I mean I know she's over a hundred technically

[darkwolf989]

I love your work so much💛

Can I request Valentino x daughter reader fic. Anything of your choice, reader is really chaotic and unpredictable :))

Summers in hell are known to be brutal. After all, the rings weren't exactly known for their comfortably cool fall temperatures, or glistening white winters. But this summer seemed to be even hotter than normal, and as Valentino closed in on day six solo parenting his daughter, he was desperate for any source of entertainment that would keep his daughter cool and happy. 

“We could take her to the beach, you know,” Vox suggested over breakfast that morning. “Technically…I could take the day. I mean, you probably shouldn’t take her out alone.” He glanced at his niece who was happily sorting by color her morning breakfast of fruit loops. 

Valentino glanced at Velvette. Without his wife next to him, Valentino normally wouldn’t dare to take reader out of the apartment by himself. He inwardly cursed the fate that pulled his wife away from their family for an entire month. But then again, her job was important- and he knew she hated leaving them for so long as much as he did. 

“A trip to the ocean sounds lovely. I’m in,” Velvette declared. “It’s too hot to do much anything else.”

“What do you say ninita? Would you like to take a trip to the beach?” Valentino asked his five year old. 

Reader considered for a moment and then nodded her head as she finished the last bite of her breakfast. 

That settled it. An hour later, and one lecture from Valentino on water safety, the limo pulled up to one of the few beaches in hell. Already the sands were packed with hundreds of demons looking to beat the heat. Valentino held her hand tightly as they made their way through the crowds, closer to the water. He watched as his daughter's eyes lit up at the sight of the ocean. 

“Daddy, I want to swim!” She pleaded as she yanked on his hand. “Now! It’s hot!”

“Alright, alright bebita,” he said calmly. “Slow down.”

“Oh! Look at the shells,” she exclaimed as they grew closer to the water. “Daddy, let’s make a sandcastle! I can be the princess, and you can be the dragon and…”

Valentino listened patiently as he knelt next to her in the sand. Part of him was relieved she seemed to have forgotten about swimming for the time being. The waves seemed much, much bigger now that he had a daughter to look out for. 

“Uncle Vox, come on! Auntie Velvette! Help me build!” She demanded, pulling them both over to the spot she had chosen. “Here! Put it down and play with me!”

“Don’t be demanding,” Valentino gently reprimanded. “Be patient. Let’s get set up, and let me put sunscreen on you.”

She pouted and he kissed the top of her head before spreading the white sunscreen over her face.

“Ugh, Daddy!” she protested as he wiped the lotion all over her arms. “I don’t like it!”

“I know. But you don’t want to be sunburned,” he replied as he spread the last bit down her back. “There. Now help me put the towel down.” 

She made a face but complied. As soon as the umbrella was up and the chairs were out, all four of them knelt in the sand together. 

Vox frequently swore that someday, reader would rule the world. That her quirks and storytelling were signs of creativity, innovation and intelligence. She knew exactly what she wanted, and even at five years old she was capable of giving orders. 

“Uncle Vox, we need a sheshell door,” reader decided. 

“Seashell,” Valentino corrected gently as he stood up. “Bebita, don’t you want to come out of the sun for a few moments? Cool off in the shade?” 

Her eyes lit up. “Swim? Daddy, swim!”

Before he could say a word otherwise, she took off towards the water. Valentino rushed behind her and his arms barely made it around her waist before a wave crashed, soaking them both. 

“Damn it, sweetheart, I told you you needed one of us with you before you went near the water,” he scolded as the sand pulled away from under his feet. “These waves are much bigger than you!”

She didn’t seem too bothered. “Again, Daddy!”

“Bebita…” he warned but carried her closer inland before setting her down. He kept her hand in his as the next wave raked over their feet. She shrieked and jumped with the rhythm of each wave.

“We really do need to get out of the sun for a little bit,” Valentino said gently as soon as he noticed she was starting to slow down. “Come on, muñeca.” He lifted her up and carried her back to where they were all set up.

He rummaged around in the cooler and came up with a juice box. He stuck the straw in and handed it to reader before laying down on one of the blankets they had spread out. He watched as she took a few sips before casting it aside. Sleepily, she snuggled next to him and closed her eyes. 

After a few minutes, Valentino closed his eyes as well. He assumed that if she moved, he would wake up instantly. After all, he was used to her sleeping between him and his wife in their bed. Sure enough, the second she stirred, he opened his eyes.

“Hey, Val- I got her. Go back to sleep,” Velvette said, looking over from her chair. 

He wanted to tell her to keep his daughter out of the water. To remind her that she needed to take a break from the sun, and that there were snacks in the cooler. Instead, the exhaustion of the last week washed over him and combined with the warmth of the sun and the roar of the waves, he drifted back into a deep sleep. 

The next thing he heard was the sound of his daughters giggle. 

“Shussh, you’ll wake him up,” Velvette hissed. 

Valentino blinked and startled awake, casting a sea of sand over the immediate area. Velvette, Vox and reader burst into laughter. 

Valentino looked down at his sand covered lower half and let out a groan. “Really, you three? Really?”

“You were out Val, how could we not?” Vox laughed. 

Reader shrieked and jumped into his arms. “We got you, Daddy!”

Valentino let out a chuckle as he kissed her on the forehead. “That you did, my princessa. That you did.” He wrapped his arm around her as she climbed against him. 

“It’s getting late though, we should probably start to think about heading home,” Vox suggested. 

“No! I don’t wanna go!” Reader protested. 

“We will come back, I promise,” Valentino replied soothingly. “Here, put all your sand toys in the basket.”

She gave him a grumpy look and he raised his eyebrow. 

“We don’t have to come back, you know. Auntie Vel, Uncle Vox and I can come by ourselves if thats how you want to act.”

She pouted but to his relief, she began to toss all her toys into the basket. In a matter of moments, they were back in the limo, reader snuggled between Vox and Valentino. 

“Best day ever,” she said sleepily as she snuggled her head against Valentino’s side. “Again?”

Valentino smiled and ran a hand down her back. “Yes, sweetheart. We can go again.”

[atsadi-shenanigans]

Feeding Alligators 68 - SMDH

The crew has some Questions.

On AO3.

Half the crew pointedly do not look at you, while the other half of them keep glancing over all unsubtle-like. Except Lae’zel, who glares steadily, but that’s just her face.

“Not a goddamn word outta none of you,” you say, picking around the semi-circle around the campfire to snag one of them griddlecakes.

Everybody eats in silence. The looks keep zinging over your head or behind your back—occasionally hit the corner of your eye. You rip off a hunk of the cake and dab up some of the jam Gale broke out for it. Strawberry, thank fuck. You can do strawberry just fine. At least you think it’s strawberry, because ain’t that another really funny form of parallel evolution? Unless strawberry seeds got carried across interdimensional space to end up cross pollinating over here.

And you wait. One of them is gonna crack. You can feel it. Your money is on Shadowheart. She wasn’t there, and her surreptitious glances are a touch too amused for your liking. Or maybe they’ll all forget because they’re a bunch of chaotic assholes and will actually keep their tongues to themselves.

“What is a ‘virgin?’” Lae’zel says.

Looking back, you shouldn’t be surprised. At least she’s direct about it.

You chew your griddle cake as she looks around camp at a bunch of people now avoiding her gaze. Is Wyll blushing? You can’t actually tell, but he’s doing that head duck thing that usually means somebody is blushing.

“Well?” Lae’zel says. “Or is this more istik foolishness?”

You sit there and take another bite like this don’t even concern you. It’s their turn to squirm.

It’s Gale that clears his throat and lifts his pointer finger (bless him).

“Typically, the word is used to describe someone who has never engaged in sex with a partner,” he says. And huh, ain’t no blush on the man or hesitation to him at all. Didn’t he say he was banging the goddess that dumped him? “But as Eleanor argued—rather successfully, I might add—the definition can be rather vague and unfitting.”

Lae’zel turns to you and says, point blank, “You have never mated?”

It occurs to you that this wouldn’t be happening if you’d just opened your coward mouth and fucking told that goblin vampire man the fucking truth to begin with. You one hundred percent made this entire goddamn bed, and now you gotta sleep in it. So you swallow, stare at your booted toes a second, and lift your head.

You ain’t some blushing maiden (technically you are, but that whole thing is a steaming pile of social construct bullshit). And brazening things out has been working pretty good so far.

“Nope,” you say, and pop the “p” at the end.

“Why? Are you deficient?”

Good old Lae’zel. It’s actually refreshing to have somebody just come out and say it. Don’t give the others a chance to go whispering their theories around.

“Didn’t like anybody enough,” you say.

Lae’zel’s eyes narrow.

“Aww,” Karlach says. “That’s cute. And kinda sad.”

“I think it’s rather noble,” Wyll says.

That one irks you, though you know he means well. People make assumptions. Sometimes painfully close ones.

“And you, Wyll,” Shadowheart says. “Have you met someone you liked well enough?”

He has to be blushing. He scratches behind one ear. “I’m an old-fashioned sort, it’s true. But there was a boy some years back…”

Fuck’s sake, seriously? You’re the only one? Goddamn everybody else and their stupid fucking libidos. It never doesn’t shock you how willing so many people are to drop their pants and grind their genitals together with a near damn stranger.

“I,” Gale starts. Stops. Actually reconsiders. You stare at him as he clears his throat. “In the interest of scholarly pursuits, I am rather curious where you got your information? Not that it was inaccurate! It’s just…in my experience, dormitory gossip tends to get things rather, er, wrong, and the kind of books that do get it right are rather harder to find.”

Wyll makes a sound. Covers his mouth. When everybody looks at him, he says, “Perhaps not so difficult.”

“The Blade of Frontiers reads erotic books?” Shadowheart says.

“It was…” Wyll sort of mumbles the rest. Both Karlach and Shadowheart lean forwards. Wyll coughs. “It was in my father’s study.”

Karlach guffaws. A real good one, too: head back, joy all but bursting out of her. “Wyll! You, skulking about your da’s office and finding dirty books? Oh mate, that’s proper gold, right there. I found my first penny papers, you know the ones, all ‘heaving bosoms’ and all that? Only this one had drawings. First proper pair of tits I ever saw! Aside from the neighborhood bathing days, anyway.”

Gale’s smiling. They’re all talking about this with each other, instead of focusing on you. He did that on purpose.

“So what’d you find?” Karlach says to you.

A whole lotta sin and sermons and hellfire.

“The internet,” you saw. And now you gotta explain that. “Gale, I think I seen a crystal ball in your tent before. Can you see stuff in it? Like, talk to each other with magic over a long distance?”

He can, and they have what he calls “sending stones.” Neat.

“Okay. So think if a lot of people, and I mean most common people, had crystal balls that were also them speaking stones, only they was flat and square and could fit in your pan—trouser pockets. And each one connects to every other one in the whole world. And you can put libraries in them. And music, and speeches, and plays and everybody else can access them. And it’s all got sound and color and sometimes it’s live—showing something as it happens.”

Gale watches you like he’s a dingo and you’re a human baby.

“So humans, being humans—”

Shadowheart rolls her eyes and mutters, “Of course.”

“—they put sex in it. Pictures, writing, performances. All of it.”

“Performances?” Wyll says. “You mean…?”

“Two—or more—people actually fucking, yeah. Like you’re there, only it’s in the crystal square and anybody with one can watch. I seen all kinds’a shit.”

“That’s,” Gale starts. Can’t even finish his sentence.

Is Karlach sweating?

“You can just…?” Wyll says and makes some vague hand motion.

“Ye-awp.” With another popped “p” cause it makes everybody uncomfortable and this is hilarious.

“So you view what you like, and then take yourself to bed?” Shadowheart says.

Cause that’s what happens when you get cocky.

“Bit personal,” you say.

She crosses her fucking legs. “Ah. You were comfortable earlier, though. With the bugbear genitalia. I only wondered.”

Jesus fuck.

You shove the last of your griddlecake into your face, chew it, and say, “I am inexperienced, not uneducated. And that’s it for me, before y’all actually embarrass me enough I gotta burn down the camp while y’all sleep. I’m going to bed.”

“All by yourself?” Shadowheart says, and she is smirking.

You give her a look. She just tilts her head, all sweet like.

“Y’all are a bunch’a dickheads.”

***

Y’all get caught up in your first mountain storm the next morning. Wake up and a bear is trying to rip into your tent. And then the shadow moves against the tent flap and Halsin ducks in. Has to raise his voice to be heard over the hissing and howling of the wind, and the thunder of rain pelting your tent (thank Gale for putting a water-off spell on all y’all’s tents).

The storm is too nasty for y’all to move. So you stay put.

Rain continues to dump. You don’t got nothing to do, so you scurry over to Gale’s tent for another TED talk/reading/language lesson. Which lasts a good few hours until water starts coming in through the bottom of Gale’s tent and he swears and everybody pitches in to grab his shit and evacuate. The water is up to your ankles by the time y’all are done—Astarion don’t come out once, though a candle burns in there and y’all can see his silhouette in the golden halo on the red fabric.

Wyll, turns out, probably has the best setup outta all y’all. And he’s nice enough to let Gale crash there while his shit dries out. There’s too many damn people in that tent, though, so you head back to your own and curl in for a nap.

The quiet is what wakes you. No rain. No wind roaring down from the jagged slopes above. Just the soft sounds of a mountain breeze at night—it’s dark in the tent, shit damnit you slept too long—and the snapping of a campfire.

You done went and wasted a dirt potion. You consider leaving it be, but somebody is awake out there, and you ain’t gonna be able to sleep again for a while, and y’all got yourselves a fucking stock of it. So you slam it back, and duck outside.

Gale greets you as you emerge. Sweetums looks up from where he’s nestled with Scratch in the open flap of Wyll’s tent. You’re all groggy and tired, and so are they, apparently. The wizard  is hunched by the fire, his boots set out on their sides to dry, clothing and rugs hanging over rocks and low branches.

“Is it bad?” you say.

“Oh, nothing I can’t handle,” he says.

Ain’t nobody else up. Goddamn, how long did you sleep?

“I took first watch,” Gale says. “Seemed prudent, given the chores I’ve yet to attend to. I’m afraid dinner is whatever cold rations we’ve got. Should be some bread and cheese in the pack over there.”

You nod. Dinner would be good, though your stomach ain’t woken up yet. But that’s not what pulled you outta your bedroll. That is your screaming bladder.

“Sounds good,” you say. “I’m just gonna go take care of something.”

“Piss, yes,” he says. In English.

“I’m gonna regret teaching you that, huh?”

“Oh, it’s not like wizards have a tendency to become knowledge-obsessed, power-hungry madmen or anything. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

He can only hold a straight face for a couple more seconds. Then he cracks, and so do you, and so does your bladder (nearly).

You wave and scurry off. Note that Astarion’s tent is dark—must be back on the hunt.

“He left not long ago,” Gale calls out. “Rotten mood. I don’t think he’s had any success for a while.”

Shit. Y’all are gonna have to talk, then. See if you can’t come up with a solution. Maybe get Shadowheart to help you bleed into a cup (you can’t do it yourself; your brain shies hard from that thought).

You can talk to Wyll, too; see if he can’t bring in his hunts and trappings and let y’all’s resident vampire at them first.

Y’all are set up next to a shallow valley in the woods. Trees sweep all the way over and up the flanks of the mountains on the other side. Ought to be deer or bunnies in there. For you, these woods is spooky in the dark. Yeah yeah, Cherokee princess noble savages one with nature shit. But smart people don’t go into the fucking woods alone at night. That’s how mama mountain cats feed little baby mountain cats.

You piss hard to speed it up and get back. Do a little shimmy in your crouch and wipe with the square of torn up rags you brought with (you been collecting them and boiling them when y’all make camp) (you made yourself Baby’s First Breechcloth, but it’s an unwieldy mess in your trousers cause you don’t actually know what you’re doing and the goddamn cloth bunches up sometimes).

The creepy gets worse. You shove your britches back in and button yourself up. You start to turn back when your brain finally registers what’s giving you the heeby jeebies.

It’s quiet. Not just “storm fucked off” quiet, but there should be owls. Squirrels. Mice or rats or possums rustling around. But there ain’t.

It is dead quiet.

The hairs on the back of your neck lift. You should turn. You don’t wanna. Don’t need to see some old woman with one finger a long, long talon staring at you from behind a tree.

A crow caws. You damn near jump clean outta your skin.

“Fucking asshole!” you hiss.

A branch rustles right above you. The damned bird. It’s dark out here. Proper dark. A bit of the campfire glow filters in, though. Just enough for you to make out dark wings up there as the stupid bird flaps over to land right above your head.

It caws again.

“Right, sorry for being on your turf,” you say. Only something ain’t right about that bird. Something about the wing ain’t moving correctly.

Is it broken? Is this a hurt bird nosing for scraps? But as you peer up, you realize it’s got something in its beak.

“Whatcha got…there…?”

A berry, you think. Some kinds big, pale berry with the stem still attached. A long stem, trailing down, flopping as the bird twitches. Only that ain’t a berry. That’s a motherfucking eyeball.

The crow caws three times, a sort of “a ha ha!” Only it don’t sound like a crow no more; more like an old woman.

Like a fucking swamp hag.

You’re still in screaming range. Gale’s awake, and you know he can blast a good quarter of an acre to ashes. You can back away, you start to back away—

Dark tent. He just left, not long ago. No luck hunting. He’d be tired; be slower, weaker than usual.

“Astarion.”

Your voice seems to spook the bird. It takes off in a burst of feathers, heading further into the dark.

“Wait,” you say. “Wait!”

And it does. Fucker stops, perches about ten feet further in. That little bastard is waiting for you. And now you know why White people get murdered in horror movies. Because this is a trap. One hundred percent, most definitely a trap. But you feel deep down in your bone marrow that if you (sensibly) sprint for backup, or shout out a warning to the others, that crow will disappear and something very, very bad is going to happen.

“Fuck, fuck.”

You waffle for a second. Maybe two. And then it’s like a hook grabs your insides and hauls you after that goddamn, motherfucking lure bird deeper and deeper into the woods.

You crash through bushes. Branches swat your face. Your toes skip over something and you tear open your palms catching yourself on the rough trunk of a tree. The crow stops. Lets you catch up before it laughs and heads deeper and you’re so fucked. This is so fucking stupid. This is how you get murdered by a swamp hag in the woods. This is how a monster pounces on you and crunches right through the back of your skull.

Then the glimmer of torchlight. Orange and flickering. And your brain spits out an image of Astarion lounging next to a campfire, munching down on a squirrel like it’s a boiled ear of corn. He’d lift his head all lazy to give you a judgmental look when you emerge from the woods like a madwoman with sticks in your hair.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

A clearing. A horse in that clearing, with a torch set into a harness on the saddle. The crow flaps to a branch on the edge, flutters its rotten wings, and visibly gloats.

You reach the edge.

A shape on the ground. Big, brown: a deer, very dead. And next to that something else. White hair spattered in red. White shirt and pale hands, also red. Red everywhere.

“Astarion?” you say.

He’s on his back, unmoving. There’s something wrong with his chest. A branch or a…

A stake. A stake right through the middle of his chest. And then you look at his face and his eyes are huge and his mouth moves but no sound comes out—

“That’s far enough, friend,” a voice says.

You turn. Spot the crossbow. The leather arm braces. An embroidered vest and a pointy beard.

Gandrel the monster hunter stands with a bolt aimed at your face.

[esmeshardwoodfloors]

me calling Esme a milf when she's 5 years younger than I am 💀

[starry-bi-sky]

fast food is the best course of action after causing a scene. ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀɴʏᴀʟ ᴀʟ ɢʜᴜʟ ᴀᴜ

(First Post Here and Second Post Here

--------

Danny finds Sam easily.

She's right where she said she was over the phone: standing outside on a balcony, in Gotham, at Father's many charity functions. 

("Would you still be willing to fly over to Gotham, Danny?" She asks, her voice ringing clear through the speakers. Danny is already climbing out his window before she even finishes her sentence. He was just about to settle down for the night, his ghosts would know better by now than to disturb him at this time. The Box Ghost not included.)

