#all Gyro had to do was go into the light

[korpuskat]

In a Different Light

[Ao3 Mirror] Pairing: Ramattra/Reader Rating: Explicit WC: 9,256 Warnings: Super vanilla + size difference

He’d become fixated, completely focused on a group of soldiers hiding behind a line of armored vehicles. If he could just dislodge them, they’d have an uncontested avenue deeper into the city. He knows he can rush them, can get in close and punch straight through their cover. He peaks, HUD picking up each heat signature before him- more soldiers to the right than the left.

He doesn’t see the one four stories above them.

”Down!” He recognizes your voice, but doesn’t respond, doesn’t move. He can handle this, doesn’t need your tactical input-

And your arms close around his waist. What? He looks down, takes his optics off the enemy- and he feels your heel kick behind his knee. It’s not nearly enough to buckle him- but he allows himself to go down anyway, dropping into a heap back behind the barricade.

The bullet cuts through a ribbon cable.

You sink back into the seat, weight falling off your shoulders. Under the roar of the engines sliding from VTOL to forward propulsion, your sigh is completely inaudible, utterly silent to everyone. Everyone except Ramattra’s sensitive audials. You close your eyes and lean back, yet unaware of his gaze on you. He watches your pulse reading slow from its rabbit-fast battle-ready pace, lets his optics linger on the long line of your throat. The skin there is thin enough he could feel your heartbeat. His servos itch to reach out and try it.

He had let you pull him down. Why? A snap decision he hadn't even processed consciously. But why did he trust you that much? He scours his deeply-rooted runtimes, searching for what it was about you that had tipped that reaction in your favor. In his favor, given the cable that sparks brightly at the corner of his optics.

He'd nearly crushed you, only landing on his elbow at the last moment. You must've known how badly he could've hurt you; your eyes were wide, breath held in your chest as you looked up to him.

He was touching you. Your arms were still wrapped around his chassis, hands splayed near the sensitive column of his spine, legs aligned with his body, one hooked around his thigh. His hand at your hip. In the peaking lines between your armor, everywhere your skin touched his metal he could feel your heat, your heartbeat.

For a moment, all you could do is stare at each other. For a moment, he couldn't seem to focus on his objective.

You slowly unwound your hold, but don't quite take your hands off him. They end up holding the broad ribs of his armor. He's... glad. He liked the contact. He squeezed your hip, relished in the soft give of your skin and fat and muscle.

"Sniper," You had finally breathed- and the spell was broken. Back to work.

The rest of the squad cheers and chats jovially, an easy mission. He would agree, more or less. As far as he can tell, the only casualty was his own shattered cosmetic cabling- an effortless fix for another time, for now he simply disconnects the damaged cable. But you aren't celebrating with them. The entire flight, you've kept your head back and eyes closed, swaying softly with turbulence. He can tell you're not asleep. Even if his HUD wasn't keeping him painfully aware of your vitals, he watches your hands rub at the corners of your armor plating the entire time, watches the twinges of your expression.

Pain? Ramattra wonders. Had he hurt you after all?

His GPS pings an alert for their probable arrival a few minutes before the engines shift again. When they do, it jostles you up, leaving you grabbing the supports around you as the ship comes in to land. His gyros keep him steady, never having to look away from his study of you. Without fanfare, the cargo door opens and most of the troops pile out. You stand, grab your gear-

and you look back at him. A little smile, a slight nod. He cannot smile back, would not if he could, but he nods in turn at you. You leave, following the line of soldiers ahead of you.

Only when everyone else has left does Ramattra stand.

Your quarters are blessedly quiet, at least compared to the open bustle of the barracks. The insulation between walls is thin, built for structural support, not individual solitude. At least in the lower officers quarters. The higher-ups are probably given more leeway on creature comforts. You heard once that Doomfist has a hot tub in every base.

You’d kill for a hot tub right now.

Still, it's quiet and secluded enough for you to drop your gear and close the door behind you. The ceramic of your armor clicks against the metal door frame as you lean back. Even the slight shift of your weight off your feet brings relief- as does the cold metal that presses to the nape of your neck, the backs of your arms.

He was warmer. Still much too cool to be mistaken as anything organic, but still... warmer than you had expected. The buzzing of his CPUs must radiate enough heat to bring him just above the freezing metal you had expected. He had moved more, too- the spinning of his fans had made him vibrate softly under your fingertips, but more shocking than that, it was as though he was breathing, a rhythmic movement of his chest. Some kind of ventilation, you’d guess.

You close your eyes. The fall onto your back had knocked the wind out of you- but the weight of him had never landed. No, he had perched over you, balanced on one sturdy arm, the cables of his mane dangling- the matte black making the stark white of his faceplate almost glow. You're sure it's just lights from his LEDs, but in the black shadows you'd swear you saw the red of his HUD in his optics. And he was touching you- cool fingers had somehow wound up between the hard lines of your armor, slipped right up under your shirt. Five mechanical fingers that squeezed so gently, so unnecessarily.

His presence around Talon was... sporadic at best- and you'd never actually worked with him before. His disdain for humans was common knowledge, but so when you'd been assigned to his team you had no way to anticipate that outcome. And yet it wasn’t… unwelcome.

With a groan you stand up again- no use pondering it fully geared-up at least. Your forearm guards come off easily, with satisfying clicks. You toss the plating onto your bunk; you’ll have to inspect it later- given the fall you’d had, you might already need to replace some of it. Next, your boots- which clatter together as you kick them away.

You reach up over your shoulder to undo the chestplate- and hiss with pain. Your upper back lights up with sore muscles, not yet ready to be used again. Fuck, okay. You’ll get back to that one, you guess. Instead, you twist your arm behind your low back and undo the armor over your belly.

Your door clangs- loud enough for you to jump. What the fuck? Who would be bothering you now? You hastily drop that piece onto the same pile and turn the handle-

Oh.

He's out of place this deep in Talon's barracks. He seems to know this, adjusting his posture to stand tall before you- a defensive stance against the curious eyes of your fellow soldiers that pass by. At full height he just about touches the upper edge of the door frame, making you have to tip your head back just to look at him this close. Even though there's no malice in his stance, your skin prickles.

As much as you were captivated by your little shared moment in the street, Ramattra is still your boss, more or less- his alliances with Talon are much further up the food chain than you- and there's no good formal reason for him to be here. So, you treat him as though he's one of the council. Someone way, way above your pay grade with enough power to end you and never even see paperwork for it. You stand up straight and square your shoulders, lower your gaze with a perfectly canned "Yes, Sir?"

His optics drop before he can override it; somehow he did not expect you to be undressing. Even with your undershirt still on under the white Talon armor, his thoughts race, circuitry threatening to overclock. At your voice, however, Ramattra makes a noise of disgust, shifts his head as if scowling. "Enough of that, save it for Akande." You blink, lift your sight back to his faceplate as though it made any difference in reading him. He must've already cleaned up; there once was post-battle grime, but it's already been wiped away. You look to his cabled mane- and there, too, his damaged ribbon cable is gone. "I came to speak with you." Suspicion rises again in your chest, even as he clarifies, "Informally."

Informally in Talon usually meant some kind of internal politicking that you avoided as best you could. Somehow, that doesn't feel right here- why the fuck would he have use for you?- but you don't let down your guard just yet. The instinct to tack on sir to the end of the question is so strong it nearly slips out. "What about?"

"I came to apologize." What? You bristle; if he means to apologize for touching you, well, he certainly did not wrong you by any means. "And to thank you. May I?" He motions past you and despite how much you absolutely should not be inviting Null Sector's leader into your quarters, you do so anyway.

Your room is hardly larger than a supply closet; it's positively cramped with both you and an R-7000 standing in the meager floor space. It makes his movements awkward, aware of his large, sharply pointed feet; even if your armored boots were still on, having him step on your toes would be unpleasant. Without, much worse. So, Ramattra gives you an easy solution: "Please, sit."

It doesn't help your pained neck at all, nor the growing sense of unease. Still, you perch yourself on the edge of your mattress and watch as he adjusts his cowl. "What did you need to apologize for?"

"First, I wanted to thank you for assisting me. I should have seen the sniper, or at least considered the probability, given the terrain." His voice box makes a spit of noise, not unlike clearing his throat. "I came to apologize for... scaring you, when you pulled me from the sniper's view. It was unintentional."

Scared? You can't resist a barking laugh, "That's all? I knew I was risking dropping a big heap of omnic on me. I mean, I'm really glad you were quick enough to catch yourself and all, but really, there's nothing to apologize for, you didn't hurt me."

He waits a beat, considering his words carefully. "You seemed particularly stunned afterwards."

Ah. He noticed. Your cheeks burn. "I guess. You did too, though."

"I had just been shot at and had to trust that a human had my best interest in mind." He tips his head, "If you did not fear being injured, then why?"

"Um," You rub at your neck, chase your thoughts for any acceptable response. "I was- just surprised. You were... very close."

His response is quick as he leans in towards you. “And you were not afraid?”

What is that inflection in his voice? Did he want you to be? You stare at him, try desperately to read his immovable faceplate. You bite your lip- and unbeknownst to you, Ramattra's optics tick downwards to watch. "No, I wasn't."

You must've picked right, because his voice box hums a little noise of acknowledgement, a light nod following. "I see." He murmurs, then abruptly straightens up again. "Regardless, I came to give my gratitude and offer repayment." You would tell him that it's literally your job, that you'd hope he would've done the same for you, but once more Ramattra's head tips, then nods just off to your right. "Is your armor ill-fitting?"

You blink, then look- and find yourself rubbing at your neck once more. "Oh! I mean, kind of; all Talon armor is pre-made. Mostly I'm just a bit sore."

"May I?"

He steps forward without waiting for your answer, but doesn't actually touch you. Once again, you're very close to him. This time, he's standing, towering over you with his full height from where you sit. He's offering, your mind stumbles over it, replays his touch to your hip. "Um, s-sure."

He already knows where the release to your armor is; his large fingers pressing into the divot before you can even begin to direct him. "Oh," you slip out, then awkwardly shake off each half, shoving them off the edge of the bed. His hands move towards your shoulders- and hesitate. He'd been quick to step closer, to dig into the protective paneling, but the actual prospect of touching you, even through the thin material of your undershirt, must make him pause. It's short lived- and his hands are cold enough you can feel it through the cloth.

You suppress a jolt at his temperature- but then he squeezes and all rational thought is expelled from your mind. The aching muscles of your shoulders have no choice but to surrender to his unflinching, metal kneads. It takes everything, everything that you have to not moan- and still he manages to pull a stifled inhale from you.

At once his fingers freeze, “Do you need me to stop?”

”No.” It’s all whine, a desperate plea to chase that same mind-melting touch. So, he continues on. Cool, smooth fingers pressing into taut muscle, loosening up knots with surgical precision. And when he adjusts his angle, steps a little closer and digs in again, you do let yourself moan.

He doesn’t stop- but you feel the tremble in his hands and his fans kick up their speed, humming louder in the relative quiet of your room. He adjusts again, moves to the outer parts of your upper arms- and when he squeezes there the sharp, near painful relief shoots all the way down to your fingertips. Your eyes are all but rolling in their sockets, it's all too easy to let your lids drop, your whole body swaying with each movement of his hands.

He presses into your upper back, in the tight space between shoulder blade and spine- and you don't resist the urge to lean forward. You aren't sure where exactly your forehead lands, but his metal is pleasantly cool. The vibration from his ventilation hums directly into your skull. It's soothing white noise- and you want more. Slowly, enough to make sure he can see you moving, you raise each hand and place them on the outer edge of his thighs. There, the refreshing touch of his metal is covered by dark-colored canvas, but the cloth does little to mute the hum of his inner machinery.

It makes your hands tingle- and it makes his vents crank open another notch. Beneath your forehead, his surface chills even more as coolant rushes through his systems.

The question of why rolls over your head, though the clarity of thought comes and goes with Ramattra's touch. It could be just some kind of curiosity or ultimately innocent fascination with the physicality of human flesh- something you doubt he's had much chance to experience outside of combat- but if he were not an omnic, the implication of his tentative exploration feels... obvious.

On one hand, Null Sector's leader was rarely around your base, the shame and embarrassment of being wrong about his intentions would only occasionally be relevant, but on the other...

You swallow and roll the dice. Your hands trace higher on his legs, over the straps there until you reach metal again. He all but trembles, deeply unused to soft human caresses- even more so to the seldom-touched ridges of his hips' plating. "Do you..." Your confidence slips- but Ramattra stares down at you so attentively, you can't help but continue, just to know "Would you prefer… more?"

His hands twitch against you. "If you are willing," He says it so slowly, so intentionally, he's talking to himself as much as to you. "I will take anything you would give."

Your shuddering inhale must please him, because he nearly purrs as he trails the tips of his fingers across your shoulder blades. Fuck. It’s hardly a question of what you would give, of if you are willing. You let go of him just long enough to grab the hem of your shirt and peel it off.

For a moment, your world is entirely black- and when you can see him again, half-bared to him, you're already shivering.

It's unfair to call it staring when omnics don't typically blink, but Ramattra's faceplate tips downward and doesn't lift- even as you scoot back on your flimsy mattress until you reach the headboard. Only then does he meet your gaze again. You can't see his optics, shadowed entirely by his stark white faceplate, but there's a heat about him, all his focus settled on you- and your heart races. He sees this, too, on his HUD- the spike in your pulse, in your breathing.

Ramattra waits only a moment, shamefully double-saving this moment to his memory files, then follows. Immediately one of his heavy, metal knees makes the hinges of the frame creak in protest. His attention snaps to one corner- almost furious for having interrupted his pursuit. It would be your luck to have your bed broken by an omnic war machine before you could even fuck him. But Ramattra slowly eases his full weight onto the frame- and despite the pitiful whining of your cheap frame, it holds up.

Which is good, because Ramattra wastes no time to lean over you- the staggering height difference between you barely mitigated by his new position with his knees on either side of your legs. Your heart is racing, pulse thrumming all the way down to your fingertips- and he hasn't even really touched you- but he's eager to correct that.

He reaches for you- and there's a breath of hang time. An infinite little moment between his rubber-padded palm touching your neck, a perfect little bookend to all that was before. Because cool metal circles the base of your throat- thumb and forefinger rubbing over the ridges of your collarbones and sliding on- until his palm presses to the center of your chest- and it's unlike anything you expected.

His touch is exploratory, cautious, gentle as his hand slides up your neck, away from where you had really wanted him to touch. Instead, the rounded tips of his fingers trace parallel lines up each side of your throat. He stops just below your jaw, where your pulse beats hard against the skin. Somehow, there's no threat to it- a Ravager is holding your carotid, your jugular- and you don't even want to run. No, he's turned the tables on you- you want more.

It's difficult to be patient with his exploration, but his fascination here must be sated, because Ramattra's head tips- and his other hand presses to your chest. It's still painfully chaste; he's much too high, fingertips caressing your collarbone. He shifts, presses the heel of his palm into your pec- and, oh, you're melting into him again, because you didn't even realize that, too, was sore. As much as you wish he'd do what you're thinking about, his massaging touch is far from unacceptable.

Instead, you let your eyelids drift close, rest your chin upon the hand still at your throat.

Ramattra hums at this, one thumb stroking over your jaw in a motion so affectionate it makes your heart hurt. His fingers linger there, at the edges of your face- while his other hand finally begins to move. The rubber grip of his palm slides over the top of your breast, but his wrist turns, skirts along the side. He presses there a little, feels the weight of your chest in his palm. Already your skin is lighting up, goosebumps racing along your arms- and Ramattra shifts his hand again.

One breast entirely in his hand, his metal still shockingly cold to the underside- and yet somehow, your nipple stands free between his thumb and forefinger. He's avoided it entirely so far- but between the chill of him and the tension rushing in your veins, it's hardened into a little point. He squeezes your chest and you don't stifle your sigh.

He watches his own hand as he slowly sweeps his thumb across the stiff peak of your nipple- how it bends under his touch- and with a gasp, it pops back up. At your whimper he looks back up to your face and does the same motion again, just to soak in your reaction. The weight of his gaze is not lost on you- every sensor in his array is focused on your body, your face, the little hitches in your breath as he drags his thumb in a circle instead.

Your response must be fascinating enough, because the hand at your throat finally travels downwards, mirroring the other. Just having both hands on you makes your heart race, but now you're all but trembling when he hasn't even used the other yet. You expect more slow sweeps. You do not expect him to pinch- your sensitive flesh caught between cold metal plates- and then to tug on them.

You squeal, arch into his hands- half to alleviate the ache he's produced, and half because it felt good. He only half lets up. "Is that too much?" His voice box is so quiet you nearly don't hear him.

"No," You can only gasp- and with his confidence assured, you break off into a whimper as he tweaks your nipples. It's strange- his hands have no give, no softness to them, each motion is only relentless pressure and the hard edges of each joint. It makes every touch more acute, harsher even with his slow, cautious approach.

"They're softer than I expected," He says- and he sounds so cool, almost unaffected by how he's already making you unravel. "And more sensitive."

Oh. Something falls into place. It's not just you. "Have you ever... done this before?"

"Not with a human." Another sweep of his thumb has you shuddering. His grasp loosens, your skin tingling as blood returns to where he'd held it.

His curiosity here must've been satisfied, as his hands slide off to your sides. With only the tips of his fingers skating over your skin so lightly, you squirm under him- and grab his forearms. He stills, glances up to you- "Ticklish," You explain, then press on his hands until his whole palm meets your skin. "Firmer."

Ramattra hums, nods once in acknowledgement. He doesn't have to be corrected twice; his study of your body continues with more pressure. "And you?" Methodical presses over each notch of your ribs, tracing along the lines of each- pressing into the unprotected flesh below them, feeling over the soft pouch of your stomach. No longer feather-light, now it's almost clinical, and you wonder if he's comparing your body to schematics in his head. It isn't until he pauses, squeezes at your hip- a mimic of the same touch from earlier- for you to realize he'd spoken to you.

Have you done this before? The answer is, truthfully, not in a while, never with someone who made your skin feel so electric. You lick your lips and guardedly answer, "Not with an omnic."

He seems to accept this- and to keep him from questioning further, you move to unlatch your right greave. Your bed frame complains once more as he scoots back- and then begins working on your left leg. When you're once more down to your under armor, he stops, half sits back onto his heels. The glow of his optics is hidden, but you have no doubt he's watching you intently, waiting for something. If he expects you to wilt and change your mind, you hope instead he's pleasantly surprised that you hook your thumbs into the soft elastic around your waist and roll off both your pants and underwear.

You're suddenly aware you don't know where to put your legs- sliding them back under him would be counterproductive. So, you be just a little bold, and let them lay half-open across his canvas-covered thighs. Ramattra shudders. A visible quake up his spine, ends in little twitches of his fingers. Fingers that immediately press to your skin, two at first, just above your knees, then the whole width of his palm is smoothing up your thighs.

Higher and higher up your leg, his thumbs skating along the ridge of the muscle at the top of your thigh, never dipping in too close. Even as he approaches your waist, so tantalizingly close to your apex, his hands slide out, over the curve of your hips. You whimper, voicing your displeasure at his continued teasing. Ramattra answers only with a soft humming and those same thumbs pressing in to find the divots of your hip bones.

As attentive as his touch is, it's not helping the ache in your belly. Under him you squirm, press your thighs together to sate your growing need.

This, too, does not go unnoticed. "Patience," He chides and slides his palms from your hips back up to your sides. "We could not linger earlier; I intend to take my time now."