("Of course." He says, sounding more confident than he feels. Sam was one of his best— closest friends, he would do anything she or Tucker asked. Even if it means stepping foot into his Father's city. He drops down silently, and walks through the house's ghost shield. "Would you like me to bring you anything?")

(Sam sighs through the phone, relief leaking through. "One of the veggie burgers from Nasty Burgers would be great, with their new ecto-fries. Extra salt. I'm sick of all this rich people food.")

(A small smile pulls across Danny's face, tilting at the corner as his living form falls away to his ghost self. "Alright," he says, and kicks himself off the ground, "I'll be there in a few minutes.")

("Thanks, Danny.")

He had the bag of food with him, stored in a container he had to run back to the house to get that would prevent the food from cooling during his flight over. Clutching it in hand, he floats down behind Sam and sheds his invisibility.

Being visible and being invisible always felt different, but in a way Danny can never describe, no matter how many times he tries to think about it. It's like a gut-feeling, a sixth sense, he always knows when he's visible and when he is not.

His ghost form burns away like steel wool being lit, and Danny drops the last foot to the ground silently. In his other hand lies his thermos, but filled with plain ectoplasm — lazarus water. "I have your food." 

(He brought the thermos for himself — his side was still healing from his last fight with Technus. The ghost impaled him with a broken pipe, and Danny returned the favor by wedging his sword into his chest. Technus had been quite offended by him ruining his favorite coat.)

Sam jumps a foot into the air, and her hand slams across her mouth to muffle the shriek she lets out as she whirls around. "Danny!" She hisses, her voice rising in pitch, and her eyes narrow at him into a glare. "Freaking-- Tucker's right, we seriously need to put a bell on you."

"You have been saying that for years," Danny grins, sharp-toothed and jack-knifed, and passes the container over to her. "And yet I've yet to see any kind of bell." He was going to start getting disappointed at this rate.

As Sam takes the container, Danny hops up onto the railing and looks around. He hadn't seen any of Father's other children lurking around the building before he revealed himself, but that doesn't mean they aren't there. He wasn't going to fool himself into thinking that their stealth skills were poor.

He wasn't that arrogant.

...Anymore.

"Oh you will." Sam threatens, unzipping the container and grabbing the takeout bag. "I'll get you a collar and everything, we can start calling you Catwoman." When she pulls out her fries, Danny snaps forward and steals one from the box, ignoring her indignant yell as he pops it into his mouth.

"I spent my own money on these fries, Sam." He sniffs, leaning away from her with a stifled huff of laughter as she swats at him. "So they are technically my fries. And also, Catwoman would be a poor thief if she wore a bell."

Sam grumbles at him, and takes a bite out of a handful of fries. "I'll venmo you money." She says past a mouthful of food, Danny would have been disgusted in the past, when he was still new. But he's gotten used to this... normality. So he makes no reaction to it. "How does three hundred bucks sound?"

Danny immediately frowns.

"Did you have a fight with your parents?" He asks, eyes glancing to the doors. Doors that are covered heavily by curtains and blurred heavily, decadent music passing through in muffled sounds. He shifts himself away from the light. "You only spend that much money when they've pissed you off."

Sam's chewing stops, and her annoyed expression falters into one Danny knows well -- hurt, furrowed brows, a small frown, disappointment -- and she turns her head away from him. She swallows. "Yeah." she says, quiet.

Oh.

Danny knows that tone too.

Guilt settles like a rock in his chest. He leans forward, "Was it about me again?" He wasn't blind to the disdain Sam's parents had for him, far from it. This wasn't the first time Sam had gotten into a fight with them over her friendship with him and Tucker. But especially him. He unsettled people, even after years of observing his age-mates and trying to mimic their behavior, and anyone who knew him in middle school knew it was an act.  

Sam's silence gives him all the confirmation he needs, and the guilt heavies itself with the weight of the sky. Danny's never much cared about others' opinions of him -- he is (was?) an Al Ghul, they never heed to mind what the weight of a simpleton's thoughts.

But.. he cares a little a lot when it hurts his friends like this. He presses his lips together into a thin line, and forces the words out through his teeth. It sounds robotic. Al Ghul's do not apologize. "I... am sorry." But this one does. It doesn’t come easy. 

Sam sighs through her nose, and turns to roll her eyes at him. "Don't apologize on their behalf when you won't even apologize for your own; their assholes." She says, and goes reaching for more fries.

It's a sign, a signal. A silent word for the conversation to move on, to change. A distraction. Danny grasps it with both hands, and makes an offended noise in the back of his throat. And like he has learned, puts a hand to his chest like a scandalized American southern lady. "I apologize! I apologize plenty."

She snorts. "Only when you think it matters." And pokes him in the ribs sharply with her fry. He withholds a wince and snatches it out of her hands. "You're about as unapologetic as they come, Danny J. Fenton. I've seen you look more sincere when you're trying to drive your sword between Vlad's ribs."

"Stabbing Masters is a very important task for me, Sam." Danny says in only partially faux-seriousness. Masters has yet to realize that Danny had no interest in becoming his son, but he had to (reluctantly) admire his persistence. "Of course I will apply myself to it as best as I can."

He grins triumphantly when Sam laughs, and she reaches over to shove him square in the chest. He barks out a laugh of his own as he grips onto the balcony railing and catches himself at an angle.

"Quit with your method actor talk," Sam retorts, grinning sharply while Danny twists himself back up elegantly. "I know you can talk like a normal person, I've literally seen you do it."

Danny sniffs, and snatches more fries from the carton as revenge. "I'm not entirely sure what you mean, Miss Sam." He says, grin-twisting when Sam rolls her eyes. "My speech has always been this way. This 'normal' you speak of, I do not know it."

She waves her hand dismissively at him. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. But if you keep talking like that, I'm pushing you off the balcony."

"Such violence, Sam."

He gets a laugh again, full of disbelief without any of the annoyance. "I'm gonna be the one that stabs you, oh my god. Pot meet kettle." She looks at him again, smiling.

Danny smiles back, and with a flick of his wrist pulls out a kunai from his sleeve. It was one of the few weapons Mother was able to pass on to him whenever she made her scarce visits. He cherishes it well, along with anything else she was capable of giving him. 

He holds the handle out to her, and watches her face shift from disbelief to shock, then back to disbelief. "Then you're gonna need a weapon to do that." 

"Of course you have a pointy object on you." She mutters, and takes the kunai and puts it in her purse. Danny makes a pleased hum, it resonates low in his core, and drops his hand. "When do you not have a pointy object on you?"

As if to make her point, Danny's hands twist near his side, and he holds his palms up to her, revealing the shobo he had also hidden on him. He gives her a shit-eating grin. "Never." He lowers his hand, and pockets the small weapon once again. 

Sam huffs, "Of course," she repeats, "thanks. I was gonna bring a knife but..."

Danny finishes the sentence for her, kicking his feet idly and knowingly. "The security at the door?" He'd seen them on his flight over the building. It wouldn't do much in the face of the Rogues, but at least they were good at keeping appearances and keeping out the smaller threats.

He rolls his eyes and turns his head away, looking up to the ugly, smog-covered skies. There was no bat signal in the air, and while that was a good thing, Danny almost wished there was. He wanted to see it. "I saw, and I would’ve called Father foolish if he hadn’t hired help. He attracts trouble almost as badly as I do."

"Maybe it's hereditary," Sam jokes, laughing under her breath. With her fries finished, she started on her veggie burger. "At least your dad isn't a vigilante like you are."

Danny smiles wryly. It felt nice to be able to talk more freely about this. That he didn't have to hide the fact that his father was Bruce Wayne, now that Sam knew it from her own accord. Maybe he could have conversations like these more often. Even if it was limited to Bruce Wayne only.

(Even if it felt a little terrifying to know that his father was so close by, close enough that Danny could reach out and touch him. To speak to him. But how would he explain that? And with an audience?)

(He’s wanted to see him since he was a kid, and he still does. It clings onto him like a cough that doesn’t go away after the cold already has, and while it has faded over the years, it clings. His mother’s words still ring in his ears however; it’s not safe. It’s not safe.)

(And isn’t that why he faked his death in the first place? So that his little brother would be safe? Why he gave up the heirship, his home, his Mother, Damian, and his chance to meet his Father? Going to see Father, even now, would be throwing that all away. He has to stay away.)

(Why is Damian with Father if staying with Father was unsafe?) 

He just needed to tell Tucker. Danny wouldn’t keep him out of the loop, he was just as much as his friend as Sam was. His eyes draw towards the door, where the golden glow of lights was still pouring through, where music was playing loudly. "Yeah, fortunately." 

They fall into a comfortable silence after that, and Danny finally cracks open his thermos. The pipe Technus impaled him with was covered in a goo that Danny didn’t recognize, but whatever it was, his injury was taking its time healing. The ectoplasm was speeding it up. 

He isn’t sure what the difference between the ectoplasm that Drs. Fenton collected and Grandfather’s Lazarus pools is, but there’s a difference. He swirls the thermos slowly, watching as the ectoplasm inside twists into a small whirlpool sluggishly. 

When left alone, it thickens into a consistency similar to egg whites, or perhaps a thick smoothie, but reverts back into a water-like substance when moved and swirled. It was strange; unexplainable. He can understand, to an extent, why the Drs. Fenton are so obsessed with studying it and the dimension it comes from. 

Sam watches him idly as he brings the thermos to his lips and drinks from it. The effect is instantaneous, a sense of relief washing over Danny as if someone had put a soothing balm onto an injury. It buzzes down to his fingertips, and when he lowers the thermos, he licks his lips and watches the tips of his fingers burn green like frostbite. 

“Your hair turned white again.” Sam comments, her hand reaching out and touching the hair on the nape of his neck. While it’s not the first time Sam’s touched his hair, it still makes him tense up with her hand so close to his throat. Instinct. dan

He ignores the urge to bat her hand away, humming thoughtfully. “I’ve noticed it does that.” He says, pulling down his bangs to see if they’ve also turned white. No, still black. He lets go. “Let me guess; my eyes are green too?” He lifts the thermos again and peers into the chrome casing. 

Sam nods, “Yep, but it’s only the, uh.” She makes a circle around her eyes with her finger. “The iris part. Everything else is fine.” 

Danny can see that. The faint reflection on the chrome casts back an intense green. He takes another sip. It chills the back of his teeth, and he can feel his canines warp and sharpen. He runs his tongue over them, and swallows. 

Sam is still watching him, her fingers drumming against the balcony railing. “What’s it taste like?” 

“Carbonated.” He says dryly, before taking a large swig. He couldn’t name a specific flavor if he tried, it changed every time he took a sip. The only thing that stayed consistent was that it tasted carbonated. And slightly sweet. When he pulls the thermos away, Danny twists his body towards her and offers it out, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. “Want to try?” 

Her reaction is immediate. Sam’s nose scrunches up and her mouth twists into a smile, and she makes a huffing-laugh sound. “No, thank you.” She pushes it away lightly with her fingers, “I don’t know how to explain to my parents why my hair is white.” 

Right. Danny pulls the thermos away and puts it down beside him, straining his eyes to see if the rest of his hair has changed colors. Even just his first sip would take half an hour to fade back to its normal black, and he was a halfa. He had no idea how long it’d take to fade on Sam, who was human. 

There’s movement from the corner of his eye, and Danny snaps his head towards the source. There’s a figure, small, a boy, trying to hide behind one of the curtains at the door. His form just barely peeking out from the angle Danny was sitting at. He wouldn’t have seen him if the boy hadn’t moved. 

His fingers curl tightly into the railing, and he breathes in sharp. Sam’s smile crumbles away and she turns to see what he’s looking at. “I should go.” He says, and reaches for his thermos. “There’s someone spying on us. Don’t say anything, just look at me.” 

Sam’s expression warps, twists. Her eyes widen, her jaw starts to drop before fixing itself into place, and her shoulders curl up and tense. She forces it all to smooth over, and she leans casually against the railing. There’s a tick in her jaw. “I see.” Her voice comes through teeth. “Do you think they saw you?”

“I am not sure.” Danny says. He keeps an eye on the figure as he twists himself over and grabs the Nasty Burger bag and the container. He tries not to look like he’s rushing. He is. How long has that boy been there? How much did he see? Did he hear anything? 

“Father, fortunately, has privacy films on the glass. Nobody should have seen me unless they’re specifically trying to peep through the door.” He says. The boy seems to realize that Danny was starting to leave. And, his heart beginning to sink, instead of leaving, moves to grab the door handle instead.

No. No, no, no, no, no.

Danny’s breath catches in his throat, he’s hoping that isn’t who he think it is. But how else would he have not noticed an eavesdropper on their conversation unless it was someone who was capable of bypassing those skills? He told himself that he wouldn’t fool himself into thinking that his siblings’ had poor stealth. He got distracted. 

Five years, five years. He refuses to let that go down the drain. He zips up the container and throws his legs over the other side of the railing, his back facing the door. He hears the doorknob click, and without a word to Sam, slips off down the side and down to the ground below.

Just in time. The once muffled music now sounds blaring as the door presumably is thrown open and the pull of invisibility washes over him like a second skin. He doesn't stay to see who it is.

[flowercrowngods]

@steddie-week

part 1 (bc this is one big 7 part story)

day 02: bittersweet & angst

1 new message

eddie The Problem munson: engagement party on saturday babyyyy 🥳🥸🕺

Steve’s been staring at the message for two days now. It's sitting in his notifications, staring at him like a painful reminder of what happened exactly seven days ago. A week. It's only been a week, and Steve somehow it feels like it was both only one day or seven months ago.

It's an almost liminal experience, walking through life without texting Eddie every second of the day – because texting him would mean opening his message. It would make this real.

And that's the last thing Steve wants.

"I'm not going," Robin declares as they're cuddling on the couch, wallowing in their misery as Mayday Parade's Oh Well, Oh Well is playing for the eighth time on repeat. "Tell me you're not going, Stevie."

"Robbie," he sighs, squeezing her tighter as she tries to wriggle out of his arms to glare at him.

"Steve."

"I can't not go."

"Yes you can." She pokes him in the ribs, but he doesn't budge. She pokes him again. "Not going to things is literally the easiest thing in the world. It's a hundred times easier than going to things. You should try it sometime, trust me. You go to too many things, and–"

"Bee," he hums to get her out of the rambling spiral before she can get lost in it.

"What I'm saying," he interrupts herself dramatically, "is that you can't do this to yourself. They're engaged. They're getting married. We're going to keep our distance until our brains and hearts and the traitorous little chemicals in our bodies catch up to reality, and then we get over them, and then we can go back and see them ever again. That's the logical thing to do, Steve. But you can't... You can't just go and get your heart broken and talk yourself into thinking it's the right thing to do. It's not."

Steve sighs into her hair and buries his face in her neck. He knows that. Technically, logically, he does.

But not going feels wrong. Wronger than anything else that's been hollowing out his chest and leaving nothing but emptiness and the ghosts of every smile, every touch, every baby, love, sweetheart, sunshine. Every imaginary future, every scenario where Eddie meant it. Meant those words, meant those smiles, meant it when he took Steve's hand to hold it.

But Eddie did mean it. Every time, he meant it; because he calls Argyle and Jeff and Gareth baby and sunshine and sweetheart, too. He takes their hands, too, leans in to kiss their cheeks and just holds them when he needs to. That's just the kind of person Eddie is. Always has been.

To go and assume he never meant it would be unfair.

To go and hope it could ever mean more when Chrissy has always been right there would just be stupid.

Well, good thing Steve has that kind of reputation with a few people anyway, so it's not even a statistical outlier, that one. It's not even worth a side note.

"I know," he rasps, his eyes beginning to sting as the next lyrics are carved into the empty space of where his heart used to be.

Oh well, oh well I can't live with myself As I'm climbing in your window to get to your bed.

And I'll be what you need, You can call me anything. Just as long as we're still friends.

Tears prickle in his eyes and he doesn't bother to hold them back. Not now, not with Robin. They've both been crying on and off all week, even though Robin took it better than him.

"I know," he sobs, wrapping his arms around her even tighter as she lets herself be held because she knows that's what he needs. "I know, I know, I know. But I have to. I can't just... I can't just stop, Bee."

"I know," she sighs, climbing out of his hold eventually to wrap her arms around him in return as he cries into her shoulder.

The world (read: his Spotify playlist) makes it worse by playing Sum 41's With Me next, ripping out even the newly carved words.

Robin holds him for the rest of the night, even as he finally opens Eddie's message and types out a reply.

—I'll come!

And especially when there's a new message immediately.

—hot 🥵❤️

He leaves Eddie on read after that.

~*~

Saturday rolls around in a haze, and suddenly Steve finds himself looking at the front door of the little house Chrissy inherited after her mother passed a few years ago. It's a nice little house. Quaint. Perfect. Everything Steve could ever dream of, actually. And she deserves it. All of this and more.

There's noise coming from the garden, where people are laughing and having a great time. A happy time, celebrating their friends and all the good things in life that come with a love well placed.

God, what is he doing here? He can't do this. There is no way.

He's just about to pull out his phone and call Robin, tell her he's coming home, or ask her to tell him everything's gonna be alright, when–

"Steve!" Chrissy hurries towards him, throwing her arms around him in a tight, warm, perfect hug. God, he loves her so much. He melts right into the embrace, wrapping his arms around her middle to spin her around with a grin.

She giggles in delight and tells him to let her down again, which only makes him spin for another round, his grin turning into a genuine laugh.

"No, I hate you!" she laughs, but still doesn't step away from him when he puts her down again. Instead, she leans up and brushes a kiss to his cheek. "Hi, asshole."

"Hi."

He grins and takes her hands in his, just smiling at her for another moment before his eyes trail down to a ring he's never seen her wear before. Ah. Right.

"Oh shit! That it?"

"That's it," Chrissy says, looking down at her hand to look at the ring with a fond, happy little smile, her cheeks flushing red. It breaks Steve a little, but it also fixes something inside him to see her so truly, genuinely happy. "Pretty huh?"

"Very," Steve breathes, hiding the lump in his throat with a sound of awe.

Chrissy hugs him again for good measure and then takes his hand to drag him into the backyard the same way she just came out front, through a little gate off to the side instead of through the house.

Steve loves their backyard because it's always covered in sheerly endless colourful strings of light that are wrapped around decorative arches or poles, framing the back doors and the canopy swing set on the lawn, and just give it the most homey and comfortable atmosphere.

"Stevie!" Eddie exclaims immediately and jumps off from his chair, interrupting a conversation he's apparently been having with Argyle and Nancy to run up to him with such a giddy expression that Steve wants to cry. His heart leaps in his chest, coming back to life and saying one last goodbye at the same time.

"Hi," he says, hugging Eddie close before he can so much as think about what he's doing. But no matter how hurt he is, there will never be a world in which he won't want to hug Eddie Munson. "Sorry I'm late."

"No sorries, it's fine," Eddie murmurs into his neck, staying in the embrace endlessly, and Steve takes the chance to breathe him in. He smells so good. So, so good. It clogs his lungs and renders him unable to speak.

But who needs to speak when they have Eddie in their arms? Who needs to speak when all they have to do is never let go?

Eddie squeezes him a little tighter, and Steve wants to cry. He slowly, gently pushes away from the hug and turns towards the other guests, greeting them with a grin, a hug, or a handshake if they're not familiar.

When he gets to Wayne, the man eyes him with a look that Steve doesn't want to read too much, and his embrace is just a little longer, just a little stronger than usual.

“You look tired, son,” he says by way of greeting, and Steve can’t help but snort and shake his head a little.

“Good to see you again, too, old man.”

Wayne eyes him for one moment longer, then breaks into a small smile and pats Steve’s shoulder before stepping around him to go grab another drink.

After that, the night passes in a blur of talking to his friends, trying to understand what the hell it is that has Nancy and Argyle arguing so profusely, but with smiles on their faces. He fails. But it’s good to see them again, so he just basks in it for a while.