Oh. It doesn't stop you from squeezing your thighs again, but you do resign yourself to his pace. Again he passes over your navel before traveling down; this time there's no more cloth to impede his exploration. His thumbs follow the curve of your pubic bone, coming so very close- before returning to the safety following the long muscles of your quadriceps. With a cant of his head, he's particularly fascinated by this part of you, following the imprints of his fingers as he strokes down your legs.

Once he reaches your knees, Ramattra slyly slides his thumbs inwards, between your tightly pressed thighs. This alone has you shivering, aching to think of another round of his slow mapping of your body- but the soft press of his hands against your legs, urging them outward has every thought fleeing your mind. Shame drives you to press one hand over your face, but offers no resistance to him opening your legs once more. This time, his route from your knees to your hips is no longer exploratory- it's measured. His pace is slow, agonizing- barely inching along your skin, sweeping his thumbs, pressing in when you get too excited; it's an intentional lesson in patience that borders on torture.

And finally- finally- he doesn't turn his touch away. Ramattra's gaze is fixed between your legs, watched as he finally touches you. He traces the sensitive, thin crease of your thigh first- the last line between pretendably-chaste exploration and something else.

And he charges right past that line.

Without any warning, he drags one fingertip right down the center of your pussy. You gasp- and he's skating over your clit, parting your lips, almost dipping into you- before pulling back. With so much teasing, one stroke alone has your body thrumming, heat spreading from your belly. Above you, Ramattra hums- and spreads your lips with his free hand.

The embarrassment of his hawkish observation of your sex doesn't have long to set in, because once more his fingers return to you. Two this time, swirling at your entrance to coat his cool metal in your wetness, before sliding upwards. When he circles your aching clit, you don't even try to stop the moan that escapes from deep within.

Behind his white faceplate, his optics snap upwards and watch your reaction. He's used to seeing humans' heart rates spike when he touched them, but never with such a sound accompanying it. It's... different. Another stroke over the nub, another noise from your lips confirms what he'd already suspected: he likes it. He wants to hear more.

It's just like with your chest. He's all hard metal, no squishing softness of skin and muscle and fat- wherever his fingers move, your body has no choice but to follow, to fold under the hardness of his form. Each leisurely swirl pushes at you more than rubs, compresses and bends your most sensitive skin in incessant, cruel rounds and it's like nothing else you've ever felt. And it's too much, all too quickly you're squirming away from his hand, desperate for a break from the onslaught.

He notices. Ramattra can't not notice when your languid moans warp into sharp whines, when your hips that were grinding impatiently against his fingers, instead begin arching away from his touch. He pulls away, ceases the minuscule contact- and immediately your body relaxes, hips raising up towards him again. Was he being too rough? He recalibrates, actuators hardly moving at all when he meets the pulsing nub at the apex of your sex- and once more you're dancing backwards, face pinching. Yet as soon as he withdraws, another neglected, aching noise from your lips makes his frame shudder.

He almost scoffs; what a terribly human reaction- to flinch from his touch, then crave it as soon as he stops. He doesn’t understand why you’re doing this, but he can at least guess you’re not in any position to explain it to him.

Instead his touch wanders away, down along the creases of your body. A curiosity leads his fingers towards your opening and the wetness that has accumulated there. He traces the taut skin before him- and your heart hammers in your chest. He's so close, so close to being inside you. Your body burns under him, begs silently with every breath. With hardly any effort, his fingertips are coated in clear slickness once more- two shining strings between his digits as he examines them.

"Are most humans this... well-lubricated?"

"No," It comes out broken, your psyche unable to take any more of this- and your tone makes his faceplate lift. The slits of his optics are black, but you stare into them anyway and sob, "Please."

All five of his fingers dig into your thigh, a full-body shudder following your plea. Ah, now he understands. He leans forward, repositions himself over you, his massive frame entirely covering yours, but not quite touching. The heavy weight of his forearm lands next to your head as he murmurs- softer than you've ever heard his vocoder go- "Of course."

And he slides one finger into you.

You don't make a sound- your mouth falls open in mute relief- not even pleasure yet, just succor to your unrelenting need. Ramattra, however, stutters through a moan- the hand at your head curls into a fist, shaking with focus. Your body instinctively clenches around him, pulsing against the hard metal of his digit. As distracted as he is with your wet heat, he wastes no time in circulating the finger inside you- pressing against each wall, feeling the softness that surrounds every sensor, that ripples with each movement.

The first withdrawal is agonizing, the slow pull away, the half-second that you're nearly empty is unspeakable, an awful torment after finally knowing the shape of him. "I have you." He hushes before you can even whine. And he fulfills the promise, easing his finger back in. This time, you sigh- light and airy, lost under the sound of Ramattra's own ventilation.

Your body slowly releases its harsh grasp, relaxing into his slow, careful pace- sliding easily with every stroke, the soft noise of your slickness making your face burn. As the harsh peak of your need mellows into Ramattra's pleasurable touch, you're once more met with the impassive mask of his stark white faceplate. He's so close, you think you should be able to see his optics behind the faceplate- you want to see them- but he's blocking the only light in the room, casting his entire face in shadow, save for the mild, red lighting from the LEDs around his head.

He's gorgeous up close; all sleek lines and crisp enamel. Here and there are tiny nicks on his plating, like scars marking his body. Where you pant against him, his metal fogs- can he feel that? He's too far- and you wrap your arms around him to pull him closer.

You didn't realize how worked up he already was. Even to your fevered skin, Ramattra is warm, streams of hot air escaping past your forearms. He is actually enjoying this. The realization makes your pussy tighten around him once more- and in turn he curls the finger inside you.

You buck against him, the rush of pleasure driving any reservations from your mind as you thread one hand into the thick, black cables of his mane and lick at the pistons of his neck. The effect is immediate- his head drops down beside you entirely, bringing his shoulder even close to your mouth. Near your ear, Ramattra's voicebox rumbles, somewhere between a purr and a growl- the intent lost beneath a wave of static. And not to be outdone, he slips a second wide finger inside you.

The stretch pulls a moan from your lips, made louder by reverberating off Ramattra's shoulder plates. Two of his fingers already makes you feel pleasantly full, a respectable length and girth to them made even better with his attentive exploration of the hidden parts of your cunt- very aware of how every curl of his fingers makes your body sing for him.

And it does sing. Inside you, Ramattra gently spreads his fingers, urging your body to stretch even more, pressing ever harder into the soft flesh of your pussy- and you're helpless as you writhe beneath him. You don't even do it intentionally- raising one leg to press harder against his chassis. Perhaps, if his voice box was not right next to your ear, you'd have missed the spit of static that follows.

But you don't miss it. As lust-hazed as your mind is, all you can truly think about is how unfair it is that he's shown you so little. The hand not tangled into his wire-hair slides down his back, skirts around hot air vents, and dips between each silvery rib. The touch makes him shudder- a minute shaking of his rig that you wouldn't have even felt if he weren't fully pressed to your sternum. You linger at the thin hourglass of his waist, squeezing the thick, black cabling there appreciatively-- and first, Ramattra's hips faulter, a burst of erroneous data coming from the wiring you'd handled, then Ramattra groans, loud and almost droning as his stuttering hips meet the soft skin of your thigh. The shape of his lower plating means really only the top ridge is digging into you, but any discomfort is more than outweighed by his fans kicking up again.

You're ready for him- grabbing the last silver bar over his hip and guiding him closer. He doesn't resist at all. Without a single word, he follows, allows you to match the pace of his own fingers to have him rut against you in perfect time. He's almost fucking you; the proximity of him, the shape of his fingers- and suddenly you need it. To know what he looks like, feels like-- if he has one at all (though you hope he does, please, please-)

Ramattra pauses his thus far near perfect fingering- and you almost sigh with relief- he must have the same idea. Instead, he shifts his wrist- and the pad at the base of his thumb meets your clit. It's a pleasant shock- and when his fingers resume their thrusting, rhythmic pulling against you, you understand what he's done. Every tiny twitch of your hips makes your clit rub against his palm, and with his merciless knowledge of how to make you squirm, it's all he needs to make you gasp and clutch at him tighter.

All at once you're close, hardly more than a passenger to your own undoing. Each curl of his fingers is targeted, a planned attack on the sensitive innermost parts of your body- and with the uncommanded ruts of your hips, he's making you just as complicit in the rising fever of your need, using your own reactions against you- His plating meets your thigh again- and something like a moan spits from his voice box, a choked, half-buzzing noise that has you gasping, aching-

The noise you make is hardly human, barely recognizable as speech. "Wait," And yet the effect is immediate, before you can even croak out a clearer "Wait," he's already stopped, every joint locking up save for the turn of his head- and the lights on his faceplate burn bright, an unspoken question waiting there. He waits, silent, as you shiver and breathe, letting the hard edge of your desire die down before you can find any intelligible words, separated by harsh pants. "Can you?” Less intelligible than you had hoped. “Can you… fuck me?”

The lights on his forehead actually flicker, blinking asymmetrically as soon as the words leave your lips. His systems are in disarray, faulting, replaying your request until Ramattra has to halt the processes manually. It takes him much too long to croak out a barely understandable, static-fuzzed "Yes."

The withdrawal of his fingers from your pussy is agonizing, the last ring of muscle inside you desperately clenching against their retreat. The iron will it takes to keep your noises inside is physically painful, but somehow you think if you were to moan and plead that he let you cum now, he might actually short out. As it is, Ramattra is barely keeping it together. His hand is actually shaking as he releases the shiny plate over his groin, the soft hiss of pneumatics accompanying the distorted sigh from his vocoder. His dark paneling joins your armor on the floor and-

oh.

The first thing you notice is the lights. It's mostly thick, translucent purple silicone wrapped around a suspended mesh sensor array with red inlaid LEDs dotted under the surface that are nearly maroon through the pigment. The second thing is that it's massive. As big as his frame is, his cock is somehow bigger than you expect. It’s not quite the same shape as a human cock; the first rounded ridge is almost right, if only for the fact that it entirely circles the length. Behind it, two more ridges sit further down the shaft.

You can't help but reach for it. The groan that rumbles from his synth is just icing on the cake. "How...?" Fuck, you can't even close your hand around it, thumb and middle finger easily a full inch apart.

"I made it." He admits with a sigh. The tug of your skin on the dry silicone is awkward, but Ramattra shudders and rocks into your touch all the same. Until he seemingly remembers he was knuckle deep in you for several minutes- and shoos your hand aside just long enough to wipe your own fluids on himself. Purple with little red lights and glistening with your arousal- it's nearly enough to make you moan at the sight alone. It is enough when you stroke him again- and this time your hand glides over his smooth surface with ease. Ramattra feels the difference too, his head dropping forward as a plume of steam escapes from a hidden vent.

"Please," You can barely make yourself let go of him. He follows your hand as it falls between your legs, slips through your wetness in desperation to ease your need. "Ramattra..."

"It was," His voice box pops. A harsh little noise, then silence as it frantically reboots. When he speaks again, it's clearer- and there's something in his tone you don't recognize. "... not made for human dimensions."

"I don't care." You whine, grasping at his side once again. But he remains unmoved, his hands planted firmly on his knees, faceplate trained on you. His hesitance draws you out of your haze of lust, higher thinking forcing its way through your mind. Concern- it was concern in his voice. Ah. "If it's too much, I'll tell you. We can-" You swallow, and consider the possibilities that follow, "we can try something else."

And when this doesn't quite sway him, frustration takes control again. With a pitiful whine you present yourself to him again, a meager "Please, I need you." your final offering.

The actuators in his hands whine. A pressure warning pops into his HUD and is dismissed before he can even process it. "Yes." He rasps- it's agonizing how slowly he crawls over you, but the joy that he's moving at all is all you can really think about. "If you require me to stop, inform me immediately." You nod vigorously, almost missing how his voice drops, "I did not come here to harm you."

There's no time to consider the tenderness that laces his vocals, because he slides the head of his cock between your lips once, twice. The motion alone has your hands grabbing at him- and your breath all together stops as he begins to push.

He's big. Even with his mind-melting fingering, it stings as he slowly breeches you. His force is slow and even, but merciless. He does not pause at all as the widest part of his cock stretches you open, makes your face pinch together, thighs locking around Ramattra's thin waist. There's a high pitched little noise somewhere- and you can’t tell if it’s coming from you or Ramattra. As uncomfortable as it is for you, it must be heavenly for him. And yet he continues on- not a single stutter to his patient approach.

Relief washes over you when his hard hips meet yours- and above you Ramattra sighs. You're so full. All the way behind your navel- if pressed below your belly, you'd be able to feel him inside you-- if you could let go of him long enough to try. And it's tight- and truly you could redefine the word, with how harshly your walls cling to him, how you can feel every ridge, where every light is, just because it has slightly less give.

"You are..." He begins, vocalizer rumbling close to your ear. Simultaneously, you shift your hips, trying to ease the pressure that fills you up. Even such little motion cuts him off, makes him press his cool faceplate against your shoulder. His voice cuts through with another tone, like a radio station going out. "Sublime." One large hand lands at your hip, holds you close as he rocks against you. Fully buried as he is, all you can do is gasp and cling to him, digging your fingers into the gaps between his ribs. "It's like a current." He murmurs, almost in disbelief.

His comment is so strange, so stunned at your pussy, it pulls a delighted laugh from you despite how it makes you ache again. You move one hand from his back- and your knuckles hurt for how hard you'd been gripping him- to slide into the cables of his mane again. Ramattra purrs approvingly, a rumble that fills his entire body, permeates into you at every point of contact. He rocks with you again, and as much as you need him to stop moving, if he actually stilled you might just combust.

It hardly takes more than your hand moving to his hip and guiding him into a real stroke- even if you have to grit your teeth and hiss at his half withdrawal. The sound makes him lift his head, turn the dark slits of his optics towards you. He watches as you nod and urge him on with your calves on his thighs. He's slow, keeps that same agonizing pace- easing back into you with as much caution as the first time.

With the stretch already easing, the balance of discomfort to pleasure shifts- and you're closing your eyes, letting the ripple of electricity coast through you with each little motion he makes. Now, it's your turn to sigh, that fullness returning to you- pressed up against the deepest parts of you. When he lowers his head again, his faceplate is not buried into your shoulder this time. No, his LEDs are warm against your forehead, strange with the cool metal between each light. This close, you can hear the soft whirrs of his optics moving and re-focusing. Your breath fogs the white ceramic of his faceplate. If he minds, he doesn't say anything.

He keeps the rhythm on his own now, slow and even until he's sliding freely inside you without any hint of resistance, until you're needing. Words escape you as you clutch at him, press your forehead harder to his, whine with each glacial motion. He hums again, shifts his weight onto one arm- so careful to not break the intimate little connection he'd forged- to hold your hip with one hand. You can't see his optics through the narrow slits, but every sensor is centered on you as he so carefully moves quicker.

"Is this alright?" His voice hardly makes it out of his synth, so low and quiet- and so easily drowned out with your moaning. He’s still so gentle, even with his endeavor to please you in faster strokes, they’re each guarded, measured with careful calculations. There’s no force to them at all.

You can't seem to figure out where you want to hold him; both your hands bury into his cabled hair and stroke there, twist until a stunned little noise breaks free of his vocoder, then releases, fan down until you can hold at his shoulders, at the long pistons that would be collarbones. It isn't enough. Your hands skitter onward, over his arms, his sides, over and between the broad silver struts, in the black recesses between and back up. It takes everything to twist your hands into his cowl and beg. "More, please," Your lips brush his face, "Harder."

Ramattra's entire frame shudders, the hand at your hip pulling you ever closer, once more burying himself to the hilt. "Your…" He rasps, still shaking. "Penchant towards self-destruction is… astounding."

Where he had previously chided you with patience, it seems he has all but run out. The need is taking over him as well, because he doesn't even try to dissuade you at all as he completely moves himself. No longer laid nearly on top of you, his large form stretches over you like a breathing metal canopy, bracing himself with one hand on the wall. He keeps the other hand on your hips- and his next thrust brings stars to the backs of your eyelids. All metal, no give; his hips meet yours with a new vigor. But even more, his altered angle forces one light node up against your front wall. He doesn't even have time to ask if it's good before you're gabbing at his smooth forearm, twisting one hand into your sheets. His name slips from your mouth in a plea, but you can't even understand what you're asking for. "Ramattra,"

Above you Ramattra purrs, the pleased little hum from his vocalizer vibrating out into your room. Beneath you, your bed creaks pathetically- above you, the clasps at the end of his hair-cables clack together, announcing his pace to your neighbors- and you don't care. All you can focus on is the rhythm of his body against yours, the staticy noises that slip from his vocalizer unbidden, where the pad of his palm has caught your skin, holding you exactly where he wants you. And where he wants you has your toes curling, your eyes fighting to stay open. Heat coils in your belly, and it's still not enough.

"More, more," You pant- pulling at his hips with your calves. The sore reality of getting fucked hard by a Ravager is completely gone from your mind- tomorrow's pain has nothing on the haze of desire that leaves you with only harder, deeper, more.

Whatever reply Ramattra has is lost, the noise from his synth a harsh tone that sounds more like a modem than speech. He complies immediately, his next thrust pushing you further up the bed, pressing hard enough against your cervix to make you gasp. The sheets aren't enough, you need to feel more of him- so you grab at his hand again, at his chest, where he's become positively warm. "Fuck, fuck, Rama-ah- I-" Every word broken by a snap of his hips, by the little eek, eek, eek of your mattress frame. Each thrust has your eyes rolling, panting, keening little noises because you can't stop them- and the coil is so close, so tightly wound-

and somewhere, you hear a coin dink onto the floor, hear it spin on the floor. It's so odd you can't make sense of it- can’t give it more than half a thought because you’re so close all you can focus on is the boiling desire that’s taken over your blood- until Ramattra's hips meet yours again.

And for a half-moment you're in free fall, weightless. For one heartbeat, Ramattra is moving away from you- or, no, you’re somehow moving away from him.

You stare, wide-eyed at the dark slits of Ramattra's optics- until one metal hand slips under your shoulders, faster than you can think. He catches you, but not before you’re almost inverted.

A glance up tells you exactly what you expect: the front half of your frame has collapsed, the legs have fallen flat against the floor. Fuck. It doesn't matter; that need has not been sated in the least. You shift your hips against his, shake his hand off you, and brace one arm between your head and the wall. "Don't care."

If he's planning on hesitating, you don't give him a chance. With a grab at the hand still at your waist, you clench around his cock. A real, true moan rips from his vocalizer and all caution is thrown to the wind. He holds your ass up off the slanted mattress with one hand, keeps you so perfectly stabilized as he ruts into you. Any semblance of order or careful intent is lost; the instinctual chase of pleasure has taken both of you. All you can do is lock your legs behind his thin waist and ride out each thrust, rising to meet him where you can. So hard and quick you can barely keep up with his pace, leaving you squirming beneath him, twisting your fingers into your hair as the heat rises again.

Your mind narrows down to a point, "Please, please- don't stop, fuck- Ramattra-"

Another groan from his throat and he grabs your waist with both hands. No longer just thrusting- he's all but pulling you up off the floor, spearing you onto himself over and over. He uses you like an oversized toy, fucking into you with abandon. And you hadn't even realized just how large his hands were. His thumb reaches right across your thigh, parts your lips to press against your clit. He strokes in time with his hips- and you're gone.