Or, he tries, because every second that he’s not talking or listening to someone, his eyes flick back to Eddie. Eddie, who’s lifting Chrissy from behind and smacking a loud, wet kiss to her neck, her jaw and her cheek, accompanied by her delighted squeals and laughter.

Eddie, who’s looking larger than life, a happy grin permanently plastered on his face as he reminds their guests that Chrissy was his bisexual awakening.

“I swear, she just swept me off my feet after years of thinking I was only into dudes. Knew I had to marry her, but man, I don’t know why she said yes.”

“I’m settling, honey,” Chrissy calls from the other end of the table they’re sitting around. “Only in it for that rockstar money and all.”

The whole table laughs at that.

“Hear, hear,” Eddie snorts, lifting his glass in a toast. Steve and the others lift theirs, too, even though Steve’s hand and arm and whole body feels numb and he’s not entirely sure he’s breathing.

A while later, he grabs a drink and retreats to the canopy swing, illuminated in the soft pink flow of the fairy lights wrapped around it. Eddie’s eyes land on him for a second and Steve thinks that he’ll come over and join him — but then one of Chrissy’s friends says something that distracts him and seemingly makes him fall into a monologue of sorts.

Steve watches, feeling only loss and longing as he does. Eddie is a force of nature. A spectacle. Something beautiful, something powerful, something secret that only a select few get to witness. To know. To appreciate.

Staring as he is, blind to the rest of the world, he startles a little when the swing jostles with another weight settling on it. He didn’t see Wayne coming to join him, and he’s not quite sure whether he should be grateful for the company or apprehensive of what the man who’s like a father to him might have to say.

“How are you doing, son?”

He frowns. “I’m alright.”

Wayne only hums, and Steve’s frown deepens. There’s a nagging feeling in the back of his mind that tells him Wayne knows something. That he knows.

“Y’know,” he continues after a while, not looking at Steve but rather at his nephew and his fiancée. “I always figured it would be you.”

Steve crumbles. Yeah, me too, he wants to say, but that would be a lie. Watching the way Chrissy sits on Eddie’s lap with his arms around her, his chin on her shoulder as he tells her something that makes her laugh that cute, pretty, adorable laugh that Eddie then can’t help but join — that’s just something Steve would never compare to. Nothing he’d ever want to come in between.

Eddie and Chrissy are perfect. They’re happy. They fit, they match, they work. They worked so hard and treat each other so right.

They look giddy and serene at the same time, and it makes Steve’s eyes sting. Because he can never make Eddie look like that. He can never make Eddie look at him like that.

I always figured it would be you.

But he couldn’t. That bubbly kind of love, the sunshine kind of love. He knows that’s not for him. Steve’s too much for that. He would never be enough for Eddie — even if without Eddie, there’s nothing left of him.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Wayne continues, unaware of Steve’s thought spiral. “I love that girl, I do. Always will. I think she’s too good for Eddie. Don’t tell him I said that,” he adds hastily, and Steve smiles through the tears that threaten to fall again.

“They’re perfect,” he rasps, laughing wetly as Chrissy starts chasing Eddie, who’s hiding behind a very distressed Argyle, who just wants his brochachos to chill!

Maybe it’s a laugh, maybe it’s a sob. He doesn’t have it in him to find out or care.

“They are. Doesn’t mean they’re right, son.”

Steve sighs and tears his eyes away from Eddie. “Wayne.”

“I know, I know.” He lifts his hands in defence. “Shutting up.” After a long pause of holding Steve’s eyes, he asks, “Will you be okay?”

No, he thinks immediately, the lump in his throat too big to say anything. So he just shrugs and swallows. “Sure.”

Maybe. Hardly. Probably not. Definitely not.

"No matter what happens, you'll always be a son to me. You’ll always have a home with an open door with me, you hear me?"

"I’m not going anywhere, wayne," Steve says, though for the first time ever he doesn't really believe that. Maybe he needs to leave. To leave Eddie behind. Get over him. Cut out his heart and leave it here, run away to heal somewhere else, come back as a new person, or just stay away forever.

The thought makes a tear spill as an empty kind of desperation spreads it’s ugly wings inside his chest, and he's too frozen to wipe it away.

"You hear me?" Wayne repeats, gentler this time, but no less urgent for it.

"Yeah," steve rasps. "Thanks."

Another tear falls as Eddie gently pulls Chrissy closer to him and kisses her in the soft glow of the fairy lights above and around them. Their friends cheer. Steve wants to cry his heart out again.

“I—“ he swallows, wiping at his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. I can’t do this, he wants to say. For the first time, that’s what he wants to say. “I think I’m gonna head home soon.”

“You bring your car?”

He shakes his head, feeling foggy and dazed and empty and endlessly, endlessly sad. “Was gonna, uh—“

“Let me drive you.” There’s no room for debate or argument there, and Steve wants to crumble again, but still he shakes his head.

“Wayne, no—“

“I’m taking you, son. Make sure you get home safe, or I won’t be able to sleep tonight. Don’t wanna keep your old man up all night, do ya?”

Steve concedes with a fond eye roll and a grateful smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“That’s what I thought.”

They sit like that for another ten minutes — and if Steve leans into Wayne’s side a little, then that’s nobody’s business but theirs.

The car ride is quiet, but it feels weighted even as Wayne pretends not to see the way Steve keeps wiping at his cheeks as the silent tears keep falling, leaving him powerless to stop them.

I can’t do this, he keeps thinking over and over again.

“Just a little warning,” Wayne speaks up again as he pulls up to Steve’s building. “I think he’s going to ask you to be his best man, Stevie. Don’t do anything you’re not ready for, okay?”

I can’t do this.

He nods, numb again.

“I’ll do anything for him,” he breathes.

“That’s what I’m afraid of, yeah.”

He gets out of the car before he can find out what exactly Wayne means by that. The car stays where it is until the front door closes behind him, until he’s up in his bedroom and finds Robin already asleep.

Ten minutes later, he cuddles close to her and tries hard not to cry, but tonight’s memories have burned themselves into his mind. And he shouldn’t have gone. He knows. He knows.

I’ll do anything. I can’t do this. I’ll do anything. I can’t do this.

He can’t breathe, and Robin holds him through it, whispering sleepily to him as he cries himself to sleep, wishing for a world where he’s not absolutely and utterly in love with Eddie Munson, but failing to imagine one.

I’ll do anything. Anything but this.

tagging: @sexymothmanincarnate @mcneen come back tomorrow for idk which prompt | read part 3 here

[phoenixyfriend]

Fulcrum and Old Ben

Hiiiiii I'm thinking about time travel again

Specifically, I'm thinking about Rebels-era Ahsoka and Ben getting tossed back to Obi-Wan's teens in the Temple... and it's an open secret that they're time-travelers, and that the old guy is future!Obi.

The scene I'm fixating on is teen!Obi and Quinlan gossiping about how old they think Ben is, and how he knows the half-Mando-looking Tog Jedi (they aren't used to non-Guards wearing armor in the Temple, and Ahsoka's been wearing Mando-made armor since she was recruited by Bo-Katan in S7).

The whole Temple is trying to figure out what their deal is, but Ben is dedicated to being obtuse and confusing in the grand tradition of Yoda and Qui-Gon, and Fulcrum is enjoying the power of being annoying and able to properly relax for the first time in twenty years.

This is all happening in the refectory. Lunchtime gossip. Fulcrum and Ben are sticking together and while other people do join them, they don't really split up (that's her dad and she's not ditching him again).

Also the possibility of Ezra and Fulcrum "I may not be your Master, but he DID ask me to look after you, so sit down and listen until we figure out where to place you."

Ben: Remind me why you don't just take him on yourself? Fulcrum: You know I haven't been a Jedi since I was seventeen. Technically.

Different moment:

Obi-Wan: How is that ME? I mean, I guess he's from, like, a hundred years in the future, but-- Ben: Forty. Obi: …what. Ben: Closer to forty. I'm fifty-six. Obi and Quinlan: [open-mouthed horror that WILL get them scolded for being rude] Fulcrum, snorting: Ha, you look old. Ben: Yes, well, over fifteen years on Tatooine will do that to a man. Obi, to Fulcrum: Wait, how old are YOU? Fulcrum: A lady never tells. [wink wonk] Obi: … Fulcrum: I haven't been born yet, but I am in my thirties.

Also, there is just something soooo good about Ahsoka telling people she's been doing black ops for the better part of twenty years, and ribbing Obi-Wan about how he spent most of that time being sad and talking to ghosts on Tatooine.

And the two of them are having Fun while their audience is just [doingmeaconcern.meme]

[roosterforme]

Batting Practice Part 25 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Now that Bradley had the ring, he didn't want to wait. He kept thinking about what it would mean to move in with you and Everett and be a family. He wanted all of it. So he got Everett to help him out one last time. 

Warnings: Fluff, smut, angst and swearing

Length: 4800 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female single!mom Reader

Check my masterlist for more Top Gun fun! Batting Practice masterlist.

You locked your office door and sank down into your seat. You were too nervous to eat the lunch you packed for yourself as you got your phone out to call your lawyer. It had taken you a few days, but you decided what you wanted to do about Danny. It wasn't ideal, but you'd do it. 

As you sat and listened to the hold music playing in your ear, you poked at your sad looking salad. Danny was going to blow up at you after this. And it would be months and months before you saw a cent, but you supposed it was the best you could get since you couldn't get Danny stripped of parental rights. Tears pricked at your eyes, because you just wanted him gone. Good and truly gone with no ability to come back and hurt Everett again.

When your lawyer returned to the line, you told him that you wanted to move forward with serving papers to Danny to petition for child support. If you couldn't get rid of Danny, at least you could pad Ev's college account or help him buy a car someday. 

"You do understand that Daniel can take four months to contest the petition? And that's on top of the time it may take to serve him the papers?"

You rested your forehead on your desk and took a deep breath. At least you would be the one dealing all of this shit behind the scenes so Ev wouldn't have to know about it. But Bradley was always imploring you to be more open with him about this, so you'd have to figure out how to tell him that Danny was here to stay. Unless you and Bradley ever got married. Unless Bradley ever wanted to petition to adopt Everett. 

"Yes," you said, your voice only a harsh whisper. "I understand. We can proceed." 

As your melancholy settled in, you decided to text Molly about what you did. It didn't take long for your sister to respond. She must not have been working right now. You never could manage to keep track of her schedule, so you had no idea how Bob was so efficient with it. 

Danny is a little baby cocksucker bitch! Bleed him dry! Do it for Ev! I'll help you take over the world after I have a nap.

You snorted, pleased that not a moment had passed since your parents died when Molly was not one hundred percent on your team. And now you had Bradley. And you supposed you had Bob, too. 

A sharp knock on your office door had you jumping in your seat. "Coming," you called, scrambling to go unlock the door only to find Bradley standing there in his khaki uniform with a bunch of tulips and a wrapped sandwich. His aviators were perched on the tip of his nose, and he looked like a fantasy. You could see three of the receptionists leaning out of their cubicles to get a better look at him.

"Kitten," he whispered with a grin before kissing your cheek. When you silently pushed your door open wider, he brushed past you, and you closed it behind him. 

"What are you doing here?" you asked breathlessly. He set the food and the flowers down on your desk, and you rushed into his arms.

"I just missed you," he whispered in your ear. "And it's Tuesday. Technically the slowest day of the week. I needed a pick-me-up." And with that, he scooped you up into his arms while you gasped, and he deposited you on the edge of your desk.

"Well, I'm glad you're here," you told him, reaching out to pull him closer. He tossed his sunglasses onto your desk, and then you couldn't even remember what you wanted to tell him. Something about your lawyer? His hands were on your bare knees, sliding up under your black skirt.

"You know I love this," he whispered, pushing your skirt up your bare thighs. "I like to daydream about this skirt. On your bedroom floor. Or all bunched up around your waist."

You coaxed his lips down to yours with your finger under his chin and kissed him softly. "I have some free time right now."

Instantly, he was lifting your butt up off of your desk and yanking your skirt up over your hips and around your waist. You squealed with delight as he set you back down and smiled as he knelt in front of you. "Really?" he asked, nudging your inner thigh with his nose and kissing you there. 

"Yes," you giggled as he looked up at you. When you spread your legs wide for him, he kissed your core through your underwear, and you gasped, "Go lock my door, Coach."

He dipped his long index finger inside the lace fabric and nudged your clit with his knuckle. "Where's the fun in that?"

You moaned, and then you were shimmying your underwear down your legs. Bradley tucked them into pocket, and you couldn't believe you were letting him do this with the door unlocked. But the prickle of his mustache along your slit had you grabbing at the back of his head and spreading open further for him. 

He licked a long stripe from your opening up to nibble on your clit, and you dug your fingers into his hair. "That's a good Kitten," he rasped, kissing along your pussy and thighs as he slipped his index finger inside you. Just a few strokes and you were whining for him, your thighs clamping around his head. But he pushed them apart again and kept them in place with his other, huge hand.

"Bradley," you gasped, and he pulled you a little closer to the edge as he sucked on your clit. "Oh god." 

He released you and licked a circle that had you tugging on his hair. "Wanna make sure you think about me when you're at work, Baby," he grunted before rubbing his mustache through your wetness until you were getting a little loud. 

"Bradley!" you whined. He was good. You leaned back on one hand as he made your legs shake. And when he looked up at you as he circled your clit lazily with his tongue, you knew you were getting close. "Keep going," you told him, rocking against his face a little bit. 

The sight of him buried between your legs with your fingers messing up his hair took you all the way. Because when he wrapped his lips around your clit one more time, you came for him. Loud and needy. And then you slowly sat fully upright again while your ears buzzed. He was still placing soft kisses on you everywhere that used to be covered by your underwear. 

"I love you, Kitten," he whispered as he squeezed your thighs and stood up to kiss you. His mustache was wet, and you licked him while you moaned softly. His whole face tasted like you as you licked and kissed him. It was intoxicating, and you pulled him closer so the front of his uniform pants rubbed against your pussy. He was rock hard.

"You wanna?" you asked him as he stroked his fingers along your cheek. 

"Fuck, you know I do," he promised, rubbing his mustache down your neck. "But I need to get back to work."

You bit your lip and watched him reluctantly pull away from you and adjust himself. There was a little wet spot on his pants that absolutely thrilled you as you asked, "Where's my underwear?"

His smile was smug. "In my pocket. I'm gonna hang them in my locker at work like a little souvenir."

You gasped, your pussy still bare for him with your skirt hiked up. An embarrassingly needy little sound escaped you as he patted his right pocket. 

"I hope you don't mind if the guys see them."

You pressed your lips together. You actually really liked that underwear. They were a stretchy white lace thong that you found comfortable. But if Bradley wanted to put them in his locker and think of you every time he hit the shower, then you were more than happy to let him have them.

"I don't mind," you whispered. "But you know you're going to make Bob blush, right?"

Bradley kissed your forehead and said, "Molly has broken him in, I think. He doesn't blush as much as he used to. Now, don't forget, we have plans for the Fourth of July. And I'll see you at your house later tonight after my practice."

You nodded and watched him leave as you stood up and pulled your skirt down. "Love you, Kitten," he called from your open door with his erection still visible in his pants before he strolled away.

You looked at the sandwich he left for you as your stomach growled. Your appetite was back again since talking to your lawyer, so you sat and ate it while you smiled at the spot on your desk where you just had an orgasm. 

As soon as you pulled up the spreadsheet you had been working on, your phone vibrated on your desk next to the tulips he left for you. He sent you a photo of your white lace thong hanging up in his locker. 

Bradley Bradshaw: I wasn't joking. I'm looking forward to getting lots of compliments on my new decoration.

You squeezed your thighs together and squealed. 

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

Bradley had to rush back to base. When he stopped by the locker room to drop off his keys and wallet, he pulled your underwear out of his pocket. They were a little damp, and when he pressed them to his nose, your scent overwhelmed him. He should have fucking stayed long enough to bury his cock and his cum inside you. What was he thinking? A reprimand from one of the admirals would have been worth it. 

With a deep sigh, he hung his pretty souvenir on one of the hooks and snapped a photo. He sent it to you as he literally ran outside and across the tarmac to the meeting room for his afternoon session. He had your underwear in his locker and your engagement ring in his kitchen drawer. 

He had big plans for that ring. There were just a few things he needed to prepare, and he couldn't stop smiling as he thought about what he and Everett were planning. He could talk that kid into anything over some McDonald's chicken nuggets. 

But he had to keep his thoughts from wandering too much to you and Ev while Mav was lecturing. Because every time he thought about marrying you, he thought about being Ev's dad. And he really needed to not get too far ahead of himself, because he had no idea if you'd support that idea or not. Bradley got the impression that you wanted sole guardianship and legal rights to your son. And honestly, Bradley could also get behind that. One hundred percent. 

When the lecture ended, Bob was waving his hand in front of Bradley's face. "You ready to head to practice?" he asked cautiously. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah," Bradley grunted, jumping out of his seat. Today was the first practice for the rec league team, and Everett had bugged nonstop to come and watch. But Bradley wanted to get one good practice in with nobody there, just in case he ended up being terrible. 

He walked with Bob back to the locker room to change into the navy blue hat and jersey with the number 1 on the back, deciding to skip the shower until later tonight. When he was changing his socks, he saw Bob's eyes wander to his locker, and then he quickly looked away. 

"Nice panties," Jake said as he strolled past on his way to the showers. 

"Thanks," Bradley replied, smirking, because he just knew this was going to get you all flustered when he told you later tonight. 

He drove to practice, and thought about his plan for the Fourth of July. It would be perfect, and somehow, he wasn't even nervous. Because being with you felt right. 

And then he pitched so well, both coaches pulled him aside after practice to tell him he's the best they had ever seen on a recreational team. And Bradley just had to laugh, because he was pretty sure he was still better at playing shortstop. 

"Damn," Bob said in between gulps of his Gatorade. "Your arm is a cannon. I barely managed to hit that single."

"Thanks," Bradley said, rapidly throwing everything into his bag, just wanting to get to your house. And then he paused and really looked at Bob. "Holy shit," he mumbled as Bob adjusted his glasses and checked his phone with a smile. Molly must have texted him. Bob was deeply in love with Molly. Bob might perhaps be Bradley's brother-in-law one day. 

"See you tomorrow," Bob told him with a nod as he hoisted his gear bag up onto his shoulder. And as he walked to the Bronco, Bradley hoped that Everett would be lucky enough to have Bob as his uncle. 

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

It was late when Bradley got to your house. Everett was already in bed, and you were cleaning up the kitchen and starting to pack lunches for the morning. One more day of work this week, and then you and Everett were both off for Independence Day. And Bradley had invited you to Maverick's hangar for a party and fireworks. 

Of course Everett couldn't wait. But that child idolized Bradley. 

You heard his key in your front door, and your heart skipped around in your chest. "Hi, Kitten," Bradley whispered, dropping his stuff off next to the stairs. "Is Ev sleeping?" he asked, kissing you softly. 

"Probably. I got him in bed about twenty minutes ago."

"I'm gonna go up and check on him," Bradley replied, quietly taking the stairs two at a time. God, you couldn't handle it. Tears filled your eyes. He loved you both, and you wanted him to move in with you in the worst way. But you were just going to have to wait. It would be worth waiting. 

You could hear him come back downstairs a moment later with a little frown. "He was already asleep."

You threw your arms around his waist and squeezed him. "You can make him pancakes and drop him off at summer camp tomorrow. If you want to."

"Of course I want to," Bradley murmured against your hair. "I love your son."

You rubbed your cheek against his soft undershirt and melted into his embrace. "He loves you, too. And if you don't let him come watch you pitch next time, he might cry."

"Fuck. No," he groaned. "You know I can't stand the sight of him in tears. Almost rips my fucking heart out."

You laughed softly. "Guess we'll just have to come to your first game. Now, do you want a bedtime snack while you tell me about practice?"

"I sure do," he mumbled, backing you up against the kitchen island. "Let me finish you off? I had you for lunch, and now you can be my snack."