With him supporting most of your weight, you arch into the air- and clench down on him hard. Something in his throat pops before a groan cuts in. He doesn't stop moving, even as your walls flutter around him, as your voice goes hoarse. One hand leaves your hips- and something flutters down across one shoulder. You fight against the waves of ecstasy- each crashing over you, drowning out your senses in liquid pleasure- just enough to crack your eyes open as he peaks.

His body freezes, joints twitching out of sync, fragments of uncommanded movements while his voice breaks, a harsh tone pouring out before it clicks off entirely. You squeeze around him again- launching another wave for yourself- and above you, Ramattra's lights flicker, twinkle like stars- and then turn off. Offlined. Good. You join him shortly, closing your eyes and surrendering to the pleasant warmth that surrounds you.

When you wake again, you're right-side up. It takes a series of barely-coordinated blinks to clear your vision. It's somehow more disorienting than having been nearly upside-down to begin with. More so, you're not in your bed. No, you're wrapped up in your sheets, but you're firmly in Ramattra's lap- who has ended up sitting cross-legged next to the remains of your bed frame. It's... surprisingly cozy. The sheets soften up the hardest angles of his body and keep you warm while his frame regulates itself back to its usual cool temperatures.

"My apologies," He says in lieu of greeting. "It seemed impertinent to leave you... there."

From the forty-five degree angle of your mattress and how it's squished up against the wall. A white dust has spilled over your pillows- and it takes you much too long to piece together the Ramattra-fist-sized hole in your drywall. A tentative touch to your hair confirms flecks of paint and plaster. Yeah. You could imagine you probably didn't look very comfortable.

"Thanks," is what you try to say, but it comes out a rough rasp. You swallow several times to ease the dryness in your throat, but Ramattra seems to hum in appreciation. In all fairness, you had been all but screaming his name. A noble way to lose your voice. "Thanks," and this time, it sounds human enough.

"And I am sorry for damaging your quarters." He modulated a noise not unlike clearing his throat. "I may have gotten carried away."

You can only grin and slur your words. "S'okay, it's all cheap 'n Talon maintenance is fast." Honestly, it’s a compliment. Maybe a little inconvenient, but hey. Who else can say they made the leader of Null Sector cum so hard he dug his fingers into your literal wall and shut down? You shift in his lap, lay your head more comfortably against his shoulder. When you settle, he holds you closer. "Benefits of no questions asked type of work." Once more his only reply is a quiet hum of acknowledgement. It's an easy silence- save for the quiet whirr of Ramattra's fans, which have returned to their normal pace. Only when you absolutely need to know do you risk asking, "Can you stay? For a bit longer?"

He pauses, considers the question. He shouldn’t, truthfully. This excursion has already gone well past what he had planned for. But there’s something nagging at his logic circuits, the same little impulse that had made him fall at your command. It had saved his life before- and gotten him here. When has he ever been able to deny himself his curiosities?

"Yes. I have time." He says and pulls you closer to him still, until he can feel every rise and fall of your chest, despite the blanket between your bodies. Internally, he sends a message that he'll be unavailable for a debrief with Akande.

This time, it's you that hums as you bury your face into the pistons of his neck and close your eyes.

-----

Sequel

[goodlucktai]

if you’re taking suggestions for the leosagi series you wrote - maybe leo with champion when shes a little older being a menace? or just leo and yui on a date. idk whatever u want :)))

read on ao3

x

At first, Yuichi didn’t know why Leonardo was so annoyed about his family crashing their dates. The Hamato siblings were fun to be around and folded Yuichi into their shenanigans as though it cost them nothing to include him. And it was always worthwhile to see Leonardo in his natural habitat—those sweet and silly and childish sides of him that only came out of their shell at home—so he never minded when he drove down to the lair to visit Leonardo and their time together was never time alone together. 

Then Leonardo came over to Yuichi’s house to watch a movie and Yuichi’s cousins invited themselves into the den and each made it their life’s mission to make Yuichi wish he was an only child. Leonardo thought they were hilarious and encouraged their antics like the troublemaker he was but Yuichi firmly resolved to never laugh at him for complaining about his brothers ever again. 

“We should go out sometime,” Yuichi said pointedly, staring very hard at the unrepentant little fluffy faces peeking at him from the porch windows. “We could get dinner. Or go skating. Or vandalize public property. I’m not picky.”

“Or all of the above!” Leonardo chimed brightly, the blue light of a portal flickering playfully behind him. He squeezed Yuichi’s hands and added, “I like the way you think, Snowball. Let me know when you’re off work on Friday and I’ll come steal you from tío.” 

He leaned in like he was thinking about going for a kiss, then seemed to remember they had an audience and backed off again with a nervous giggle. 

Goddammit, Yuichi thought with feeling. The constant scrutiny was actually ruining his entire life. 

So that’s how they end up here; Yuichi has his bike helmet tucked under one arm, watching with amusement as his boyfriend stands in front of his assembled family and lays down the law. 

“One last time: what are you not going to do,” Leonardo says in a no-nonsense tone, arms folded across his plastron, borrowed purple bomber jacket glittering where the living room lights hit the sequins. He’s unfairly cute. 

“Stalk, supervise or spy,” his siblings recite with varying levels of agreeableness. 

“And what will happen if I catch any of you doing any of those things?”

“You’ll portal our favorite belongings into the ocean.”

“And I will catch you,” Leonardo adds dangerously. “My phone is on, I’m sharing my location, I’ll be with Yui the entire time, and we probably won’t do anything crazier than trying that new Greek restaurant on 9th Ave.”

“You’d try Gyros Stop without us?” Michelangelo demands with a look of absolute betrayal and wet, shiny eyes. Yuichi honestly can’t tell if he’s kidding or not, but Leonardo is completely unmoved.

“Pushing your luck, Miguel. I’ll bring back baklava.”

The crocodile tears dry right up. One camera shutter sound later, Leonardo is staring at Casey and Casey is staring at the floor, new phone clutched guiltily to his chest. 

“I promised April I’d get a picture,” he whispers.

“If you go into the settings you can turn the sound effect off for next time,” Donnie says, leaning over his nephew’s shoulder.

“Next time?” Leonardo all but shrieks.

“Hey, so you two should get going, huh?” Raphael interjects quickly—probably because he can sense the situation rapidly deteriorating by the second. “Have a good time! Tell Raph all about it later!”

Yuichi and Leonardo finally make it past the turnstiles with only a few more dramatics for the road, hopping down into the tunnel where Yuichi’s bike is waiting while Splinter’s pointed reminder of the curfew for little turtles echoes boomingly around them. 

Said little turtle looks seconds away from dying of mortification and busies himself with shoving his helmet on and pretending his father isn’t still talking about what he’ll do if ‘my Baby Blue comes home with even a single scratch!’

“Get me out of here before I do something drastic,” Leonardo grits out. 

Yuichi pulls his own helmet on and slings a leg over his bike. He twists around and pats the seat behind him, smiling. 

“I’ll go real fast, Stripes. Just hang on tight.”

He knows for a fact that the Hamato brothers have motorcycles that Donatello built from the ground up, and that even little Michelangelo can outdrive people three times his age. And Yuichi has floated the idea of Leonardo coming down to the Hidden City on one of the shell hogs so they could have a drag race with Kitsune and Chizu, which Leonardo agreed instantly was the best idea he’d ever had. 

But for now it makes sense to share Yuichi’s bike. It's date night! And it feels like Yuichi is literally the king of the entire universe when Leonardo wraps his arms snug around Yuichi’s middle and props his chin on Yuichi’s shoulder, knocking their helmets together playfully. 

There’s another camera shutter sound behind them, and Leonardo whips around like he’s going to surrender to the Cain Instinct once and for all. Biting back a bark of laughter, Yuichi revs the engine really loud and takes off. 

It’s late and the sky is overcast, which means that when they turn onto the street from the underground it’s to a smear of headlights and bright neon signs and glowing storefront windows.   

None of the Hamatos seem particularly interested in Cloaking Brooches, beyond the single time Yuichi heard them curiously pondering what their human forms would look like while they were waiting on the popcorn in the microwave. Brooches aren’t particularly hard to come by, and Yuichi knows for a fact that there are a bunch in a drawer at home somewhere, but when he offered to bring over a few, he got a round of “nahh”s.

“Embrace the turtle, baby,” cheerful Michelangelo piped up.  

“Maybe pops would want one,” Raphael added thoughtfully. “We’ll have to ask.”

“It’s New York,” Donatello explained, since Yuichi probably looked as confused as he felt. “No one pays attention to anybody else. At best, the humans won’t even notice we look weird because they’ve got their own stuff going on. At worst, they will notice and automatically assume we’re in costume and not care why. What a town.”

So when they pull into a drive thru for smoothies, Leonardo just says, “Leave your helmet on, they won’t say anything,” proving it when he leans over to pay for their drinks with his phone and his sleeve rides up past his wrist. The teenage cashier clocks his green skin, visibly decides she’s not paid enough to care, and smiles at them brightly when Leonardo tips 25%. 

The Hamatos have lived in—or beneath—Midtown their entire lives, so Yuichi is comfortable deferring to their experience. He doesn’t think he’ll tell Auntie, though. 

They wind up at a little park with a wooded waterfront area, almost entirely empty due to the threat of rain. There’s one dim, buzzing streetlight that offers a warm orange glow against the tree coverage and overcast sky, so the two of them gravitate that way. 

Yuichi can see a few other people on the walk path, all the way down at the other side of the park, looking as though they’re making their way out.  

“There’s so many people in every corner of this town but you still manage to find little pockets like this where nobody’s around,” Yuichi says. “It seems impossible.”

“The Hidden City is like that, too,” Leonardo says, hopping up to sit on the railing that separates the greenery from the water. “Every time you take me to one of your secret hangout spots I’m like, ‘Wait, there’s a billion yokai half a street over, how is it just the two of us here?’” 