"Okay," you told him, pushing him away a few inches. He looked at you with wide, curious eyes. "Usually I don't allow food in my bed, but if I'm the snack then I suppose it's fine."

Bradley's eyes narrowed as he scooped you up and carried you upstairs. You had to stifle your laughter so you didn't wake Everett up. When Bradley dropped you onto your bed and climbed on top of you, he took your hands in his and kissed along your neck. 

"Can we talk about the holiday for a minute?" he asked, and you rolled your eyes a little bit. He'd been asking incessantly about taking you to Maverick's and making sure you didn't have anything else planned for the day. 

"Yes, Bradley. But I already told you, Ev and I are free the whole day."

"I wanna take you to the park in the morning," he whispered, his mustache tickling your ear as you enjoyed his delicious body weight. "I want you to see how good Ev is when I pitch to him."

You smiled and wrapped your legs around his hips. "Sounds perfect."

"And then we can head to the party at the hangar. Maverick is setting up a splash pad for the kids," he said, pressing his lips to yours with a grin. 

"Are you going in it?" you asked. "You're an overgrown kid."

"Only if you do," he said as you rolled your hips against his. "You should wear that leopard print bathing suit you have."

You gasped and giggled. "The one I wore to the tee ball pool party? At the beginning of the season? When we had our first real kiss?"

"Hell yes," he hissed. "Couldn't stay away from you, Kitten. I was already in love with you."

You kissed him and held him tight. You couldn't pinpoint the moment you fell in love with him, but you knew you'd never be able to stop now.

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

Wednesday ended up being a rainy day, and everyone in the entire city seemed confused by it. Even Everett was out of sorts when you picked him up from summer camp. 

"Is Bradley going to come over and play with us tonight?" he asked, staring out the car window as you drove him through the storm. "I wanted him to take me to the park."

He kept pouting as you told him, "He needed to get some stuff done at his apartment tonight." You wished he could wrap up whatever he needed to do early and come watch a movie instead. But he told you it was important. 

"Well can we go over to his apartment?" Ev whined.

It struck you that you'd never once been there. And now you wondered if it looked the way you imagined it. Bradley told you a million times how much cozier your house was than his place, and you just shook your head. Because he could have moved in if he wanted to.

"Not tonight, Ev."

He was silent for the rest of the ride home, plainly annoyed with you for keeping him from Bradley. And then he was pretty quiet as you watched Finding Nemo together for the millionth time. But when you reminded him that tomorrow, if the weather was nice, all three of you were going to the park and then Maverick's party, he perked up.

"Bradley is really excited about the park tomorrow!" Everett said as he climbed into bed. "He's excited to show you something."

"Oh yeah?" you asked, tucking him in while the soft rain hit his window. "What does he want to show me?"

Everett laughed and rolled onto his side. "I can't tell you."

You sighed and kissed his cheek. It was probably something silly or something baseball related. "Well I guess I'll just have to wait then." But he was already starting to doze off, holding onto the stuffed Phanatic.

You were a true San Diegan. All the rain was making you tired. You thrived on sunny days and warm weather. When you went to plug your phone in before bed, you saw a text from Bradley. 

Bradley Bradshaw: I can't wait to pick you up in the morning. Give Ev an extra bedtime kiss for me?

You had to laugh, because he seemed to have no concept of what a consistent bedtime for Everett was. You could already tell that if Bradley ever moved in, he and Ev would be outside playing until well after dark all the time, and you'd be the one reeling them in. 

When you fell asleep, you slept hard. And you woke up to Everett in your room, climbing up into bed with you. "Mommy, I'm hungry." 

It was pretty late, and Bradley was coming over to pick you up for the park, but at least the sun was shining today. 

You stretched and pulled your son into a tight hug. "Cereal or eggs?" you asked as he snuggled up with you. 

"Cereal," he mumbled, his voice muffled by the blankets. "Are you going to get up and put on makeup and a dress and stuff?"

You laughed and said, "We're just going to the park and then a splash pad party in the desert, Ev. I wasn't planning on getting too dressed up today. Why?"

"You should," he said, wiggling out of bed and running out of your room. 

"Okay," you muttered to nobody. And a little while later, you were sipping coffee and eating cereal in your kitchen, still not dressed for the day when Bradley arrived. 

"Why do you look so nice?" you asked when he let himself inside. He was wearing a snug fitting red and white golf shirt and chino shorts. 

"Do I?" he asked, glancing down at himself as he went right to Ev and kissed his forehead. And you didn't even mind that you always got greeted second. Because when you got your kiss, it was on the lips and had your knees going weak.

"Hi," he whispered as you threaded your fingers through his hair. "I missed you last night."

How on earth did he make you this silly? Your heart was beating faster and your skin felt extra sensitive as he ran his big hand down your arm. 

"I missed you, too."

Then he pulled away and looked you up and down. "Why aren't you dressed yet? We have a busy day, Kitten." And you finally went back upstairs to get changed as both of them pushed you out of the kitchen. You could hear them talking softly and laughing as you climbed the stairs. 

When you came back down in some denim shorts with a white tank and a sheer white blouse, Bradley smiled at you before leading both of you out to the Bronco. Everett had his gear bag, and when Bradley opened the back tailgate, you saw all of his stuff there too.

"You brought a whole bucket of balls?" you asked, pointing to the bucket tucked behind his bag. "Are you going to make me play catcher for you guys again?"

"Yep," they replied in unison, making you laugh. 

"Okay, but you know I'm not very good."

"You're stellar, Kitten. Aces, Baby," Bradley promised as he scooped Everett up and carried him around to his booster seat.

You tended to disagree, but if the two of them really wanted to play ball in the park all day, then you would just chase balls around and cheer them on. The ride to the park was filled with Everett asking Bradley questions, something your son never seemed to tire of. And as always, Bradley answered every single one of them the best he could without getting irritated at all. 

At a red light, you reached for his hand and said, "I love you." He responded by stroking your fingers with his thumb as he hummed along to the radio. And soon you were at the park and unloading everything. You watched as the boys both put on their matching Phillies hats and took sips out of a bottle of Gatorade. They had a little routine now, and it melted your heart. 

"Ready?" Bradley asked Everett and then you. 

"Ready," you replied, carrying the bucket of baseballs for them. You followed them to the same shady area where you had played catcher before. The sun was strong today, but at least it wasn't too hot yet. Being in the shade would help with that.

"Ev, start stretching while I get your mom all set up," Bradley said, reaching into his bag and pulling out his catcher's mask and mitt. 

"Hey," you said with a smile. "I remembered it's a mitt and not a glove!" you said, and Bradley pulled you tight to him for a kiss.

He hummed against your lips as he ran his empty hand down your back to squeeze your butt. "It's going to be important that you know these things, because Ev and I are going to be on this baseball shit forever now. We're about to get annoying as hell, Kitten."

"I don't mind," you said, looking up into his brown eyes that were always so sincere. "Please, annoy the shit out of me forever."

The smile that took over his face had you giggling while Everett ran around you in circles doing his own definition of warming up. Then Bradley mumbled, "Gotta keep this pretty face safe," while he fitted the catcher's mask around the back of your head. He slipped the too large mitt on your hand and kissed your neck. "All set now."

"Can we do it yet?" Ev asked, slowing his run down and picking up his bat. "Please?"

"Yeah, kiddo," Bradley replied, turning both of their hats backwards. "We can do it."

You eased yourself down into the uncomfortable position to catch the baseballs for them. But Everett was hitting most of them, which made your job kind of pointless. Bradley was telling Ev what each pitch was going to be before he threw it.

"Here comes a slider," he called out, and you watched your boyfriend's muscles tense up deliciously before he threw a pitch right to Everett. Your son hit it up in the air and Bradley caught it. "Pretty good! Let's try another slider." Then he threw the same pitch again, and Everett hit it over Bradley's head.

"I can't believe you're this good, Ev," you praised, because truly you could not. It was impressive the way he hit Bradley's fastball and curveball as well. You knew Bradley wasn't pitching hard or fast, but he was still pitching to Everett. And your seven year old son was hitting almost all of them. 

"Okay, kiddo," Bradley called out. "This one is the special pitch I've been working on. Are you ready for it?"

"Ready, Coach!" Everett called out in excitement. He turned and looked at you with a smile before he returned to his batting stance, and you made sure you were all set, too. 

You weren't sure what kind of pitch was a special pitch, and Bradley was really taking his time getting ready to throw it. He kept shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He looked a little nervous, but you didn't know why. It wasn't like you and Ev were going to tell him he did a bad job of throwing a new pitch he was working on. Honestly, you were excited to see it. 

When he finally took a deep breath, he met your eyes before winding up to throw it. The ball sailed right to your mitt, and you caught it cleanly. Everett didn't swing at it, and now he was looking at you with his bat hanging down at his side. When you looked up at Bradley, he was staring at you. Then you noticed that the ball was more red than white as you dumped it out of the mitt and into your empty hand. 

"What is this?" you mumbled, turning it around in your hand. It was covered in little red hearts that looked like they had been drawn on with a sharpie, and there was something written in Bradley's handwriting.

Will you marry me?

You gasped and looked up at Bradley, but now he was down on one knee with his glove on the grass next to him. Everett was bouncing around next to you as you read the ball again. "Mommy?" he asked quietly, and you looked up at his eager face. 

Heart racing, you stood up and shook the mitt off your hand as you looked toward Bradley. You yanked the mask off your head as you ran toward him shouting, "Are you serious?"

His smile looked a little unsure as you tackled him onto the grass and straddled his waist. His Phillies cap rolled away as you looked down into his perfect face. 

"Well? Will you marry me, Kitten?" He held up a diamond ring as you kissed him and started crying.

"Yes. I'll marry you." Your voice was shaky and filled with tears, but you were so happy as you cried and kissed him. 

"She said yes, kiddo!" Bradley shouted to Everett when you buried your face against his neck. And you realized they had both been planning this together which just made you cry more. 

"Yes! It worked!" Everett screamed, and a few seconds later, Bradley was holding both of you on top of him in the grass, alternating between kissing your lips and Everett's forehead.

You were still clutching the baseball in your right hand as Bradley put the ring on your left finger. It was a little big, but it was beautiful. "It looks like a baseball," you said as he grinned.

"That's why we picked that one!" Everett informed you, looking happier than you'd ever seen him.

And then Bradley kissed your finger and whispered, "I'm going to love both of you forever."

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

He did it! He asked her! Love how happy Ev is! Thanks to @beyondthesefourwalls and @mak-32

PART 26

Don't forget to check out Bob and Molly in The Curveball!

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[katwatcheskny]

How would other uppermoons react to a child that became a upper rank demon? Like, Say, they were little less than Ume's age when they were turned, but more emotionally and mentally mature as a demon than Daki-

upper moons react to child upper moon

type: preference

pronouns: you/your/yourself

characters: kokushibo, douma, akaza, gyutaro, daki

a/n: i tried to make this as realistic to their canon personalities as possible. the one that was easiest and the most fun to write was douma this time, i also one hundred percent believe that would be his canon reaction and no one can change my mind. enjoy~

KOKUSHIBO

Would he even bother to notice that you are a literal child and not a very small adult? Probably, eventually. He just assumed you were older.

Kokushibo only cares about the other upper moons being efficient and useful to Muzan. Because of your maturity and clearly being powerful enough to become an upper moon, Kokushibo tolerates you.

He does use you to shame the others.

Like whenever Akaza tries to kill Douma because he’s annoying him. Kokushibo will chastise Akaza by reminding him that you’re half his age but have twice his maturity. Which is like a backhanded compliment.

You’re like actually one hundred or something, but sure.

Otherwise, he treats you the same as the rest of the upper moons. Which is with an apathetic neutrality for the majority of the time.

DOUMA

This motherfucker is condescending to a child upper moon.

Once again, you may look like a child but you were turned into a demon like over a hundred years ago. You’re not literally a child anymore, you have more knowledge, wisdom, and lived experience than almost any other living being on the planet but the other upper moons.

But to Douma, you are a baby. 

A little, itty bitty little baby. You’re just so cute with your wittle hands and your wittle feet. You’re so cute he could just eat you up, yes he could, yes he could! Who's a cute little baby? You are, yes you are!

Is he doing this to just fuck with you? Very possibly. 

Douma reminds everyone that you are a child whenever they speak on something he deems inappropriate, like swearing or sex. He will even come up behind you and cover your “innocent” ears.

Buys you children’s toys. 

AKAZA

Would have zero qualms fighting a child (x).

Akaza doesn’t really enjoy being in the company of the other upper moons. So, he doesn’t really care about you when you first meet.

He is surprised that you are a child. While you’re technically not the only child in the upper moons (considering Daki was barely thirteen when she was turned into a demon), but you’re the only one who looks like it.

However, that doesn’t mean you get a pass. Akaza is able to make the distinction that you aren’t really a child, so he will fight you.

Especially when Kokushibo uses you to shame him.

Akaza would want to fight you especially after that. Fighting is the only way he can express his emotions, especially as a demon.

Would be impressed with how strong you are. Okay, maybe you don’t suck. If you could give him a good fight, you would become Akaza’s favorite member of the upper moons.

GYUTARO & DAKI

I combined the two for this specific request because their reactions to a child upper moon would probably go hand-in-hand more than separate.

Gyutaro sometimes (most of the time, to be honest) wishes that Daki would have matured mentally and emotionally over time the same way that you did. Would never say it aloud, but he thinks it.

Daki kinda knows Gyutaro wishes she was like you, and so she hates you because she thinks you’re trying to steal her big brother from her.

So, Daki reminds you that you’re short and ugly.

Daki’s childish feud with you only makes her seem more childish by comparison to your mature indifference to her and her insults.

If Gyutaro gives you any attention, it makes Daki so mad she cries.

So, you don’t interact that often.

Gyutaro kinda still sees you like a child because of the way you look. Which is why he thinks Daki is being so unreasonable, you’re a kid and a fellow upper moon. He thinks you’re okay for a kid.

[yenqa]

ADVANTAGES

in which…

on jay’s live, fans point out a stuffed animal on his bed, one that seems to be the other piece to your notorious missing pair. as imaginary pieces start to connect for fans, the viewers beg for some kind of interaction. and though you and jay have never met before, why not use this situation to your advantage?

warnings : profanities, i think thats it ?

wc : 1019

stupid question

☆

“Chat, what do you mean my position is different? I’m literally centered!”

strawberrylimesoda : GUYS TRUST SHES LYING

BluebirdFly : This girl is Suspicious!! special guest maybe?

lilaclavender : @/BluebirdFly THAT MAKES SENSE WAITT… 

“Guys I don’t have a special guest-!”

The greenscreen behind you is torn down to reveal Jay’s smiley face behind you, you let out a squeal when he hugs you tightly from behind the chair. He takes a seat next to you, waving to the camera.

BluebirdFly : OH MY GOSH WHAT DID I SAY

“Everyone please introduce–wait what’s your twitch name Jay?”

He chuckles, “It’s Bluejay, hi Y/n’s chat.”’

You bring your face closer to the screen, trying to read the small text that’s zooming across your view. Turning your head down slightly, your hair falls in front of your eyes, blocking your view. 

Before you can do anything about it, you can feel a hand brushing it behind your ear. Obviously startled, you sit back up. Looking at Jay with a flustered smile you let out a giggle. 

Oh god, I did not just giggle.

You slap your hand over your mouth, hearing Jay’s low chuckle in the background. “Shut up,” You mutter, slapping his arm to make him ignore your flusteredness.

user18126712 : THE GIGGLE IM CRYINGGG

stellaverse : OH MY GOD ME WHEN

Feeling your face heat up, you keep your hand over your mouth, not wanting to be embarrassed anymore. “Okay, we are moving on!” You exclaim, lifting both your feet onto your chair to hug your knees. 

You look over at him, gesturing for him to say or do something. He has a small smile on his face, looking at you for a second too long before diverting his eyes to the chat. 

“Jay, is your girlfriend single? No, she’s not. That’s a stupid question.” He answers, eliciting a gasp from you.

“Hey! Don’t call my chat stupid.” You look straight at the stream with your mouth open.

He shrugs, “I called the question stupid, technically.” 

He slithers his hand to rest on your thigh. His hand is warm, and large. Heating up your thigh (and face cause lord were you flustered).

Trying to act like that simple touch isn’t driving you insane, you roll your eyes. 

“Technically my ass, anyways, ask us questions!”

strawberrylimesoda : ARE YALL DATING OR…I CNAT TELL ANYMORE

“Are we dating, Y/n?”

“What?”

You whip your head to see a sly smirk on his face with eyes that tell you to play along, feeling your mouth part you quickly shut it, turning back to the webcam.

Trying to fight the smile growing on your face, you rest your index finger on your lips, replying, “I don’t know… Are we?”  

Looking at him on your screen, you both let out a laugh, unable to take your facade seriously any longer. “Jay, I’m in charge of reading the questions now.”

“But that’s–”

“Stella asks!” You cut him off, ignoring the pout on his face, “why did you donate one thousand dollars, Jay? Actually I have that question too, so do enlighten us please.” Pretending your fist is a microphone, you place your hand in front of his mouth, raising your eyebrows waiting for his answer.

“I told you, to pay you back.”

“Jay, I gave you one hundred dollars. So either you can’t read or you have a big fat crush on me.“

“I’m pretty good at reading.”

“Ow! Why’d you do that Y/n!” He caresses where you slapped him, feigning a hurt expression. 

You slap his arm again, “Stop saying stuff like that! Answer the question, actually.”

“You looked pretty, Y/n, that’s it.”

You tilt your head, looking at him with enlarged eyes “A thousand dollars pretty?”

“A billion dollars pretty.”

“Thank you, Jay” You’re surprised it even gets out of you, coming out as a hushed mumble just so he can hear it. You look at your webcam to see your reddened face, covering the bottom half of your face you relish in disbelief. When did this guy get so confident–and flirty?

He lets out a breathy laugh at your reaction, changing the topic so you could collect yourself–which you very much needed. It’s hard when your hyper focused on his presence next to you, every touch electrifying your body in the best, but at the same time–worst way possible.

Jay continues to answer questions, and you stay silent, watching him talk all he wants to your viewers. 

He has habits when he talks and explains things. you’ve noticed a few. How fast he blinks for one, blinking at a noticeable rate, sometimes Jay blinks two times instead of one, maybe for variety? How he uses his hands to describe whatever he’s talking about, or to get a point across. How the corners of his mouth spread when he’s thinking of what to say next, or to fill some silence. How he tilts his head trying to catch any of the fast-paced comments–

“Y/n?” 

Oh shit.

“Huh?”

Jay chuckles– something he does a lot around you, eyes crinkling as he rereads the question, “What games are you going to play in future streams?”

You purse your lips, searching your mind to find any answer at all, “Hmm–I don’t know. I was planning on doing some more Minecraft but if you have games, recommend some please!”

He nods, “I want to try that village game, what’s it called?”

“I don’t know?”

The corner of his mouth spreads into a small smile, “Stardew valley! It looks like a cute game.”

user43985 : I NEED TO SEE YNJAY PLAY STARDEW VALLEY STOPPP

popcornpops : lets talk abt how hard they are flirting.. get a room. ( THAT SHOULD BE MEEEE.)

Soobsleftboob : a billion dollars pretty SHUT THE FUCK UPPPP

strawberrylimesoda : do you guys plan on meeting up often?

Hopefully you two do.

“Hey–Jay, can you pass me my waterbottle over there?” You point to the opposite side of the desk. 

He looks over to where you're pointing, replying “Yes, ma’am,” before handing it to you, letting your fingers graze each other.

You were definitely not going to make it through this stream.

☆

back masterlist next

yenqa > hi guys im sosos sorry for no chapters! i dont have a reason i just didnt want to write this lol

taglist (CLOSED): @yeokii @hanniluvi @euncsace @jongsiemain @mrchweeee @fakeuwus @ashy1um @rikisly @filmofhybe @nwjws @yizhoutv @soov @tocupid @tzke1ta @yannew @manooffline @mars101 @haechansbbg @enhaz1 @teddywonss @en-happiness @kim2005bomi @sunooscheeks @luvswonyoung @flwoie @lilriswife4life @nicholasluvbot @ikeusol @lylovw @alwayswook @astrae4 @choi-beomgyulvr @aishigrey @infpistj @jiawji @planethyuka @mari-oclock @222brainrot @jakevascaino @rory-cant-sleep @hyehae @vixensss @hearts4hanni @kgneptun @tongtongie @www-jungwon @lovejunz @fluerz @jiyeons-closet @nyuzip @leehanist @heerinnie @eneiyri

yenqa © please do not copy, steal or translate.

[primussavethesemechs]

I want the human/cybertronian life difference to be talked about more in canon

Cuz I mean. it’s RIGHT THERE.

Just a smidgen of true acknowledgment I BEG YOU HASBRO‼️

i mean come on all it takes is someone mentioning how long the wars been going for one of the humans to go “4 MILLION YEARS???? WHAT THE FUCK HOW OLD ARE YOU???”

And optimus or ratchet to be like “…5/7 million?” And all of the humans to have a break down CUZ WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOUVE BEEN ALIVE SINCE BEFORE THE HUMAN SPECIES EXISTED??? WE WERE MONKEYS WHEN YOU WERE BORN???

And the (woefully uniformed) cybertronians to be like “??? What do YOU mean your species was still evolving when I onlined, how long do you guys live?? A thousand?? A few hundred??”

And the gobsmacked humans to be like “??? NO WE HARDLY LIVE OVER A HUNDRED ITS CONSIDERED AN ACCOMPLISHMENT?? AVERAGE OLD AGE DEATH IS LIKE MID 80s!! TECHNICALLY THE AVERAGE LIFE SPAN IS 72 OR SOMETHING???”

Cue the autobots being like “😨 72??? THATS A CHILD WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT⁉️”

the more attached/emotional bots looking at their charges and realizing that not only are they sparklings compared to them but they’ll die as sparklings too in just a few decades, causing them to straight up have a mini meltdown.

Yeah they’re in a war and they’ve lost plenty of friends, but never to anything as predictable and inescapable as old age.

It’s the seeing-it-coming part that gets to them, the slow dread of knowing that even if they do everything right and keep them out of danger and they stay healthy there’s nothing they can do to stop them from withering away in a couple of decades.

Most versions of bumblebee looking at their charge/friend and realizing his assumptions about the fact that since they’re both still young that they’ll have plenty of time to just. Live together and have fun- are wrong?? Immediately tears. Even if cybertronians can’t cry tears he’s doing whatever the equivalent is and running away to cry in his room. And then running back to snatch them and take them with him cuz HE CANT WASTE A SECOND IF THEIR LIFESPANS ARE REALLY THAT SHORT HES GONNA JUST HAVE TO SPEND 24/7 WITH THEM

This whole concept ESPECIALLY applies to TFP since all of them got their own little human buddy and there’s only like 5 autobots to begin with (of the main season 1 crew) they’ve lost so many of their own so recently, their numbers are already dwindling down to nothing, they’re losing the war and the kids are what’s given them a major morale boost. To continue fighting they need hope, and the kids have kind of become their hope for the future- to know they’ll die off in under a century despite how young they still are is a shot to the spark.

Look me in the eye and tell me bee wouldnt panic hearing that Raf only has 70-80 years to live. LOOK ME IN THE EYE AND TELL ME HE WOULDNT HAVE SOME KIND OF FIT OVER BEING TOLD THAT HIS LITTLE BUDDY (from a cybertronian perspective) HAS A LIFESPAN EQUIVALENT TO A LATE STAGE TERMINAL ILLNESS DIAGNOSIS. Bee would start treating Raf like a kid with stage 4 cancer 😭

I just KNOW bulkhead would have the worst reaction other than bee, maybe even worse cuz he looks at miko and realizes she’s used up basically a fifth of her entire lifespan already and she’s Still So Little and straight up starts weeping. That’s his DAUGHTER you can’t take her from him so soon it’s not FAIR! He might have to go destroy a canyon wall or something to let some of the anger and grief out

Arcee is Not taking it well either.

She JUST got attached to this one, just got used to a new partner and your telling her that no matter what she does he’s never going to last as long as tailgate of cliff jumper did?? Even if both he and she do everything they’re supposed to do to protect him and extended his life?? Depression time baby

Optimus and ratchet don’t react as much outwardly to the news as the others but inside they’re both 💔💥

These kids have brought optimus a level of contentment he hasn’t felt in vorns, and he sees how bright their spirits shine- Only to now know those precious spirits will burn out in less than a century- it gnaws at him inside, yet another strike from the cruelty of fate

Ratchet is devastated but refuses to acknowledge it, these kids- yes even miko- have become his pseudo grandkids and he’s not ready, nor will he ever be ready, to outlive them. Jacks reminds him too much of a younger optimus, still learning and still hopeful. Miko is… well she has a fire to her that ratchet can appreciate (when she’s not actively annoying him) she’s determined enough to make anything happen which he does begrudgingly respect even if he wishes she wouldn’t just throw herself into any and every situation just for fun.

And Raf…

Raf is his apprentice, the only one of the kids to understand him and listen intently to his stories of cybertron. To show appreciation for his work and his ideas, to Listen and Learn and Improve his inventions. He harbors the most fondness for Raf since he sees so much potential in him, and has taken him under his wing in teaching him cybertronian language and biology.

He feels almost like he’s training a student to take his place- only for the ground to be ripped out from under him to know that Raf will never have the chance to succeed him, will never even outlive him.

A parent should never have to bury their child, and ratchet already feels that he has.

-

TLDR the autobots find out humans have fruit fly lifespans next to them and become one big soggy mess of tears, optimus and ratchet included although they try to have a stiff upper lip about it (and fail to varying extents)

I swear this was supposed to be about any and all continuities but TFP took over completely😭 idk it just fits the best since they focus so much on how attached the bots get to the kids

Edit: btw this was inspired from the fact I found out that the cybertronian equivalent to a year (yes I know technically they have solar cycles which are roughly a human year but what they consider a year vs their lifespan/time perception is different) is a vorn. A vorn is 80 HUMAN YEARS. I saw that and went “oh wow a vorn is like a whole human lifespan!😃” and then I went “OH A VORN IS A WHOLE HUMAN LIFESPAN 😀“

[coconutcordiale]

do not disturb

pairing- jake 'hangman' seresin x female!reader (no use of y/n)

synopsis-

“It’s one hundred degrees in this room,” Hangman defends himself. “I can’t sleep in pants, I’ll die.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, considering just sleeping in the hallway yourself and ending this torture. “Is your penchant for drama genetic? Are your sisters like this too?”

warnings- 18+ only minors DNI, what's a plot never met her, explicit protected piv sex, lil corruption/innocence kink, choking (pls look up the correct way before doing it), hangman's dirty mouth, size kink (if jake doesn't have a big dick I'm staging a revolt), brat tamer hangman if you squint, inexperienced ish reader (tried but I'm a hoe so idk if I managed it), no kink negotiation here (talk to your partners first irl), safewords not explicitly stated but I promise this is consensual af, excessive pet names, exasperated sleepy friends to lovers

length- 4k this was supposed to be like 1k I don't know blame hangman

an- this is just smut w lil fluff sprinkles. i'm a hangman girl (read: I'm obsessed with glen powell) so I felt some type of way about being mean to him in tailspin & that's why this now exists. also idfk what this even is sorry! hope it's not terrible ok ily bye

Technically, it’s the middle of the night. 

That’s why you’re burying homicidal urges when you hear knocking on your hotel room door. 

Urges that increase tenfold when you open it to see Jake Seresin, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly in an old Navy shirt that looks way too soft for your sleep addled brain to deal with right now. 

“Hangman,” you greet drily. “Why the fuck.”

Rubbing sleep from your eyes, you’re not unhappy to see him, per se, but it’s well past acceptable social hours. He’ll have to forgive your less than enthusiastic welcome. Part of you thinks you might still be sleeping.

He at least has the decency to look sheepish for waking you up. Well, about as sheepish as Hangman is capable of looking. “Coyote said he was bringing someone back to our room. Can I crash with you tonight? Everyone else is either hooking up or dead asleep.”

Fucking weddings. 

You narrow your eyes. “What if I have someone here?”

He smirks and you kind of want to slap him. 

A testament to your willpower, you sigh instead, briefly wondering if it’s really that bad to force him to sleep in the hallway, before opening the door and stepping to the side. 

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he drawls, letting you feel the heat of his body as he passes by you, just a touch too close for comfort.

“Cool pjs.” He smirks again, raking his eyes up and down your colorful matching shorts and shirt set. 

“Bite me.”

Hangman smiles good-naturedly causing you to idly wonder if anything has ever bothered him in his entire life. 

“You’re real cute when you’re tired,” he says instead of being offended and now you’re debating if you actually should slap him, or maybe yourself for the way his compliment brings heat to your cheeks. 

“Where’s Phoenix? Thought you were sharing a room with her this weekend.”

Your stomach drops as you consider that Phoenix might be why he came to crash in your room, and you try not to make a face at its betrayal. 

“She’s probably in your room with Coyote,” you deadpan to cover up your discomfort, and then relish in the way his mouth drops open in surprise. “Christ, aren’t you supposed to be smart, Hangman? I’m kidding, she met someone at the reception.”

You know you’re being a little more abrasive with him than normal, but you can’t quite help the jabs that come out when you’re feeling uneasy. 

And Hangman does nothing, if not make you very, very uneasy. Especially like this, with his blonde hair soft and flopping all over his forehead, that old t-shirt clearly having been shrunk in the wash over the years straining across his chest, riding up a little high above his sweatpants. 

The gears are clearly turning in his head, no doubt forming something witty to gain back the slight upper hand you’ve gained in this verbal sparring. 

You should be preparing yourself for whatever he’s about to say that’s sure to make you lose your footing. But he looks like a goddamn sleepwear model like this, mellow and soft and cuddly, eyes drooping a little from tiredness and the whiskey he was sipping on all night, clothes begging to have someone’s hands fisted in them and…okay. Stopping that train of thought right the fuck now.

Nothing but danger lies down that road with a girl like you and a guy like Hangman.

You’re contemplating if you could get away with taking a cold shower when he finally looks around your room, its distinct lack of two beds apparently killing whatever comeback he had on the tip of his tongue. 

“I can sleep on the floor.” He’s rubbing the back of his neck again and his uncharacteristic awkwardness is starting to make your skin itch. 

Message received, Hangman. We both know I’m not your type.

You’ve seen the girls he usually goes home with. Even if every single one of them wasn’t annoyingly beautiful, you already know where you stand with him. For all intents and purposes, you’re just another one of the guys. Sure, you don’t take a different conquest home every other night like the rest of them, but you banter and compete with them like buddies. 

And since you and Hangman are just buddies, you roll your eyes for appearances. “Just get in the bed, Seresin. It’s huge, I’m not going to make you sleep on the floor.”

He shrugs, like he’s giving himself credit for his half-assed offer and goes to pull his sweatpants off. You give him a withering look of disbelief, studiously avoiding looking at the way his boxers stretch over his muscular thighs. 

“It’s one hundred degrees in this room,” Hangman defends himself. “I can’t sleep in pants, I’ll die.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, considering just sleeping in the hallway yourself and ending this torture. “Is your penchant for drama genetic? Are your sisters like this too?”

He just gives you a dazzling smile in response, and you spin away from him before everything inside you melts. 

Turning the thermostat down, you shoot an evident you’re welcome stare in his direction, but his sweatpants remain in their place on the floor. He’s laid out on the bed, all tanned skin and muscle, arms crossed behind his head in a way that’s surely meant to draw your attention straight to his biceps. 

Deep breath, you tell yourself. You can do this, just lay down on the other side and don’t be weird. 

You get in and pull the covers tight, hoping the shiver that runs through you as the air conditioning kicks on isn’t noticeable. 

“And I’m dramatic,” Jake huffs, getting under the blanket and rolling closer to you. You tense, merely out of reflex and a frown creases his eyebrows almost imperceptibly before he gets comfortable on his side, pulls you into his arms. “Relax, sugar. Just trying to keep you warm, since you’re always so cold. Been told I’m like a furnace.”

By who?  You want to snap at him, but instead you swallow the words and lean into his chest. He really is warm. 

“Would never do anything you don’t want me to,” he mumbles, but there’s a trace of a chuckle in his voice that feels like he’s making fun of you.

Mocking aside, that's definitely true.

You'd never expect him to do any of the things you want him to, either. There's a reason your apprehension stems from you crossing some sort of invisible line with him in your bed and not vice versa.

"I know," you whisper, not trusting yourself to say much else without divulging all the thoughts about him you've buried deep under your comforter at home.

“How come you didn’t ask anyone else to come up and keep you warm?” Jake teases, after a few moments of silence where you were busy focusing on the whirr of the air conditioner and trying to ignore your pounding heart. 

You squint, still kind of wondering if he can feel your pulse racing. 

“The curly haired guy, from the wedding,” he supplies helpfully to answer your confused expression.

Oh. You’re surprised Jake noticed you talking to him at all. “It’s not like I wanted to sleep with him. We were just chatting.” 

“Well, he definitely wanted to.” You’d love to imagine there’s a hint of bitterness in his tone, but you know that’s just wishful thinking.

“That’s not really my thing,” you say quietly, as if he doesn’t already know. He knew enough to know you wouldn’t have anyone up here with you, after all.

It’s so much easier, laying here in the dark, not having to meet his beautiful green eyes, to be honest. All your jabs having melted into smooth, silky edges at the warmth of his body.

There’s a playful lilt to Jake’s voice again. “Sex?”

You smack him lightly on the chest. “One-night stands. I can never get comfortable enough with a stranger to have a good time, things are just better for me when it’s more involved.”

When there’s feelings, you don’t say, because you’re pretty sure he can put two and two together without you having to spell it out.

You still kind of wish you hadn’t said anything, are kicking yourself for admitting that out loud when he cuts through the anxiety of your internal monologue.

“Nothing wrong with knowing what you want, darlin’.”

“It sucks sometimes,” you admit. “It can be a little lonely.”

“Better than being with the wrong person if it’s just going to make you feel bad.”

Part of you wants to roll your eyes and scoff at him, as if Casanova Jake Seresin has any idea what that feels like, but he’s rubbing small, comforting circles in between your shoulder blades and it’s short-circuiting your brain. You find yourself running your fingers up his spine instead, playing with the soft threads of his t-shirt like you’ve wanted to since the moment you saw him at your door tonight.

“Feels nice,” he comments, pulling you in closer.

Spurred on by his praise you keep going, wandering down his back to where his shirt rides up. You look down and see that little strip of blonde hair that disappears into the waistband of his boxers, slung low enough that you can see that stupid Adonis belt on his abs. Your hand moves to the front of him of its own accord, tracing the ridges there, brushing dangerously close to the strip of elastic at the top.

Jake’s arm pops up so he can support his head with his hand, looking down at you imploringly. “What’re you playing at, sugar?”

You take your hand back like it’s been burned, cheeks suddenly hot as you realize you’d gotten carried away. “I’m sorry, I just—I didn’t think about what I was doing. Got distracted.”

He’s definitely smirking, you can practically feel it in the air above you, but you’re sure as hell not going to look up and see that self-important grin for yourself.

He pulls your fingers back to his stomach, and you can’t help but immediately brush them over his happy trail. The dusting of blonde hair surprises you a little, having expected Hangman to be too vain to leave any hair around that might distract from his physique.

You’re silently wondering if he has any hair on his chest when he catches a finger under your chin, forcing you to look up at him. You see his green eyes darkened, studying your face for something. You’re not entirely sure what.

Apparently finding what they’re looking for his expression softens, the hand supporting his head going to brush hair away from your face and you break eye contact, feeling small under his undivided attention. His fingers hover for a second, like he wants to do something more, but go to rest on your pillow instead.

“Thought that I had you pegged wrong all along for a second there, using lines to get in my pants. That’s not really my thing,” he mimics, smile twitching at the edges of his lips.

“Oh, I’m—Jake, I’m not—” you stutter, certain you must be bright red now. Your fingers are playing with the hem of his t-shirt, nervous and fidgety energy working to get released.

I’m not like this, you want to say. I’m not like you.

He exhales audibly, looking down at you, at the cherry blooming on your cheeks, at where your dainty fingers pluck at his shirt. His hand clenches once in the pillow above your head, knuckles practically white, before releasing.

“I know, sweets, was only joking. Fuck, I get that you’re a good girl,” he breathes, strained like he’s barely holding it together. “S’why I always want to ruin you.”

What.

Everything inside your mind shuts off.

All you can hear is the humming of the air conditioner, the slow intake of air into his lungs. Something inside you clenches.

You’re fairly certain a sound that closely resembles a whimper breaks from your throat, but you can’t know for sure, since all thoughts have been erased from your brain.

You hear him suck in a sharp breath, breathing in and out evenly for a couple seconds, regaining control, before he speaks again. “Sorry, sweetheart. Shouldn’t have said that. I won’t, told you I’d never do anything you don’t want.”

You already know that. That’s not the problem. The problem is how many nights you’ve already spent wishing his fingers were on you instead of your own. How many nights you've spent biting back his name, too embarrassed to let your lips form the syllables of someone who you were certain didn’t want you.

Now, though, those walls of certainty seem to be crumbling at every edge. 

“What if I want you to?” You ask quietly, barely above a whisper. It almost gets stuck in your throat, but you force your lips to form those words and let them leave your lungs.

Jake’s entire body goes tense.

But then he rolls over, putting you on your back and caging you in with his arms.

“You mean that?” He’s looking at you intensely, so intensely you might be frightened if you weren’t distracted by the weight of him on top of you, by every single scorching point of contact between you. 

All you can manage is a nod, eyes starting to glaze over as he fills every inch of your vision.

He chuckles. “Guess that’s a yes.”

Jake ducks his head to kiss you, it’s sweet, sweeter than you ever would’ve expected from him. Sweeter than you thought it would be when you were hiding beneath the sheets in your bed, with your fingers on your clit, choking back his name. 

But then he slides his tongue past your lips, deepening the kiss as he tangles a hand in your hair, tugging hard enough to make you moan straight into his mouth. His lips move down to ghost over your neck, across your jaw. 

And suddenly his words are hot in your ear. “What do you want, sweetheart? Want me to ruin you? Tell you about all the times I’ve thought about taking you apart?”

Your thighs clench together, heat blooming in your stomach and you notice, all at once, how wet you really are, slick pooling between your thighs under the wispy material of your sleep shorts. 

You open your mouth to say yes, desperately trying to find your voice, to find your familiar jabs so you can go toe to toe with him like normal, but all that comes out is a squeak. 

His hand stops at your neck, just briefly, thumb rubbing on your pulse point. And it turns every last bit of you in you to sweet, sticky, melting caramel. Your breath hitches, you suck your bottom lip between your teeth, holding back a whimper.

He’s not even doing anything, not really, but your mind immediately latches onto what he could be.

Jake’s eyes go wide for just a second before something wicked glints in the thin ring of green left.

“Thought you were so fucking innocent,” he grunts, running his thumb from your pulse point to your jaw and back again. You bring your hands to his, pulling him closer, silently asking him to press down.

You open your mouth to respond, but you don’t know how to explain. You may not do this kind of thing a lot, but you know what you like. Your imagination has certainly run wild enough times.

But any words that might’ve been readying themselves to leave your lips wither into nothing the moment he squeezes your neck.

“Jake,” you gasp, words breathy underneath the fingers around your throat. “Jake, I…”

“Hmm, what’s that, sweetheart?” His hand relents a little so you can answer, but you immediately wish he’d tighten his hold again.

“Yes, Jake,” you whine. “I want you to ruin me.”

And you don’t know what’s come over you, if you were even an ounce more present in your own body you’d probably be embarrassed.

But Jake’s head drops next to his hand at the crook of your neck, and he makes a strangled noise, the moan reverberating through your skin. 

“Jesus,” he mutters against you. “Trying to kill me, sugar?”