Yuichi laughs and says, “That’s fair. Did you get pineapple-banana this time? Let me try.”

“You gotta branch away from strawberries and cream, there’s a whole world out there,” Leonardo complains, but gamely switches smoothies anyway. 

Hanging out just the two of them takes much the same shape as it does when they hang out at the farm or the lair. They talk and watch videos on their phones and recreate TikTok dances they’ll never post but save anyway. The only big differences are the ambient noises of the city—traffic and sirens and music and humanity—and the lights on the water behind Leonardo that frame him like a movie scene. 

And also that there’s no nosy siblings to get in the way when Yuichi leans in for a kiss. He does exactly that, mirroring Leonardo’s smile, when suddenly his boyfriend’s gaze cuts to something over his shoulder and he goes through the five stages of grief in rapid-fire. 

“Pizza Supreme,” the slider mutters, letting his forehead bump against Yuichi’s in defeat. “Gram-gram’s laughing at me, I know she is. I mean it’s free entertainment at this point.”

“What?” Yuichi says, turning around. “What did you see?”

“My all-time least favorite B-list bad guys, probably up to their same old stupid tricks.” Leonardo puts his hands on Yuichi’s shoulders to guide him out of the way as he hops down from the railing. His attitude has cooled slightly, a gleam entering his eyes that wouldn’t look out of place in Donatello’s. Which definitely means trouble. “Hey, morons!” he calls. “Stop trying to out-ninja me, I’m so far out of your league it’s actually insane!”

There’s a beat of silence, less than a handful of seconds, and then a dozen humans in dark clothing reveal themselves. Yuichi spends a lot of time with a ninja clan these days and still finds it a little unnerving the way they can spill out of the shadows soundlessly. Even Leonardo and his siblings, with all their bright colors and larger-than-life personalities, can disappear into thin air like it’s nothing. 

These ninja wear hooded cowls with a burnt orange emblem that give away exactly who they are.

Yuichi’s hand goes to Edgewing, belted at his hip. He knows exactly who to blame for the Krang invading New York City—and ultimately for the battle scars Leonardo and his brothers all bear as a result. He only has to take one look at the healed gashes that stand out stark white against the pretty blue of Leonardo’s carapace and it’s enough to make him want to start breaking faces with an eagerness Karasu-Tengu-sensei would disapprove of. 

“Can we please just cut to the chase here?” Leonardo says, hands on his hips. “I’m a busy guy, and frankly, you picked the wrong night.”

At the beginning of the evening, the only solid plans on Yuichi’s itinerary had been dinner and driving around really fast to hear Leonardo whoop in his ear and maybe going to that drive-in movie theater in Brooklyn the turtles loved because it was screening the original Jurassic Park trilogy this weekend and Yuichi had only seen the first one. 

Maybe he should have been surprised to end up engaged in a sword fight with his boyfriend’s hereditary enemy in a cute postal-stamp sized park in Manhattan, but he’s not, really. Part of running with the Hamato clan is learning really early on how to roll with the punches. 

And—he’s taking some mean glee in this. Sue him. When he slams the hilt of Edgewing into a cowled face and hears the crunch of cartilage he goes, “Ha,” under his breath, and only feels guilty for a second about what sensei would have to say about it. 

“Aren’t you guys embarrassed?” Leonardo calls out to the gaggle of Foot ninja he’s fighting, sounding more annoyed than anything else. “All of your overlords either leave you for dead or sick a squishy pink brain parasite on you.” He glances at Yuichi and adds, as if he had somehow missed the entire alien invasion earlier in the year and this was his first time hearing about it, “It was a whole thing.”

“You know, I do have the Internet.”

“You have dial-up. I didn’t even know what that was until Donnie Googled it.”

If Yuichi wasn’t already in love with this guy for an embarrassing number of reasons, watching him fight five to one without breaking a sweat definitely would have helped him get there. He doesn’t even need the edge his ninpo gives him; fighting an enemy like the Krang kind of makes everything else seem like small fish in comparison. 

By the time the last ninja has crumpled bonelessly to the ground, Yuichi’s muscles are burning in that pleasant post-workout way. And his mind is completely free of everything except a giddy runner’s high. So when Leonardo tilts a smile at him, already reaching for his abandoned smoothie, Yuichi doesn’t think. 

He just closes those four steps between them, takes Leonardo’s face in both hands, and kisses him. 

It’s perfect, obviously. Even with the sound of a nearby eavesdropper squeaking and then being soundly muffled. 

“Okay,” Leonardo says very calmly, and disappears in a flash of cyan. 

Somewhere in the wooded part of the park, there’s multiple shrieks and the sound of Raphael pleading, “No listen, we weren’t spying I swear we were, uh, we were—” 

“Geocaching,” Donatello fumbles, “what an insane coincidence that it took us here, he lied convincingly. Nardo, you know how susceptible I am to both peer pressure and FOMO—”

“You guys are so cute!” Michelangelo chirps enthusiastically. “Ow! And totally a power couple, you should see the pictures we—Lee, ow, ow, okay, I’m sorry I’m sorry—”

Yuichi sighs, and looks down at the Foot ninja beginning to stir weakly on the ground nearby. 

“I’m so lucky,” he confides in them, the truth of it a warm little star in his heart, and then slides out his phone. 

Donatello added him to the Hamato family plan ages ago, which means he gets service everywhere and data speeds he didn’t even know were possible. Yuichi finds Gyro Stop on GrubHub and places a pick-up order for enough spanakopita and baklava to feed however many of Leonardo’s siblings he decides to leave alive. 

[dude-ew-gross]

Happy Birthday, Victor

2k words and some change

@void-my-warranty @simplynerdilicious-blog

Thanks for the brainrot. Had a lot of fun writing this. I'm going out for a gyro now.

It was nice to do regular girlfriend things with Victor. It was easy. All you had to do was be there, and what a relief it was not to walk on eggshells for once. The history of your relationships was a list of long, sordid affairs. A few flings here and there that never went beyond the bedroom paired with one miserable marriage and a divorce under your belt, you never thought that you would be where you were now, and where you are now is using your boyfriend as a pillow while he uses you as a blanket. An equal trade, laissez-faire and all that jargon.

You had to admit it was pretty damn nice to have someone around who matches your love of physical affection. The fact that he just so happened to be a walking furnace was merely a coincidental bonus, and if you were being completely honest, cuddling into him was probably your number one source of therapy. Victor never once rejected your advances, much less affection, gladly opening up his enormous arms and adjusting himself to make room for you in his lap to your incoming attack.

There you are, late in the morning on a random sunny Tuesday, so late in fact that most people would be taking their lunch break right now, you are now gleefully loving Victor up on the living room couch, nuzzling into his neck the way he does to you, snuggling into your boyfriend with all your might. You feel him plant a kiss on the top of your head as he hugs you to him just tight enough.

Laying your head on his shirtless chest, you listen to his heart pump his blood through his body with every beat and relax into him with each breath he takes with those strong lungs. You can't help but feel quite pleased when it doesn't take long for him to begin, for lack of a better word, purring. That familiar rumbling starts up and the solid torso underneath you begins to vibrate as he runs a large hand up and down the length of your back, the greatest indicator of “Hell Yeah” there ever was.

“There's that motor,” you giggle, burying your face into a furry pec as if trying to sink into the sensation. His chest hair scratches your face wonderfully. You inhale his scent, taking a deep breath of him and letting it out long and slow. For a moment you two lay there, basking in the warm compassionate touch of a lover. You know you could fall asleep on him right now but something snaps you awake just enough to ask a question that's been drifting in and out of the forefront of your cortex.

“Victor,” you begin. “How old are you?”

“Old.” He answers matter-of-factly. You take it that he didn't take offense to the question on account he didn't immediately stop purring, a good sign.

You continue. “How old?”

He's silent for a moment as he considers what to say. You knew he'd been around the sun a few times more than the average person and had been trying to guess his age for a while but didn't know how to bring it up until now.

“I was a grown man when I saw a light bulb for the first time,” he says.

The absurdity of that statement makes you lift your head up to quirk an eyebrow at him. He's stretched out beneath you, one arm wrapped around you, the other he's using to rest his head. The muscles of the arm that cradles his neck are handsomely flexed under his skin but you are not paying attention to that. He looks completely relaxed at the moment, unbothered. His eyes remain closed and his face doesn't change when the only response you can provide is a blunt “What?” because while you know he's old, there is absolutely no way he's that... old.

Victor makes an affirmative noise, refusing to elaborate any further. Well, if the motor underneath you is still going, that's a good indicator as any that it'd be ok to ask a few more questions. You think for a little bit, attempting to do the math but since the official year of whenever the lightbulb became patented then commercially available escapes you at the moment so instead you blurt out the first thing that comes to mind.

“So you're older than indoor plumbing?”

This makes him chuckle. “Yeah.”

“Cars?”

He nods. “Yep.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Did you ever have to tell time by looking at a sundial?”

His immediate response was to laugh. “Once or twice,” he grins, finding your questions amusing. His fangs are on full display. “Used to get around by horse, if you could afford one. I remember riding in the back of a sled pulled by a single mule led by my father. My mother rode next to him with a shotgun,” he begins to fiddle with a strand of your hair, finding a small knot to loosely work his fingers through. “My brother was next to me. Suddenly, he's pointing up at something in the trees.”

The tangle is smoothed out and he resumes brushing his fingers through your hair with just a little bit of claw, careful not to give you an accidental trim.

“I look up, and there's this barn owl staring down at us. Takes off and flies above us without a sound.”

You blink at him. That was a core memory of his, a little piece of something long ago. Before he figured out he was a mutant, before he and his brother were locked away in that cellar. The paradox in the shape of a man that is Victor Creed who used candlelight and horses as a main resource during most of his formative years, yet he looks like some guy around your age, in the prime of life forever stuck at his physical peak until time itself remembers that he has to age, but that probably won't happen for quite some time. He's older than social security, older than the wars that shaped this continent (probably participated in a few from what you could gather) and was probably older than dirt, and you make an attempt to bite that comment back because he may not find that funny as you, but you say it anyway.