You don’t have an answer for that because you’re not trying to do anything, you just want more.

Your fingers are still grasping his hand, the one still around your neck, tightly, like you’re scared he’ll pull it away, leave you to drift without his grip to ground you, to remind you this moment is real. It’s actually happening. 

He lifts his head up to latch his mouth onto yours again and it’s heavier, so much more desperate than before. You whine into him as he slides his hands down your body, pushing up your shirt and you want to laugh at the absurdity of it, that you’re more turned on than you’ve ever been in your entire life and you’re both still fully clothed. 

He peels your shirt up and over your head, letting out another obscene groan at the sight of your bare chest. 

“Fucking perfect,” he murmurs. 

You fist your hands in his shirt in answer, tugging upwards, figuring fair is fair. You’re trying hard not to blush, not to show how his approval makes you light and fuzzy. He grins and sits back on his knees, pulling his shirt up and over his head, ruffling his floppy hair in the process. 

Lips parting unconsciously, your tongue flicks out to wet them. You knew he was built, but it’s overwhelming, really, to have all that tan skin on display just inches from your face. You get to run your hands up the length of his entire chest now though, leaning up so your fingers can dance through the tuft of blonde hair near the top.

Jake pushes you down on your back, firm, into the pillows. Smiling deviously when you pout and immediately clench your fingers in the sheets beside you, when your thighs press together, seeking some sort of relief to the ache between them. The seam of your shorts presses just right against your center, and you let your head fall back with a soft moan. 

Something akin to dangerous flashes in Jake’s eyes, as he hooks his fingers in your shorts, pulling down in one swift motion and tossing them off the bed before you can gain any more pleasure from the thin material. He pushes your legs apart and groans at the sight of you, glistening wet for him. “God, sweetheart, look at you.”

Just when you think you might die if he doesn’t put his hands on you, if he doesn’t touch you, if he just keeps looking at you like that, like he wants to devour you; he swipes a finger up your slit, tip pressing lightly, teasingly against your bundle of nerves. It’s too much, but not enough all at the same time. He slides a finger in, curling it exactly right on the first try and you can’t help but keen, throwing your head back into the pillows.  

He sucks in a sharp breath at your reaction, eyelids going heavy as he presses rough figure eights on your clit. “Want to get my mouth on you, get my tongue inside that gorgeous pussy, but I can’t wait, darlin’, been thinking about this for too long.” 

Warmth blooms in your chest at the realization he might’ve imagined this even half as much as you have. You’re sure you’re smiling like an idiot. 

Reaching down to the pocket of his sweatpants, he pulls a condom out of his wallet, and you want to tease him, presumptuous much? But any semblance of thought goes out the window when he pulls his boxers down, hard cock slapping against his stomach. Your mouth is suddenly, immediately sandpaper dry. 

Fuck.

Of course he’s huge. No one with an ego as colossal as his doesn’t have a reason, or several to back it up.

You don’t even hear yourself saying it out loud, don’t even realize the curses forming on your tongue, until he grins, eyebrow raised, chest puffed out in pride. “Think you can handle me, sweetheart?”

It takes you a few moments to answer, to figure out that you should answer, since you’re transfixed on him, on the strong fingers rolling the condom onto his length. If you had any sense of self-preservation at all you might be genuinely worried about his question, about not being able to walk tomorrow. 

Hopefully you don’t sound as winded as you feel when you tell him to shut the fuck up. 

Before you can bother with any stupid survival instincts, you’re pulling him down on top of you, wrapping your legs around his waist, savoring the grunt it draws from him as his tip reaches your folds.

“Love it when you’re mouthy, darlin’, nice little challenge for me,” he promises, before pushing himself inside of you. 

He goes slow, tortuously slow, and you screw your eyes shut tight as your walls flutter trying to adjust to him. You don’t notice you’re on the verge of a sob until he brushes your hair back from your sweaty forehead. “Just a little more, sweetheart, you can take it.”

The stretch of him seems to go on forever, just on this side of agonizing, but way too good for you to care about the pain, too good to be real and you can barely focus on anything else. Can barely hear Jake’s molten honey voice repeating a slew of continuous praises in your ear, can barely register the weight of his body covering every inch of you. 

Any moment now you’ll wake up in your bed at home, covered in sweat, grinding into your bed, achingly alone. You’re almost certain of it.  

But then you feel his lips on yours again, hand holding your cheek, gentle, affectionate as he bottoms out. When he finally moves, the heavy, slick pull of him in and out of you reminds you that you’re here. 

You don’t even recognize yourself, mewling, long string of unintelligible noises tumbling from your lips. 

Jake practically preens. “Where’d my feisty little brat go? That all it takes to shut you up, sugar?”

You can only hope those were rhetorical questions because he’s hiking your legs over his shoulders, picking up the pace, new angle hitting that spot deep inside you again and again, and you can’t form a single thought, let alone words. 

Jake’s fingers find your center again and press against your clit in heavy, decisive circles, winding that coil in you tighter and tighter. 

“So close,” you whimper, fingers tearing at the bedsheets.

He smirks. 

“Did I say you could come, sweetheart?”

Your jaw drops in surprise, eyes rolling back and ears ringing, mind engulfed in the heat burning in your belly. 

He’s still grinning smugly as one of those large hands comes back to your neck. 

You whine, high-pitched and breathless, eyes fluttering closed, gripping the hand around your neck as he applies pressure, desperate for something to hold onto, and you think you’re trying to form words, some of them may even be making it out of your mouth, something along the lines of please please please, let me come, Jake, I can’t, JakeJakeJakeJake…

“So pretty all fucked out like this, stretched around my cock.” His gaze is fixed on where he’s plunging in and out of you, tone almost reverent. “It’s okay, sweetheart, come for me, wanna feel you, want…”

You don’t hear the rest because you’re focused on where his fingers dig into the sides of your neck, tipping over the edge, string of lights inside of you tangled and blowing a fuse. Everything bursts all at once and you’re clutching Jake’s arms so hard you’re positive you’re leaving marks, but it doesn’t matter, you don’t care because you’re in a free fall, toes curling in bliss. 

When you come to, you’re just barely aware of his pace growing erratic, hand on your throat loosening as it goes to brush your sweaty hair back from your forehead. His thrusts are getting shallower, mouth spewing a litany of jumbled praises so tight, so wet, so perfect baby, when suddenly he’s arching over you, hands tight on your hips as he empties into the condom. 

You’re not sure you’re still functioning. You’re not sure you’ll ever move again. You’re pretty sure you’ll ever have a coherent thought again.

Distantly you can hear his heavy breathing, feel his weight on top of you but you don’t fully register it. 

“Sweetheart?” He asks when you’ve been silent for minutes, or maybe hours, who knows. 

You look up at him, blinking slowly, eyelids made of lead, vision unfocused.

Jake grins, and it's almost boyish. It's annoyingly cute. “That good?” 

That cuts through the haze enough that you kind of want to slap him, for the arrogance littering those three little words. Or yourself, for helping his ego grow any bigger. 

As it stands, you’re too dazed to actually do either. You nod, silently burrowing your face into his neck. He chuckles again, and you decide maybe you don’t hate that teasing sound that much, maybe you’ll spend your days trying to elicit it from him as often as possible. You’re still thinking about it when he peels himself off you to clean you both up. 

When he settles back down, he pulls you in tight, curls around you in a way that should be uncomfortable, like he’d crawl inside your skin if he could. 

+

Jake is still glued to you when you wake up in the morning, and your heart clenches too affectionately to be irritated by the fact that you can’t really move. Or breathe. 

But you take one look at the smirk on his face, the mischievous glimmer that seems to linger even in his sleep and the butterflies in your stomach turn to stone.

You don’t think he’s that much of an asshole, you’re pretty sure the bravado is all a front. That he wouldn’t do something like this, knowing how you operate, without any intention of moving forward, but the anxiety still thrums incessantly beneath your ribcage.

You’re lost inside your own head, fighting the panic rising in your chest when he yawns, rubbing his eyes before tucking himself back into your side, impossibly closer.  

“Guess that fifty bucks I gave Phoenix to find somewhere else to stay was a steal,” he mumbles, fingers dancing across your bare skin. 

It’s his turn to pat himself on the back as your mouth drops open in shock. 

Jake grins, eyes sparkling as he presses a kiss into your hair. “Good luck getting rid of me now.”

[three-penguins-in-a-trench-coat]

Memory in Stardew Valley is kinda fucked

So, memory in Stardew Valley is almost like a tangible thing, and I wanna talk about it. I mean technically speaking, you can sell it, trade it, swap it, bop it, twist it and so on and so forth. Why do I wanna talk about it? Because I have no social life and the only thing I can feel is the rage of my ancestors as I harvest yet another batch of ancient fruit wine.

Most people know about the Dark Shrine of Memory, the fun statue that wipes your ex's memories for a quick buck. Now that's pretty neat and all, but I think this leads to further interpretation I'm sure Concerned Ape wouldn't think is relevant but I'm gonna push it.

Someone had to put that statue there. I don't think it's the witch, because she has to shell up 30 big ones every time another thirsty wizard comes along. Also, Rasmodius still has his memories of them, and if I were her I wouldn't want a guy like Razzle-Dazzle thinking about her. And it's probably vice-versa, as the witch still curses the town from time to time to spite the purple-haired goblin.

Mr Qi would be a reasonable guess, especially since you have to pay to use it, and he is known to have several marketing schemes around the place, but this one doesn't feel like him. I think there's another powerful creature out and about, they've stumbled across a way to erase memories and are using it for profit. The witch is just a tool behind the mastermind.

On top of the memory shrine, the Dark Shrine of Selfishness also contains a portion of memory magic. No one remembers the children that disappeared. No one except the farmer. Perhaps some immunity comes with being a fallen god, or perhaps it's simply because they're the ones that paid, so they are cursed to forever remember their sin. Either way, considering the fact that two of the statues directly erase memories, there's something interesting going on.

Another aspect of memories that people don't often think about is resetting days. Now this does reach a fair bit into undertale, but I think it applies pretty well here too. Days can loop over and over again, and no one will remember any of them, except for the Farmer. With the knowledge and foresight of what's happening, the Farmer can escape danger and the villagers know no better. There is perhaps only two other people in Stardew who might have an idea of what's going on. The Witch, and Mr Qi.

The witch is obvious, she has the shrines in her house, but from Mr Qi's dialogue, we can gleam an idea of what he may know.

I got to where I am through the force of pure willpower, kid. You see... The mind is a very powerful tool. In fact, it's the most powerful tool in all of reality... and beyond

“Some things transcend time and space, kid. It's a unique feeling in the heart... a whisper of things beyond.”

Now it could be pretty easy to interpret this a hundred different ways, but I want to link it to memory right now. The specific wording states that Mr Qi might be aware of resetting save files and that memories can be erased. I don't think he can alter other people's memories (though we don't know enough about him to be sure), but he may have found a way to keep his own memories safe.

Perhaps it's even how he found the Farmer. One day, he wakes up again, and he knows it's the same day. This happens sometimes, and he's forced to live the same day twice, three times or even more sometimes. He seeks out the source of the issue and stumbles across the farmer. On the surface, they seem like a regular person, until one day, the day resets again and the Farmer acts like they've done it a thousand times, taking every right move in the mines and getting everything they failed to do in the last attempt.

I think Mr Qi would want to keep an eye on someone like that.

From all of this, I have come to a conclusion. The statues present the idea of memory, but they also show that memory magic can be used to accomplish very specific tasks. We've only seen a few examples, but it wouldn't be much of a stretch to say that memory could be distorted a thousand different ways in Stardew. Perhaps none of the memories you have of your neighbour are real, and they never existed before yesterday. Or your parents actually died when you were three and you were raised by the spirits of hell. You actually have the memories of your best friend who died last week. Who knows?

Nothing is real, reality is an illusion.

[suzukiblu]

New WIP start behind the cut, based off a request from @itty-bitty-fun: “I'd definitely love to see your take on micro/macro”.  . . . you know that thing when a kink is not really your kink and you’re like neutral on its existence, but then, like . . . someone asks you to actually consider it, and then you get way too invested in the process? no reason. asking for a friend.

“This is mortifying,” Kon mutters into his hands, trying not to die of said mortification. 

“Kinda reminds me of my Barbie phase, honestly,” Cassie says with a smirk, offering him the set of doll clothes she just got back from digging up. He glowers disgruntledly up at her, but it’s technically an improvement on the spare ace bandages from Tim’s utility belt that he’s currently wrapped up in. Kon is not actually a self-conscious guy and wouldn’t normally care about anyone seeing him naked, but normally he is two hundred and fifty pounds of half-Kryptonian muscle and not the size of a goddamn Barbie doll, as Cassie has so helpfully and mercilessly seen fit to point out. 

Actually, probably a Barbie doll would be bigger. Like, Kon did not have a “playing with dolls” phase for several very obvious reasons, but he’s pretty sure they’re bigger than he is right now. He’s more, like, action figure-sized. Which, obviously he’d rather be an action figure than a fucking Barbie, given the option, but also Barbies are bigger than action figures, and–and–

Stupid magic.

“You’re really small, wow,” Bart observes as Kon snatches the doll clothes and eyes them sourly. “I bet we could fit you in Tim’s coffee cup. Or maybe even his utility belt. Or maybe–” 

“Shut up, Bart!” Kon snaps, because he really doesn’t like how this feels, actually, and it’s actually kind of freaking him out, and he probably is small enough to fit in Tim’s stupid coffee cup and that’s just not something he really wants to be a thing right now! At all! Or ever! 

Also, the doll clothes are big and shapeless and awkward and came off a stupid cheesy “legally distinct” knockoff Troia doll, which means they’re also sparkly and kind of itch, it turns out, while also being stupidly flimsy and so paper-thin they're practically see-through. He feels like an idiot in them, and doesn’t even wanna think about how stupid he must look. 

Fuck his stupid fucking life. 

Look, Kon’s a big guy, okay? He’s used to being a big guy. Used to being the meat shield and the tank and the one who gets between everybody and the problem. Like this . . . 

What the fuck use is he, like this? 

The spell’s temporary. It’s not permanent or dangerous or anything like that. It’ll be gone by this time tomorrow, if not sooner. 

But it’s not gone yet, and Kon’s no use to anybody like this. 

“Could put you in a dollhouse for the night,” Cassie hums, giving him an amused smile. “Tuck you into bed like a baby doll.” 

“I actually hate you,” he informs her, and she laughs, because she’s the worst. 

“Actually I really like that idea,” Bart says musingly, tapping his mouth. “You grifin’ never let us take care of you.” 

“I still have TTK,” Kon reminds him threateningly, and Bart just cocks his head, looking him over speculatively. 

“So you’re not as strong, but you're still pretty invulnerable?” he asks. 

“Who fucking cares?!” Kon snaps in frustration. He’s still no use right now either way. 

“I just wanna know if we could fuck you like this and not have to worry about hurting you,” Bart replies reasonably, reaching out to stroke a fingertip down his chest. Kon–sputters, kind of, and reflexively recoils from it. 

And also, like. Burns alive, kind of. 

“I–like this?” he sputters. “I'm like, fucking doll-sized, Bart!” 

“Yeah, I know,” Bart agrees. “Like the perfect size to pick up and play with.” 

“Burning alive” is actually not a strong enough phrase for what Kon is doing right now. 

“You already let us dress you up,” Bart points out, poking at the strap of his borrowed clothes. Kon metaphorically vaporizes into atoms and literally dodges away from the poking. 

“I dressed myself,” he says defensively, mortified by the idea of–what exactly does Bart even have in mind? He's not big enough to do anything for any of them. His dick is definitely not big enough to do anything for any of them. Like–how would that even–how would they even–? 

“Hmmm,” Cassie says, and then just puts both her hands around him and picks him up, because she is again the worst, and–well, and then she flips him around, unzips the front of her shirt, and sits him down to recline right on top of her bare cleavage, his head resting back against her breastbone, which is . . . fine, alright. Like–he’ll live with that. Getting snuggled up to a pair of tits big enough to sleep on is not the worst imposition of his life, especially when said tits belong to the most Wonder-ful member of their whole weird nebulously-defined team situationship thing. 

But also, it’s embarrassing, because what the fuck is he supposed to do for her like this? 

[hungermakesmonsters]

Catch Me If You Can

Chapter Seven

Plot summary : When your friend interviews for a position at Anvil, you have a chance encounter with Billy Russo. He takes you for coffee and, by the time you’re done, Billy decides he’s anything but done with you.

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R 

Chapter Rating : PG

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] Billy is a bit of an asshole in this one and briefly restrains reader during an argument. Also he's kind of an entitled douche. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story. 

Word Count : ~2.8k

A/N : Ok, so this chapter and the next chapter technically happen on Halloween (I know, i'm super late with this, it's just how things panned out when I decided to post a chapter a week) Thanks to everyone still following this and for all the likes, comments and reblogs, y'all are awesome!!

CHAPTER ONE | CHAPTER TWO | CHAPTER THREE | CHAPTER FOUR | CHAPTER FIVE | CHAPTER SIX

Chapter Seven

You should have known that it wouldn’t be that easy to get Billy Russo out of your life, not after the night you’d shared together. 

Six days.

That was all it took before he was trying to pull you back in and you hated that you hadn’t expected it. You’d let yourself hope that your one night had been enough, that he’d managed to get you out of his system and he’d be able to move onto whatever woman caught his eye next.

And, you - you’d been trying to forget all about it, about him. You hated leaving him but you knew it was the right thing to do, your life was too messy and you knew that you’d never recover if you let yourself fall for a man like Billy and he broke your heart. You’d done what was best for the both of you, so it pissed you off that Billy didn’t seem to want to accept that.

And it pissed you off even more that he’d decided to use your job against you - a job that he’d never seemed to judge you for, that he was now using to drag you across the city because he wasn’t prepared to take no for an answer. He’d even had the audacity to pre-pay with a two hundred dollar tip, like he thought he could buy you.

By the time you got to Anvil to collect whatever it was Billy wanted you to courier, you were livid. You made your way through the lobby and up to the top floor and, eventually, found yourself in front of the secretary.

“I’m here to collect a package,” you told her.

“Mr Russo wants to hand you it personally,” she answered in a flat tone, waving her hand towards his door, barely looking up from her computer.

“Of course he does,” you sighed, “look, I’m in a rush, can’t you just get it and bring it out here?”

“That’s above my paygrade.” And something told you that that was all you were going to get from her.

So, you did the only thing that you could do; you took a deep breath and stormed into his office. He was sitting at his desk, a takeout coffee and a half eaten bagel in front of him, and when he saw you, he had the nerve to smile.

“One night, Billy, that was the agreement,” you snapped before the door had even finished closing behind you, “We had one night and now it’s done, over.”

He didn’t answer straight away, instead he buzzed the intercom and told his secretary to go get her lunch, presumably so no one would overhear you screaming at him. And, then he stood, smoothing down his suit jacket as he did, looking every bit the businessman with an offer to pitch.

“I want a new agreement,” he stated calmly, rounding his desk and stepping closer, clearing the distance between you. “Nothing is over.”

“And - what? - you think you can buy me now? You think you can just throw a two-hundred dollar tip at me and I’ll fall into bed with you?” You didn’t even try to hold back the anger and the hurt. “Does it make you feel powerful, dragging the poor little bike messenger across town to your big fancy office? Is the money because you want to fuck me or is that supposed to be payment for the other night?”

“That’s not - I didn’t mean to make you feel that way,” the hint of regret in his voice earned him no mercy from you, “I just wanted to see you, the money was so you couldn’t refuse.”

“I don’t want your money, Billy. And, for the record, when a woman sneaks out on you before you wake up, it’s because she’s done with you and doesn’t want to see you again.” You hadn’t come here with the intention of being needlessly cruel, but you needed to make Billy understand that things between you were finished. “When you care about someone you don’t go out of your way to make them feel cheap - Oh, wait, that’s right, you’re not capable of caring about anyone, are you?”

There was a flicker of hurt on his face but he was quick to recover.

“How long was it?” He asked. “How long had you gone without being fucked before me? Years, I’m guessing. You think you can go back to that after a night in my bed?”

“Who says I’m going back to that?” You answered back, and Billy didn’t like it one bit.

“You think you’re gonna find anyone who can make you feel the way I did?” Billy gave a huff of laughter, shaking his head. Some part of you knew he was right, that nothing would ever be like the night you shared, but you were angry and you weren’t going to let him win.

“Guess I’ll just have to find out,” you shrugged and his gaze darkened. “I suggest you do the same, Billy.”

“You think I haven’t tried?” He admitted angrily, and you felt like you’d just been punched in the stomach.

“What?” Rage and pain coiled inside you. Less than a week and he’d already tried to replace you. How long had it taken to fall into bed with the next one? You hated yourself for even daring to wonder. You wanted this, you wanted him to move on, but you never expected it to hurt so much. “So you dragged me here to tell me how much you want me after you’ve been fucking other women?”

“I didn’t fuck anyone. I couldn’t because of you,” and you could see just how angry that made him. “D’you think I want to feel like this? That I want to be stuck on the one woman in New York who doesn’t want me? Who doesn’t even want to use me? Have you got any idea how fucked up and broken you make me feel?”

There was a painful honesty in his words, something that he clearly saw as a weakness that needed to be overcome.

“You want to talk about feeling fucked up and broken, Billy? I told you from the start that I couldn’t do this, but you pushed and pushed until you got your way.” Your voice broke, betraying your pain, eyes desperately blinking as you tried to fight back tears. “You turned my whole fucking life upside down and now - now you’re telling me you only want me because you can’t fuck anyone else?”

Something in him seemed to break in that moment and whatever anger he’d been feeling washed away. He reached for you, fingers ghosting your cheek before you pulled away.

“Let me -”

“No, Billy. This has to stop, you have to let me move on.”

“No.”

“It’s not your choice to make.”

He took a breath and, for a second, he looked like he was going to relent. But, of course, he didn’t.

“So, that’s it? You’re gonna go fuck some random guy just to try and prove to yourself that you don’t want me as much as I want you?” His sharp tone was quick to return. “You’re gonna let some guy use you just to make a point?”

“If that’s what it takes, I -”

“Bullshit,” he shook his head, “we both know that’s not gonna happen.”

Were you really that predictable, that easy to read? Probably. He’d seen you panic, afterall. No. No. Billy-fucking-Russo didn’t get to dictate what you did or how you felt. You weren’t going to give him that power over you. No one got to have that power over you. Never Again.

Anger had you reaching out, slapping him before shoving him backwards, knocking him off balance. And, after that first stumble, you found yourself lashing out again and again, pushing Billy back across his office, and you didn’t stop until he made you. He took hold of your wrists, stopping you from pushing again.

“Fuck you!” You all but snarled at him as you struggled against his grip.

“That’s exactly what I’m asking you to do, sweetheart,” he answered back, tone matching yours.

“I’ll fuck whoever I want, Billy, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

He gave a sharp tug on your wrists, pulling your body against his.

“I told you before; you’ve got no idea what I’m capable of. I won’t let you” He was right, you didn’t, but you found yourself remembering what Krista told you, that he was dangerous. And you started to think that maybe she was right afterall.

“You can’t stop me.” All the while, trying to pull yourself from his grip.

“Yes I can. You’re mine and I don’t let anyone touch what’s mine, sweetheart.”

“I’m not yours,” and that was when the panic started to set it. You thrashed against his hold on you, lashing out and trying to knee him in the balls. He angled himself away from you, twisting your arms and managing to turn you so your back was pressed against him.

All you could think was that he’d never let you go, that this would be your life now, completely at his mercy. You’d have to leave New York to get away from him, you’d have to uproot your whole life again. He held tight, even as your feet lifted off the ground, kicking out as you struggled, desperate to get away from him.

“Let go!” The tears that you’d been trying to hold back soon started to fall.

“Not until you calm down,” you hated the concern in his voice - he didn’t get to worry about you, not when he was doing this. “You’re gonna hurt yourself.”

“You’re hurting me!” You cried out in a strangled sob.

Billy let go of you suddenly and pulled away from you, realising that he’d fucked up. You took a few steps forward before you dared to turn back to him, and he looked broken, devastated by what he’d done. When you said he was hurting you, you meant in general, you meant the ache he caused in your chest, but Billy was looking at you terrified, like he’d done even more than that. For reasons you didn’t understand, it made your heart ache to see him like that.

“I didn’t -” he tried but there weren’t any words. Billy knew that he’d crossed a line, that he’d really fucked up. “I wasn’t trying to -”

“Just - just stop,” you finally managed, a hand clumsily trying to wipe away your tears.

“I can’t,” barely able to bring himself to look at you, “I don’t know what I did wrong. What was so bad that you can’t even bear to see me again? I don’t know how I fucked this up, you just left me and I don’t know why...”

“I -”

You hated that he was right, that you hadn’t even tried to see any of this from his point of view. This all could have been avoided if you’d done things a little differently; all the times you chose not to remind him it was just for a night, the way you’d slipped out without saying goodbye. How had he felt waking up to find you gone after the amazing night you’d shared? You hadn’t thought about it. Leaving him had been hard enough but, after everything, the least you could have done was leave a note.

What had been on his mind that night when he fell asleep wrapped around you? Had he dared to hope that he could convince you to stay? 

“What did I do?” He asked again. 

Nothing. Your night together had been perfect and it had meant so much to you.

“I thought you had a good time with me.”

“I did, but it was one night, Billy. I left because it was over.” You wanted to at least give him that, to let him know that it wasn’t him.

“It’s not over, not for me.” He dared to take a step forward, and you took a step back. The pain on his face was unbearable and it felt like everything you said only made it worse.

“It’s not a discussion, Billy. I told you this couldn’t go anywhere.” You took a few more steps, not stopping until you were by the door. “Don’t do this again. Just leave me alone. I’m not going to change my mind.”

“Yes you will.” Spoken like there wasn’t a single doubt in his mind.

“Goodbye, Billy.” You shook your head as you pulled the door open, not daring to look back, not daring to say anything else; you needed it to be over, you needed to get away from him. Thankfully, he let you leave without any fuss. But, as you made your way to the elevator and out of the Anvil building, his words kept replaying in your mind, and the more you thought about it, the angrier you got; the fact that he’d tried to move on so quickly while he thought you’d be stuck on him forever, the way he’d dared call you his when he didn’t even know you.

You finally managed to choke back your tears in the elevators and, by the time you were outside, you had your phone in your hand, texting Tammy - she’d mentioned a Halloween night out with some of Anvil’s new recruits and, suddenly, you were very interested in a night on the town. You were going to go out and you were going to prove Billy wrong.

But, you didn’t have anything to wear and that meant borrowing one of Tammy’s old Halloween outfits, all of which came with the prefix sexy. Of course you very quickly ruled out sexy nun, sexy nurse and sexy cop. And that left you with a sexy catwoman costume, consisting of a faux-leather bodysuit, cut a little low at the front, but it had long sleeves and came with a mask, so you could at least hide just how embarrassed you were. You managed to cover yourself up a little more with fishnet tights, a pair of knee high boots and a leather jacket.

At the start of the night Tammy was full of questions, wanting to know what had happened with you and Billy, and if it was going to affect her position at Anvil in any way. She knew that you’d spent the night with him, but that you’d snuck back into the apartment before six am. But, fortunately for you, once other people started showing up at the bar she lost interest in you. 

You started out in a little bar, drinking vodka and Redbull, and shots of tequila every time one was placed in front of you. Over a dozen people turned up, mostly Anvil trainee’s but a few of the office staff who worked with Tammy too. Including Michelle. But, aside from throwing you a shitty look, she stayed away, too distracted by the attention she was getting for her costume; a strapless white bodysuit, shirt cuffs, and bunny ears. It wasn’t long before the phones started coming out and people started taking pictures. You stayed in the background, enjoying your drink until it was time to move on to the club.

Before leaving the bar, you decided to dip into the bathroom, needing a moment to think about what you really wanted. Part of you just wanted to go home; you didn’t want to hook up with some random guy just to prove a point, but what other choice did you have? How else could you get Billy to finally let you go?

“I can’t believe Billy took her to the gala and not you,” the voice sounded vaguely familiar, one of Tammy’s friends. You froze, knowing that they were talking about you.

“He probably just wanted an easy lay,” Michelle. You held your breath, not even daring to move, even though some part of you wanted to storm out of the cubical and confront her. “But, tonight’s the night, I’m going to show Billy Russo just what he’s been missing out on.”

“He’s coming to the club?”

Fuck. 

“Look what I sent him,” you heard shuffling and remained completely silent, trying to figure out what was going on.

“Oh my God, you sent him a thirst trap and he fell for it.” They both laughed, finishing up whatever they’d been doing at the sink, their voices getting further away as they finally left the bathroom.

You didn’t know whether to laugh or cry - after everything he’d told you, all it had taken was a picture of Michelle to have him moving on. Was he doing it to hurt you, you wondered. He knew how it had made you feel seeing him with her in your apartment. But, that was ridiculous. Billy didn’t even know that you were there. And you realised you could turn that to your advantage; if he saw you leave with another man, he’d have to admit that it was over between you...

CHAPTER EIGHT

END NOTES : With this one being a Halloween chapter, I decided to post it a little earlier than usual and will probably post the next part within the next week before we get too close to Christmas (and also because then hopefully the chapters that are set at Christmas will be posted at an appropriate time). Also I'm sorry everyone was so shitty to reader this chapter.

Thanks for reading!!

TAG LIST

@lincerad @sweetserendipity65 @rafaelakelley @slayerofthevampire @rensolodriver @lovelydoveval @doloreschanal @uncontainedsmiles @damagelove

[nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos]

I did iiiiiiiiit

This was supposed to be two chapters but idgaf, now it's just one chapter.

But there will be more chapters, of course.

From an Anon ask request, basically Reader has been isekai'd into OPLA, and it'll be Zoro X Reader X Sanji.

Only Zoro right now though, since it starts just before Baratie

Dude has no business having such a pretty smile wtf

Anyway heeeeeere we feckin goooo

Strawhat Stowaway

Ch 1

Next Chapter Link

SFW right now but maybe not later haven't decided yet

Little bit of hurt/comfort, slow burn, silly, fluffy, will be trigger warnings in later chapters but not this one

I'm already having so much fun with this I can't handle it

Wordcount: 5.3k

After an alcohol drenched Halloween party at your friends' dorm, you wake up to find yourself in a strange place. This might not be quite as alarming...if not for the fact that it's an entirely different world, enshrouded with pirates and strange magic.

♬♫ Getting Surreal - The Fratellis ♫♬

Nothin' untrue can ever be revealed

Cover my eyes, this is getting surreal

There really hadn't been a dull moment since Zoro agreed to sail with Luffy, and this was definitely no exception.

He blinked rapidly down at the unfamiliar girl stretched across the hammock in the cabin below the quarterdeck of their new ship, fast asleep and dressed in an oddly sterotypical pirate costume with what looked like a fake flintlock pistol tucked into one of her cloth belts. The small "crew" hadn't long set out from Syrup Village on the Going Merry, and already things were getting weird again.

He backed out of the cabin slowly, leaning back through the doorway to look at the others behind him—Nami going over the Grand Line chart, Usopp sitting on the railing behind her listening to her explain the Red Line; and Luffy, carefree as ever, reclined back on the ship's figurehead, still clearly thrilled that his plan to get a free ship had worked out in his favor.

Nevermind the hiccup of all of them nearly dying—again.

"Uh—hey, guys?" The other three looked up at him, Nami lifting an eyebrow at his offhand tone. "I...think we have a stowaway."

"Excuse me?" said Nami sharply, immediately rolling up the map.

"Whoa, seriously? We've got a—" Luffy slid down from the figurehead and hopped down onto the deck, excitable as ever and hurrying over with Usopp and Nami to look over Zoro's shoulder. He laughed a little. "Cool."

"Wh—this isn't cool," said Nami, shaking her head at Luffy in disbelief. "It's technically kidnapping?"

Luffy's face fell at that. "Oh—yeah, probably not cool. Uh...." He rubbed at the back of his neck, glancing between his crewmates. "So...do we turn around and take her back?"

"She's not from Syrup Village." Zoro glanced over his shoulder at Usopp, who looked easily as flummoxed as the rest of them. "I mean, it's not a big town, I know everyone there, and...." He shook his head slowly. "Never seen her before."

Of course it couldn't be that simple. Nothing was ever that simple.

"Then how did she end up on a ship that's been sitting in the shipyard there for years?" said Nami, crossing her arms as she leaned in the doorframe behind Zoro, frowning thoughtfully.

"Five hundred Berry says there was booze involved," offered Zoro, and she scoffed.

"Not taking that bet."

And that was the moment you chose to awaken.

Rubbing your eyes, slowly opening them as you stretched your arms out over your head.

Blinking just as slowly as you seemed to take in the strangers huddled in the doorway.

And then, with a yelp of alarm, you sat straight up, attempting to back yourself against the wall, and fell off of the hammock entirely instead, scooting yourself back into a corner, your eyes wide as saucers.

"Wh—who—where the hell—?"

The crew glanced between each other in growing concern and alarm, and finally, while you continued to stammer in fright in the corner looking very much like a trapped animal, Nami heaved out a sigh. "Not it."

"Not it," Usopp echoed quickly.

Luffy was utterly unfazed, shoving himself into the small confines of the doorframe as well, his shoulder pressed up against Zoro's arm. "Hi there! I'm Monkey D. Luffy, this is my first mate Zoro—" Zoro rolled his eyes toward the ceiling as Luffy clapped him on the shoulder. "So..." He pushed through and sat down in the center of the hammock and you pressed yourself further back against the wall, looking no less terrified. "How come you were asleep on our ship?"

"Sh—ship—?" you repeated breathlessly, glancing warily between him and Zoro. Your eyes landed on the three katanas at his hip and widened even further.

"Yeah! We're going to the Grand Line," Luffy said, grinning happily. "You can come with us, I'm still gathering a crew. I'm gonna be King of the Pi—ow, hey!" he added as Zoro grabbed him by the back of his collar.

"Not helping, captain," he said, dragging him out of the cabin. "Just go do—go do something else."

"I am kinda hungry," he said, frowning. Then he waved at Nami and Usopp. "Hey guys, crew meeting in the kitchen!"

Nami grumbled something about not being a crew, but despite that and rolling her eyes, both she amd Usopp followed Luffy across the deck and out of sight, roping Zoro right into dealing with...whatever the hell this was. The swordsman leaned in the doorframe for a long, silent moment, hand curled over his mouth, brow furrowed, trying to decide how to address the issue. The fact that you had no idea where you were was definitely not a huge help in the matter.

He pulled his hand down with a sigh, crossing his arms.

"Alright, so...you got a name?" he asked finally. You swallowed, eyeing his swords again as you forced out your name—and then pointed at the swords.

"A-are those—real?" Your voice practically squeaked.

"Uh...yeah," he said slowly, glancing down at the handles briefly before looking back at you again, raising his eyebrows. He glanced at the obviously fake gun in your belt, and nodded at it. "What about that?"

"N—no, why the hell would I be carrying around a *real*—" You shook your head quickly, your eyes Stull wide with disbelief. "I was at a Halloween party at my friend's dorm and—"

"Hollow-what?"

You blinked, and gave a small, nervous laugh. "What?" you forced out weakly. "Halloween? Trick-or-treating? College kids use it as an excuse to dress up in stupid costumes and get drunk?"

"Trick or—College?"

This definitely wasn't helping—you were staring at him like he had lived under a rock his whole life, he was staring at you like you were speaking another language, and you might as well have been. It was pretty clear that wherever you had come from, it hadn't been Syrup Vilage, probably hadn't been anywhere even in the East Blue.

But that didn't make any sense at all.

"Alright...." he said, shaking his head, shaking away the growing fog of confusion. "What's the last thing you remember?"

"I—ah..." You grimaced a little, wrapping your arms around your knees. "I vaguely remember getting talked into doing a keg stand, one of my friends dropping me, hitting my head pretty hard." You rubbed at your left temple a moment, and frowned when you pulled your hand back. "I...I swear I was bleeding...." you mumbled to yourself, rubbing at your eyes now.

"So...you got drunk at this... 'Halloween' thing," said Zoro slowly, "hit your head, and...stumbled onto a shipyard to sleep it off?"

That didn't sound right to him—nor did it seem to sound right to you, as you lowered your hand only from your eyes to stare at him, your expression deadpan.

"Last I checked," you said, "there weren't any ships near my campus."

"...Right," he said, nodding slowly. He rubbed at the back of his neck, resting his other elbow at the hilt of one of his katanas, trying to form some grasp of the situation.

And failing spectacularly.

"You have no idea what I'm talking about," you said, your shoulders slumping.

"Nope," affirmed Zoro, shrugging a shoulder. This was by far the weirdest thing that had happened since he had started following Luffy—and considering he had just assisted in saving a minnionaire heiress from being murdered by grown adults dressed like cats, that was saying quite a lot.

"Why does everyone keep saying ship?" He raised his eyebrows at you, glancing slowly over his shoulder at the deck of the Going Merry. "That doesn't make any sense, I was over an hour from the coast, that's—that's ridiculous."

"I mean..." Scratching behind his ear, he turned to the side and nodded out toward the deck. You didn't seem particularly dangerous, so there couldn't be any harm in it. "Guess you can see for yourself, if you want."

Your eyes drifted to the doorway—and then snapped immediately back onto him, your face growing pale in an instant. You pulled yourself to your feet, swaying slightly with the motion of the ship against the waves, and started cautiously toward the door...and then stopped, eyeing his swords again.

Zoro took a few steps back, out of the door and onto the deck, giving you enough space for you to be comfortable—at least, as comfortable as you could be in your present predicament—and gestured for you to come out when your feet remained glued to the floor.

Slowly, cautiously, you took a few more steps forward, stopping in the doorway, your eyes scanning slowly around the the caravel—the barrels sitting around the deck, the ram-shaped figurehead, the sails flapping high over your head in the wind, out toward the water surrounding the vessel on all sides.

And your face went from pale to a bit greenish, before you suddenly rushed across the deck in a stumble, bent over the railing, and vomited.

It was honestly a little hard not to laugh. It shouldn't have been funny; you were obviously out of your depth, bordering on outright panic, with no idea where you were or how you had gotten there—and possibly seasick on top of that. But Zoro had learned, pretty quickly, that if he wanted to hang onto whatever sanity he had left, then it was important to find humor in the absolute chaos that seemed to follow him and the rest of the crew since he had joined Luffy.

And this was definitely no exception.

He managed to cover a chuckle by clearing his throat, not that you were really paying any attention as you slumped forward, covering your head with your hands. Zoro approached you slowly, a little cautiously, largely so as not to startle you and send you tumbling over the side of the ship in surprise, and he leaned back against the railing a few feet away from you. "Ah...you good?"

You lifted your head slowly, looking at him in disbelief.

"No, I wouldn't say that I am," you said. "I'm on a—a ship in the middle of—of—I don't even know where—"

"East Blue." You blinked several times, clearly bit processing what he was saying. "Uh...the ocean?"

"East Blue," you repeated. "So...like...the Atlantic?"

"The what?"

You gave a growl of frustration at that, turning your head and covering your face with both your hands, and Zoro found himself at a lack for words for a long moment. He was definitely no navigator, but he hadn't ever heard of any ocean or sea referred to as "The Atlantic—" nor evidently had you heard of the East Blue.

"Oh, god, what a fucking mess."

"Yeah, usually is here," Zoro said under his breath, more to himself than to you, running a hand back through his hair.

"How—how are you remotely okay with this?" you asked, looking over at him again.

That was actually a good question, one that made Zoro freeze for a long moment. In the past handful of days, he had been imprisoned, almost skewered in a circus sideshow act he wanted no part of, helped beat up a clown with removable body parts, and then there was the whole cat thing. Now he was talking to a girl who had appeared out of nowhere on their new ship, who had no further idea of where she was than he did of where she could have come from.