“Heh,” he snorts. “Good way of putting it.”

He probably doesn't even have an official birth certificate if he's as old as you think he is, and he's telling you all this as if his entire backstory is nothing more than just idle chit-chat. You think of how many centuries turned over for him to get here. He sees your expression.

“C'mon, let me hear it,” he goads, a soft smile gracing his face.

You adjust yourself a little to lace your fingers together and tuck your hands under your chin and look him straight in the eye and with all seriousness, you ask “When was the last time you celebrated your birthday?”

This makes him pause. The prolonged silence carries on a bit too long for your liking as his brow furrows, as if he never really considered his birthday before, much less celebrated it. His eyes drift away from yours and his eyebrows knit together even tighter as he takes a moment to think about the last time someone thought about his birthday, and that makes your heart ache.

Finally, he opens his mouth. “A while.” He lifts the hand that was in your hair and brings it to his face to scratch his scruffy chin. “Pretty sure the year started with “eighteen.””

You blink. “You're shittin’ me.”

The look he gives you has no indication that he's being facetious in the slightest. He stops scratching his chin and returns to using you as an armrest, draping the long limb around your upper back. His hand comes to rest on your upper arm, running his thumb back and forth on the flesh of your delt.

“Oh my god,” you begin, laying your head back down on his chest. You listen to his heart for three beats. “You really are older than dirt.”

He laughs at this, and you lift up and down with each laugh. It's nice to hear, it's deep and warm, and you can't help but laugh with him.

It takes a while to calm down. “Do you have any idea when it is?” you ask when you finally regain control of your breathing. He hums and you feel his arm constrict you ever so slightly as he squeezes you to him. His other arm comes out from under his head to completely cage you in, not that you mind. You feel him press his lips to your hairline as he takes a deep breath in, chest expanding with the volume of air he could breathe in, then slowly exhales.

“Sometime in the fall,” he finally says. “I don't remember the date.”

You “hmm” at this. “We're totally celebrating your birthday as soon as I see a leaf turn yellow.”

He lets out a puff of air through his nostrils and you feel his chest shudder with a silent laugh and he relaxes underneath you. Time passes and you end up spending the rest of the morning on the sofa with your legs tangled together. You're pretty sure you fall asleep on him once or twice or more, but he doesn't mind. You're pretty sure he falls asleep, too, and you're both content to let the world pass by as you nap together on a sunny weekday afternoon.

….

Months pass, and you decided you weren't kidding when you said you were celebrating his birthday. Seasons change, summer gives way to Autumn, the days are getting shorter and cooler, trees turned from the supple verdant green to the brilliant hues of Fall. Your backyard is a blended masterpiece of reds, oranges, yellows, and on a particularly chilly October day Victor decides to take your dog on a long walk on the trails in the woods behind your home.

You take advantage of his absence, preheating the oven and bust out the ingredients needed for a cake recipe you found in one of your mother's old cookbooks that you think Victor would like. You remember to separate the wet ingredients from the dry until you're ready to combine the two parts in one large bowl. You pour the batter into two equal size round pans, eyeballing the level to make sure they are even, then place them in the hot oven to bake.

You set a timer on your phone and place a kettle to boil on the stove for tea. Soon enough, the kettle is whistling and you pour the boiling water into your favorite mug with your favorite tea. You pocket your device and decide to pass the remaining time by spending it outside, parked in the big rocking chair with a steaming mug of tea keeping your hands warm and a small blanket wrapped around your shoulders.

It's a perfect Autumn day. The sky is overcast, the wind brings a chilly breeze, and the wonderful colors of the trees as the leaves lose their chlorophyll and fall to the ground has you beaming. You sip your tea and think about the present you didn't get your boyfriend. That's been bugging you for a while; what do you get a man who can buy everything in the world and still have spare change? Oh well, you hope the cake and the card you made are enough.

You're still outside and Victor has yet to return when the timer goes off in your pocket. You head back inside, locate your oven mitts, and carefully slide the rack out of the oven and transfer the pans onto a cooling rack. You poke the cake with a toothpick to check that it has baked all the way through and can't help but pump your fist in victory when it comes out clean. You keep the oven on to toast the coconut flakes you bought specifically for this and set to work making the frosting. The kitchen is smelling nice and toasty as you run a knife along the sides of the cakes, separating the layers from their pans. Both layers come out clean when you flip them over (another victory). You apply a liberal coat of frosting to the cooled layers and stack them, then add the toasted coconut to the sides and top.

You take a step back to appreciate your work, pride swelling your chest. You grab the pack of candles you bought specifically for the occasion and stick one right in the center of the cake and retrieve the card you made, placing the envelope right next to the cake. Just in the nick of time, too, because right on cue, the back door opens and Victor returns with your dog. Once inside, he immediately turns his head in your direction to see you standing behind the kitchen island with a freshly baked cake and an envelope, looking expectantly at him. Both eyebrows are raised in pleasant surprise.

You greet him with a smile. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he echoes, stooping to unleash the dog. “What's this?”

You shrug. “I've decided it's your birthday. Happy Birthday!”

The leash comes off with a click and your dog rushes to greet you, nails clacking on the kitchen floor, tail wagging as he gives your hand excited kisses. You kneel to give him a few scratches and ask how the walk was, and your dog takes this opportunity to lick your face.

Victor huffs. “Little guy decided to take a swim, that's why we were gone so long.” He gives your dog an accusatory look, to which is blissfully ignored as the accused attacks your face with wet kisses. Your dog's fur is completely dry. You stand to get away from the barrage and your dog trots away to go lay on his bed.

You hand the homemade card to Victor. He considers it for a moment before opening it to read the little message you scrawled out for him in what you tried not to look like your regular chicken-scratch. While he's distracted you get two little plates out from the cabinet and the necessary silverware out from the drawer. He doesn't look up until he hears the flick of the lighter you're using to light the single candle on the cake. You return the lighter to your pocket.

You take a deep breath in. “Ha-”

“Don't.” Victor stops you from subjecting him to the mortifying experience of being serenaded with your acapella rendition of “Happy Birthday”. You're thankful for that.

You giggle and he smiles, and he's looking at you with those peculiar eyes of his with so much warmth and love you feel like you could fly.

“Alright,” you say with a grin. “Blow out the candle and make a wish, birthday boy.”

With a roll of his eyes he does as he's told. His lips form an “o” as he lets out a puff of air, immediately snuffing the candle out. A small plume of smoke rolls up to the ceiling and you can't help but clap in delight.

“Yay! Don't tell me what you wished for, it won't come true if you do.” You warn. You cut the cake and serve him a large slice, then you cut yourself a slice and you both decide to take this into the living room. The first bite he takes has him making an appreciative noise in the back of his throat. That's the only criticism you receive because he's silent as he eats the rest of his slice. The cake is supple and moist and the frosting melts on your tongue as the rich flavors of vanilla and coconut play together on your palette. You're barely halfway through your portion when he gets up and goes back to the kitchen, returning with another slice of cake.

“This is really good,” he tells you, gesturing with his fork. He takes another bite and voices his delight, making you smile as you take another bite. Excellent. He could eat the entire cake and you would not feel bad about it. It's his cake, he deserves to eat it, too.

When you're both finished he grabs your plate and you're about to protest that people don't wash dishes on their birthday when he sets them aside and stacks them on the coffee table. He turns to you and suddenly you find yourself wrapped up in a strong hug and a sweet tasting kiss is planted on your lips as he pulls you onto his lap. “Thank you,” he whispers, kissing you again.

It's not quite the birthday bash you think he deserves, but you did what you could, and he's enjoying himself and that's all that matters. You cup his face with both hands and kiss him back.

“Happy birthday, baby,” you tell him in between kisses.

[seat-safety-switch]

Visiting actual civilization is fun. In most cities, things don't start happening until you leave the endless expanse of suburbia and go to the inner city. Downtown haters will tell you not to do it, of course. It's "unsafe," but so is driving a fifty-year-old car without airbags or the ability to turn left. Joke's on them: not only will they use more fuel over the lifetime of their car idling at lights waiting for a green arrow, but they're also going to miss out on my favourite part of downtown, the sausage cart.

Long ago, according to local legend, this sausage cart was opened by a dude from Poland whose name is lost to history. His descendants now own a network of sausage carts all throughout downtown, but this one – the true original – is the only choice of the tube-meat connoisseur. I love to visit, get a smokie and a questionably-branded pop, and be back on the road, before the parking patrol has even twigged to the fact that I left my car in the memorial fountain once again.

Last weekend, I went down there and there was a problem. The operator, whose name will also be lost to history because I ain't no snitch, was worried that his customer base was starting to get pulled away by the falafel cart across the street. This was a valid worry: not only was the falafel cheaper, more flavourful, and more delicious, but they had a guy dressed up as a giant foam gyro breakdancing on the sidewalk. It was a nearly irresistible combo, one that I could only pull myself away from out of blind loyalty to the Sausage King's bravest foot soldier.

Now, I'm not one to get involved in petty squabbles like this normally. I would have just left, but the dude in the gyro suit started chirping at me as I approached my car. My attorney has suggested that I not repeat the words he spoke about my humble Volare, but I assure you that he ate said words, as I set about doing a spiteful, highschooler-grade one-wheel-peel burnout to enshroud their business in tire smoke. Of course, that burnout then resulted in the half-century-old automatic transmission letting go and splashing white-hot Dexron III® all over the cart full of ingredients, but it got results nonetheless. I don't know what they're complaining about, it didn't even taste bad when I helped myself to a free sample after they ran away.