"Been a weird week," he answered finally, frowning. You weren't the only one a little out of your depth—the entire crew probably was.

Except for maybe Luffy. That idiot didn't seem like anything fazed him, and Zoro almost envied him for it right now.

"Well...we've got a pretty decent navigator," Zoro said, looking down at you. "We could try to figure out where you came from and get you back there."

"Princeton, New Jersey?" He lifted an eyebrow, and you sighed in defeat. "Yeah, thought so." You turned around, and sat down heavily on the deck, staring across the expanse and off toward the horizon, shaking your head. "Maybe I'm dreaming. I've had weirder dreams after blacking out. Or someone could have slipped something in one of my drinks and I'm having a really bad trip." You tilted your head back against the railing, rolling your eyes over to him. "So where exactly are we?"

"We...left Syrup Village about fifteen minutes ago," he offered. "Guess we're probably headed to Loguetown, it's supposed to be close to the Grand Line. And Luffy says he's going to be King of the Pirates, so..."

"P...pirates," you repeated weakly. You looked down at yourself, at the rather gaudy and exaggerated pirate costume you were wearing, and gave an equally weak laugh. "How...fitting." He didn't quite manage to mask his snort of laughter this time, but you laughed as well, so it was probably fine. Laughed, closing your eyes and shaking your head. "And here I was stressing out over studying for finals."

"Finals...?"

"Exams," you reiterated. "Tests. I was in college...in *school*. For psychology, at that. Now I'm the one going insane, apparently." Your laugh trailed off into a sigh as you rubbed a hand across your face, shaking your head. "What a life."

College. Halloween. Midterms. Trick-or-treating. You really might as well have been speaking a different language. It was honestly all too weird for Zoro, and while you seemed to be slowly coming to terms with things—even if you were chalking it all up as a hallucination—you were both still pretty lost. He heaved a sigh, looking down at you, trying to figure out who had given him the authority to deal with this—and then he shrugged a shoulder.

"Drink?" he suggested.

"That's the most sane suggest I've heard since I woke up," you agreed. "If you're all pirates, I'm guessing it's rum on the menu?"

"No idea," he admitted. "We just got the ship. But we were told it's fully stocked."

"In that case, whatever you have," you sighed, laying your forehead against your knees. "The stronger the better."

"Yeah," he agreed slowly, glancing around the deck. There were innumerable ways you could get yourself hurt or in trouble if you didn't have any experience on a ship—and you had made perfectly clear that you didn't. He sighed to himself, and extended a hand down to you. "Let's just...get you situated somewhere first."

You lifted your head, meeting his eyes, glancing at his hand...and then, with a sigh of your own, you took it, allowing him to help pull you to your feet. "Lead the way, I guess," you said resignedly.

Honestly, he wasn't sure where to lead you. He settled on the cabin Nami had claimed as hers, with a full bed for you to collapse back onto, where he watched you pull a pillow down over your eyes, as if trying to blot out the new reality you had found yourself embedded into.

He was still trying to wrap his head around the reality you had spoken of as he left you there to enter the kitchen, where Usopp and Luffy were in the middle of arguing over the new flag that the former had just presented.

"That's unique," he commented, glancing at the design.

"Yeah, but he's not the captain—"

"Yes I am—!"

"I'm the capt—"

"No, I'm the—they call me Captain Usopp—"

"How's our stowaway?" Nami asked over both of them, as Zoro pulled open a cabinet.

"Weird," he answered, raising his voice over the bickering between Luffy and Usopp. Both of the offending parties looked over as he pulled down a bottle of what looked like liquor of some kind. "You ever heard of New Jersey?"

"N...no," said Nami, glancing at Luffy and Usopp—both of whom shook their heads as well. "What is it?"

"I don't know," he said, pulling the cork out if the bottle and giving it a sniff. Whatever it was, it smelled string enough. "Something about college and Halloween. I have no idea."

"So what, we're getting drunk about it?" she laughed.

"You want a different approach, you deal with it." Nami leaned back in her seat, raising her hands in mock-surrender.

"It's nothing to worry about," said Luffy happily, his arm still draped across Usopp's shoulders. "From now on, it's going to be nothing but smooth sailing—"

BOOM—

Luffy and Usopp clung to each other in the shock of whatever had just hit the ship, as Nami rolled her eyes. "Had to open your mouth..." she mumbled, pulling herself upright and hurrying toward the deck.

Zoro glanced down at the bottle of liquor in his hand, his eyes widening as he realized you were by yourself on a ship under cannon fire. He swore under his breath and hurried off himself.

You were sitting up on the bed when he made it to the cabin, had your fingers stuffed into your ears and your eyes clenched shut, and you jolted in alarm when Zoro put a hand on your shoulder, staring at him in borderline terror.

"Uh—here—" he offered, pushing the bottle of liquor into your hands. "Just—stay here."

"Is this normal?" you half-shouted over the roar of the cannon fire, glancing between the bottle and him.

"Nothing on this crew is normal," he assured you.

And because that really wasn't any decent sort of reassurance, he just sort of awkwardly half-patted you on the head before hurrying back out to the deck.

He really wasn't much of a help, any more than anyone else was, when they realized they were being attacked by a Marine ship. There was an abrupt and baffling realization that Luffy recognized the vice admiral aboard the opposing ship as his grandfather. There was an utter scramble as Luffy and Usopp tried to figure out how to fire a canon.

And then, there was a pure spectacle, as Luffy used his Devil Fruit powers to inflate himself into a balloon and deflect a cannonball that Garp The Fist had thrown at the Merry—

"What the f—!?"

And you hadn't stayed put.

God dammit.

Zoro had to sprint to the quarterdeck to reach you. You, gripping the railing, white-knuckled and in clear shock at what you had just witnessed, Zoro reached you just in time to catch you before you could faint in outright shock at what you had just witnessed and hit the deck. You definitely weren't just acting, you really were completely out of your depth.

Though he supposed fainting wasn't the most abnormal reaction to the sight of Luffy turning himself into a human hot air balloon.

Nami leaned against the railing with a heavy sigh once she managed to veer the ship toward a fog bank where the Marines wouldn't have a good enough visual to continue their attack, and shook her head at Luffy and Usopp celebrating. "Looks like they only damaged the railing a little," she said. "Could have been a lot worse."

"Yeah," Zoro agreed, shifting your unconscious form to lift you onto his shoulder. "A lot worse."

"Someone should probably talk to him," she said, looking back down as Luffy took a seat on the deck and set to picking loose straws from his hat. "The whole my grandpa's a Marine Vice Admiral thing."

"Not it," Zoro said, and Nami rolled her eyes over to him.

"You're his first mate. I think this falls under your job description," she said flatly.

"I think stowaway detail does, too," he countered. Nami glanced at you, still passed out cold, and gave a small snort of laughter. "I'm busy. You can go talk to him if you think it's that important."

"Yeah. Busy." She rolled her eyes away from him at that, pushing herself away from the railing. "More like an excuse to get drunk with the hot girl that magically appeared in your hammock."

He tossed a wry glare in Nami's direction as she headed for the stairs. Maybe she wasn't completely wrong—trying to unravel the mystery behind your sudden appearance definitely sounded more appealing than confronting Luffy about his family history.

And, yeah, you were pretty hot.

"I'm just trying to help," he said, shaking his head—he knew better than to tell Nami she was even half-right. She'd just use it to find some way to blackmail him.

"Yeah, yeah." She stopped at the stairs leading down to the deck. "Did she say anything about where she came from?"

He shrugged his free shoulder, glancing at you. "Some place called Princeton-New-Jersey."

Nami raised an eyebrow. "Never heard of it." If the navigator hadn't heard of it...that definitely didn't bode well for you. Nami sighed, glancing at you once more. "Just...I don't know—try to find out more, I guess. See if there's any hints about exactly where she came from. She's got to be scared out of her mind."

"That's the plan," said Zoro, shifting your weight on his shoulder. Nami gave a short nod before heading down the stairs.

Zoro carried you back to the room he had left you in before the firefight and set you carefully on Nami's bed. You were probably going to be on the verge of a mental break when you woke back up, if you were as out of place as you seemed to be. There were plenty of people who weren't familiar with devil fruits, and you had just witnessed the power of one firsthand, in a pretty dramatic way.

Zoro rubbed the back of his neck, staring down at you for a long moment, still racking his brain for some idea of what the hell they were supposed to do with you.

He finally settled for sitting on the floor next to the bed, leaning back against the nightstand, and grabbing the bottle of whiskey. He uncorked it and took a pull from the bottle.

"Never a dull moment," he mumbled to himself, laying his head back against the nightstand with a small thunk.

Which was just enough to stir you—he nearly dropped the bottle in alarm when you sat straight up on the bed, looking around. Then you groaned, falling back again and pulling a pillow over your face. "Why am I still here?" you groaned, your voice muffled. "God, this is a nightmare..."

"Yeah," said Zoro, frowning a little—the whole situation really was a nightmare, and he felt for you on that. "But it's real."

You lifted the pillow, turning your head to look at him, looking utterly defeated. "Are you sure?"

"Pretty sure, yeah." That was a difficult question to be absolutely positive about, but Zoro wasn't really one for waxing existential. You rolled your eyes to the ceiling, your head dropping back onto the bed again, silent for a long moment.

"How," you finally said, slowly, "did your captain inflate himself?" You shook your head. "Not a sentence I thought I'd ever say," you added under your breath, shaking your head, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling.

Zoro gave a snort of laughter and held out the bottle, which you grabbed away immediately, propping yourself up on one elbow to take a long drink. "Devil fruit. He ate it when he was a kid." You looked at him, blinking a few times. "Basically turned his body into rubber."

"U—uh‐huh."

And you took another quick gulp of whiskey before handing the bottle back and shifting onto your side.

"And that's...normal, then? Just...eat a fruit and turn into rubber?"

"It's not really common," he said, laughing a little. "Devil fruits. They're pretty rare. And they all do different things." He took a drink and set the bottle back behind him on the nightstand, stretching an arm out across his knee. "Few days ago we had to fight this asshole clown guy with removable body parts."

"Removable...body..." You gave a small, rather nervous chuckle, tucking a hand under your cheek as you stared at the wall, across the room, your eyes far away. "This is like some stupid anime plot. Hit my head on a fucking keg at a Halloween party and wake up in magic-pirate-land."

"Anime—?"

"Don't ask," you said, closing your eyes and grimacing. "Really not important." You opened your eyes, meeting his gaze with a hopeless sort of frown. "I'm really stuck here, aren't I?"

"I mean...if we could figure out how you got here, or...." He trailed off as you lifted your eyebrows, your expression turning skeptical. He sighed to himself—lying to you wasn't really going to help anything. "Yeah," he said finally, frowning himself. "I guess you are for now."

Your gazes remained locked for a long moment—maybe a moment too long, maybe a little too...intensely. Your eyes drifted for a moment, quickly, passing up and down him, before you pulled in a deep breath and sat straight up ar the edge of the bed, your hand shooting out to grab the bottle of whiskey from the nightstand and take a long pull from it.

Grimacing slightly at the bitterness of the liquor, you lowered the bottle, huffing out a sigh, your face tinged with a hint of a blush.

And Zoro cut his eyes away upon noticing it, clearing his throat a little and standing up from the floor to lean back against the nightstand, putting a little more distance between the two of you.

"Guess it could be worse." He did glanced over when you held the bottle out, and he took it as you pulled the costume tricorne hat from your head and ran a hand back through your hair. "You guys seem okay for 'pirates.'"

He gave a little laugh at that, at how you lifted a hand to mime quotes at the word. "Yeah. Pirates," he said. He took a drink and shook his head. "We're all pretty new to this, so." He shrugged a shoulder. "You're not the only one that's a little disoriented."

"Really?" you said, smirking. Your eyes darted down to his katanas for a second. "How new?"

"About a week," he said. You lifted your eyebrows at that. "I was hunting pirates before that."

You snorted, taking the bottle back, your hand brushing against his as you did—it was subtle, could have been an accident, but between the growing amusement in your tone and your eyes, he doubted it was. "So what, can't beat 'em, join 'em?"

"Not exactly," he said, grinning a little himself as you took a sip and rested the bottle on your knee. "Last time I went to turn in a bounty I got into it with this Marine captain's dumbass kid at a tavern and they took me prisoner. Luffy saw the fight and decided he wanted me on his crew, so he freed me on his way to break into the base and steal a map."

"Wait—" You shook your head, your eyes positively alight with amusement now. "Wait, wait wait—did he know you were a pirate hunter?"

"Yeah."

"So he's either brave or stupid, then?" you said, lifting the bottle again.

"Pretty unhealthy combination of both, actually," he laughed. He took the bottle back when you held it out. "But he's a good guy. Has a lot of heart. Just wants everyone he meets to be able to follow their dreams." You folded your hands over your knee, still smiling as he took a sip and set the bottle down behind him. "So what's the deal with the whole 'psychology' thing?"

"Oh that—that's what I was studying in college. School," you added quickly when he lifted an eyebrow. "Uh, sort of like...a school you go to so you can learn more about the job you want. I'm planning on...." Your smile waned a little as you leaned back on the bed, your eyes falling to your knees. "Was planning on being a therapist. Help people with their problems when they don't have anyone else to turn to." You laughed quietly, biting your lip. "Probably sounds lame compared to what you guys are doing. Fighting with Marines and—clowns with removable body parts."

"No, that sounds..." You had planned on dedicating your life to helping others. "Pretty cool, actually." He crossed his arms, watching you for a long moment as your lips curved toward a small smile. "How's that work, though? People just pay you and you give them adivce?"

"In a nutshell, yeah. It's a little more in depth than that, but..." You lifted your gaze to his, smiling and shrugging one shoulder. "I've still got a lot left to learn, but...I could probably give you a session, if you're curious. For a price."

Zoro lifted his eyebrows as you leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees, your chin against one of your palms, your smile widening a little as your eyes scanned him up and down again, a little slower this time, more deliberately.

"I might be willing to settle for a date as compensation."

His eyes widened.

What.

That was...forward.

Maybe there had been a little flirting between the two of you, but that had thrown him right off his guard.

"I—uh—"

And you looked pretty amused that it had.

Zoro was saved from his alarmed stammering by the sound of quick footsteps approaching the room. You both turned your attention toward the open doorframe as Luffy skidded to a halt there, his eyes positively glowing with excitement.

"Guys, you gotta see what we found, come on—"

And with that, and without giving either of you a single second to respond, he grabbed you amd Zoro both by the wrist and set to dragging you both out toward the deck. You tossed a sideways glance at Zoro on the way, looking almost frightened.

"Is he always so—?"

"You get used it," said Zoro shortly.

And once on the deck, he pushed you both toward the railing, just as the Going Merry was beginning to emerge from the thick fog bank that had enshrouded the caravel, revealing another, much larger ship anchored on the calm ocean ahead, with several other ships docked around it. A glowing red neon sign hung on the side, high over a door that led into the lower part of the vessel.

"Wh...what's a 'Baratie'?" said Usopp, looking over the railing next to Zoro, squinting at the sign.

"That smell..." Nami laughed as she leaned against the railing next to you. "I think this place is a restaurant."

"Then I know what we're gonna do next," said Luffy, pushing between you and Nami to lean over the railing, grinning.

"Disguise the ship so the Marines can't find us?" suggested Nami, cutting her eyes at him.

"Sail back to Syrup Village where it's safe?" offered Usopp.

"Nah." Luffy's grin only widened as he stared at the atrange ship, and he said excitably, "let's eat!"

You stared at him in alarm as he smacked his hand against the railing and hurried off across the deck, before your eyes turned back to the Baratie, wide as saucers, your mouth fallen open a bit.

"I...it's a fish," you said, a little weakly.

Zoro glanced over at you, and sighed to himself. If this day got any weirder he was probably going to have to take you up on the offer of the whole "therapy" thing. He shook his head a little, shoving away from the railing himself.

"That fish better have a bar."

[thottyimagines]

Still thinking about Naruto in the year of our lord 2024 so I was wondering what your take would be on a Sannin swap, meaning team seven has different mentally unstable mentors from canon so they can be traumatized/educated in new and exciting ways <3

I've written a few about the potential dynamics between Naruto/Orochimaru, Sasuke/Tsunade, and Sakura/Jiraiya, but let me tell you about the different iteration that really and truly is my favorite:

Sakura/Orochimaru

Mad scientist, came-from-nothing ninja with insane chakra control reporting for duty.

Orochimaru takes one look at this pink-haired freak with a puddle of chakra who thinks she can stand side-by-side with the kyuubi and the last of one of the great dojutsu and says, would you like to live deliciously?

And Sakura says, of course I would.

It is not enough for her to succeed, others must fail. And Orochimaru loves and appreciates this about her.

Sakura runs away from Konoha with the promise of having a mentor who will teach her, who will focus on her, who will believe that she's more than her pitiful background and more than her overwhelming teammates.

She is, at first, foisted onto Kabuto. She frightens Kabuto.

When she gets good enough to replace Kabuto, which happens in a very alarming two years (max), Kabuto suddenly gets to live with the ever-present threat of becoming an experiment.

Orochimaru adores her and encourages her to steal any and all clan techniques and kekkei genkai that she can. Why should she be barred from knowledge if she yearns for it?

Sakura is the most learned woman in the elemental nations. She has figured out Orochimaru's Body Problem. She's replicated the Strength of a Hundred seal Tsunade uses. They are a plague unto Konohagakure.

She's gene splicing like nobody's business.

The only people who care that Sakura up and left are Naruto, Kakashi, a bit of Sasuke, and Ino. Except for...well, no one has that manic desire to bring her back, the way Naruto did when Sasuke went missing nin. They kind of view her as a failed experiment, though Ino misses her and thinks of her a lot.

Sasuke/Jiraiya

Such a miserable duo, but they kind of like it.

Jiraiya is strong enough to keep Sasuke safe, and he keeps the kid out of Konoha, which he really needed.

Sasuke takes to everything quickly and antagonistically. Jiraiya hates having such a talented student - he is, perhaps, even more talented than Minato - who is so desperately antisocial.

You know that one post that's like, someone who's objectively attractive but has negative rizz? That's Sasuke, and Jiraiya despairs on the regular, because this student of his should, in theory, take over this position as horny spy master with the way he effortlessly draws in beautiful women who can act as informants. Sadly, due to his personality, no one would ever believe that Sasuke is just charming these (knowledgable) women into bed with him.

Sasuke takes to sealing, and Jiraiya is petrified that he's going to come up with something to, like, replenish his clan at an alarming rate.

Sasuke gets rid of his brother with some sort of homemade seal that traps him in a Matryoshka doll or something. He didn't technically commit fratricide, but Itachi is suffering in that thing.

He comes back to the village looking way better than he did when he left. Jiraiya takes that as his main point of pride.

Naruto/Tsunade

Naruto, should he learn chakra control, is the ideal healer in that he has more chakra than should fit in a human body, even an Uzumaki.

It's the chakra control that is Tsunade's true challenge in teaching. And, good god, is it a challenge. Sasuke is already murdering his brother by the time Naruto can reliably aid in a minor surgery.

But once he finally learns it, Naruto is improving in leaps and bounds, as is his way.

He completes a Strength of a Hundred seal six months after he finally learns chakra control. Sakura has had hers for two years, and he does not know or care.

Naruto is saving people at unprecedented rates. Honestly, Tsunade struggles to justify making him a combat medic, because he's doing so much good in the hospital just staying at the village.

Naruto is Naruto, though, so Tsunade teaches him to brawl using her style.

He winds up on the most dangerous missions, due to the fact that he has a natural healing ability with his Kyuubi, and is now the most talented healer Konoha has (who insists on getting out there).

Honestly, I could see him winding up in ANBU, given those skills and traits.

His true hardship, after mastering chakra control, is realizing that his talk-no-jutsu isn't going to work all the time and that he can't derail missions to attempt it.

Naruto is a better hokage for it, in the end.