[retlasute]

Can you please write some headcanons featuring Johnny and Gyro sleeping next to Reader? I've got this gut feeling that Gyro might be snoring LOUDLY (rip Reader). And as for Johnny, I imagine him talking and twitching in his sleep sometimes, potentially even unintentionally waking up the Reader. Now, the question is, would the Reader be chill about it or nah? 🤔 I'll leave that up to your creative choice. Can't wait to see what fabulousness you come up with!

Headcanons/Drabbles? - Sleeping and cuddling

I LOVED YOUR REQUEST AND I LOVED WRITING THIS At first I was only going to do a list of headcanons, but I felt these two deserved a little more attention, so i hope you like it! ❤️❤️

◍ Gyro Zeppeli

This man is biologically incapable of sleeping alone.

If there is no one he can hug and cuddle, he will do this with a teddy bear.

Ever since you had started riding with him and Johnny, you had noticed indications of how cozy he got on cold nights when he could sleep closer to someone (and that someone was always you).

At first, it didn't bother you, after all, who would complain about a handsome man like him wanting to be close to you?

Yes, it was understandable that you felt good about it. But factors like noise and smell were not considered by your sleepy mind.

In a race like this, keeping constantly clean and smelling fresh was an impossible task, but what do Italians have against a river bath? For that matter, what do Italians have against any kind of bathing?

Gyro always shied away from bathing in the lakes with the lame excuse of "watching the camp" while you and Johnny cleaned up.

You always made jokes about it, but you never felt personally bothered by Gyro's aversion to bathing of any kind

But now you felt personally bothered by many things, not least your hearing and sense of smell being violently attacked as if you were in the middle of a coliseum

Now, struggling in the grip of your own sarcasm and regret, you shielded your ears with a thin pillow, creating a barrier against Gyro's snoring while your face stuck in the grass turned away from the smell of sweat.

''How the hell can you sleep with this noisy monster?'' You whispered to Johnny, lying on the ground, protecting your ears like a soldier in a trench protects himself from a grenade.

''The more you fight it, the more it will bother you.'' Johnny replied and held his laughter like a monk. ''It's like meditating. Good night, (Y/N)… Or good luck.''

And so the bastard lay down, covering himself with his blue comforter and turning his back to you, and that annoyed you more than Gyro's snoring. You sighed loudly, pulling the pillow away from your ears and lying next to the Italian.

"Meditation, huh?"

You really tried for a few minutes. But Gyro's snoring always brought you out of your sterile meditations. As the moon went away, all reason disappeared, immediately succumbing to the urge to smother him with the pillow.

So you raised yourself a little to look at him. His eyes closed like a cat's, his lashes that extraordinary color you had seen so many times before: a dark blond at the tips, fading to a light blond at the roots.

Then, gently, you held his arm and shook him lightly, to wake him up, but to no avail. Then you tried to push him to lie on his side - maybe then he would stop snoring - Then those cat eyes slowly opened and the snoring stopped. You cursed silently as you watched him wake up. Gyro shimmered with a hellish light. The muscles of his face were well outlined, while those of his arm moved elegantly under your hand that, for some reason, didn't want to let go.

''Ah…'' He grunted and stammered a few times as if a goat was head-butting him in the shin. ''What…? Ah? What? Questo…''

"Please, Gyro, sleep on your side." You said, tired. ''You're snoring like an ogre.''

''It can't be… can it?'' He said, finding it funny, despite his sleep.

''You're as hard to wake as a dead man… but you make as much noise as a living man.''

He gave a tired laugh, and the initial chill dissipated quickly as he drew nearer with surprisingly comfortable warmth. His body relaxed completely around you, and now that he was no longer snoring, his eyes closed almost automatically. Sensing this, Gyro moved closer. A hard, solid warmth stirred briefly against you.

''I'm way more than dead. I'm exhausted, but some stupid part of my body doesn't know that yet.''

The fog of exhaustion seemed to act like a magnifying glass, exaggerating details and sensations. Now that the silence was ringing in your ears, you leaned your face back on him, feeling the smooth, rigid curve of his collarbone, prominent beneath the skin. At the crease of his neck, the skin was warm and sensitive, and the veins were thin and blue like a baby's.

His hand rose slowly, floating like the leaves, and rested lightly on your head.

''The next time you snore, I'll smother you with my pillow.''

''Nyo-ho… it would be better if you smothered me with other things of yours.''

He let out his breath like a sigh and you felt his loss of consciousness like the slow dying of a fire. You fell asleep on top of him, barely managing to pull the heavy folds of the cloak over you before darkness overtook you. His warm, smooth hand on you. And so, you finally slept.

✰ Johnny Joestar

This boy is already shy and sweet, but you amplify those traits in him

When it was just him and Gyro, Johnny didn't bother sharing sheets.

But since you joined them, things have changed. Johnny was a sweet gentleman who knew you deserved much more decorum and respect than Gyro did.

The first cold night the three of you spent together, you must admit he took it bravely, offering you one of his sheets when he saw you chattering your teeth in a freezing wind.

You thanked him and politely declined, but he insisted, and you couldn't deny that you were freezing to death.

By now Johnny was more used to your presence and hardly bothered by it, but you, on the other hand, noticed some strange things.

He always slept after you. Often, you felt him watching you in the dark. Not in a strange, threatening way, but simply tender and protective, and this usually helped you fall asleep faster.

Johnny couldn't deny that deep down he had that primitive urge to snuggle into your arms every time night fell. But to his dismay, you never made the first move, nor did you give any indication that you would let Johnny do so.

One day he noticed that even on cold nights you used to wake up sweating under the covers. He didn't know why, and neither did you. But this small proof of imperfection gave him the courage to one day allow himself to take the first step.

But as the number of enemy stand users increased along the race courses, Johnny could no longer afford to sleep last, so he went to sleep in a flash, without bothering to tie up the horses or help Gyro light a fire.

This time, you pulled up at night, tied the horses, and let them feed on the tall grass of a small field. You put out the fire and lay down next to Johnny, as Gyro was busy doing who knows what. So the last thing you heard was the peaceful neighing of the horses.

As on other nights, you slept heavily amidst the shallow warmth of the blankets and woke in the middle of the dawn retched, thirsty, and covered in mosquitoes and ticks. You were very annoyed to realize that the ticks and mosquitoes seemed to like only your flesh, but you had learned, on your trip east, to check Gyro and Johnny whenever you woke up in the early hours.

''Ew…'' You spoke, examining a particularly large specimen, the size of a grape, lodged in Gyro's arm. You were afraid to pull it out, it was so big it would probably burst. ''Maybe it'll fall off by itself…''

That's when you felt a stirring behind you and discovered what had caused you to wake up. You turned over, sensing that something was wrong.

The night was cold and the sheet was completely messed up, as it usually was. You rolled over and crawled silently to Johnny, who was struggling and had a desperate expression on his face. At first, you thought he was swatting mosquitoes, but you saw that he still had his eyes closed and was grunting as if something or someone was on top of him.

''Johnny? Johnny, are you alright?'' You whispered close to him, but something in the way he whimpered made you abandon politeness and grab his shoulders.

He was breathing hard like he'd been running, and despite the cold, his body was drenched in sweat. You shook his shoulder and found it stiff and cold as a metal statue. He twitched at the touch of your hand and stood up in a jump, his blue eyes wide.

"I didn't mean to frighten you.'' You apologized. ''You’re okay?''

You wondered for a moment if he wasn't having a nightmare, and whatever was happening terrified him. Now his expression didn't change; he looked straight into your eyes.

''Johnny!'' You whispered a little louder, shaking him again. ''Johnny, what happened?''

Then he blinked and calmed down, though his face retained the desperate expression of a hunted animal.

''I'm fine.'' He said. ''It was… it was a bad dream.'' He spoke as if to convince himself of the fact.

''Tell me about it. It will go away if you tell me.''

He held you gently by the arms, as much to check that you were real as to support himself. It was a full moon night and you could see that every muscle in his body was tense, rigid and immovable as stone, but pulsing with furious energy, ready to explode into action.

''No.'' He said, stunned. ''I'm fine. I'm sorry about that.''

''Don't apologize for that. I was just worried.''

As you said this, the blue eyes slowly relaxed and landed on your face and you smiled at him. This soft smile made him blush.

''Let's go to sleep, Johnny.'' You continued. "Tomorrow will bring its worries.''

He sighed, but his arms relaxed around your body when you released his shoulders.

''Where are your blankets?'' He asked as he watched you lie down next to him. ''You can't sleep in the grass.''

''I'm fine.'' You said. ''These blankets always make me sweat.''

''But…'' He swallowed dryly, as if thinking twice about what he was going to say, then simply pulled his own blanket over you. "The mosquitoes won't let you sleep.''

There was no answer, except for a smile that he could not see. So, gradually, you felt your heavy body snuggle into his. You saw the night stars as you laid your head close to his chest, just as you could hear his heart beating.

It was ridiculous, too, that something so simple made his heart race when you breathed near him, and sweat drip down the back of his neck whenever he saw you. That's what Johnny thought. But at that moment, he doesn't want it to end. As if your touch was the only guarantee that his heart would keep beating. And maybe he was right.

[s1ckh1mb0]

Nsfw!! Gyro x reader

Cw-hair pulling, slapping, talk about body hair?, lil bit of degradation, just pure smut

Based off this lovely tweet from mwah😙

Also based off of some headcanons I have for this fine man

You could tell your lovely weirdo of a boyfriend was pissed off. He came in your shared home seething and mumbling to himself about “some stupid assholes who think they know everything.” God only knows who’s be talking about this time but with your guess you were going to say it was probably Dio. He was sitting on the couch with his arms folded still just angrily mumbling to himself when you walked over. You started massaging his shoulders and planting small kisses from his neck to his face “What’s wrong love?” Once you asked that it was basically over he went on a 10 minute tangent though you didn’t mind and lended a listening ear for him. But he was heated in-fact he was so mad he actually started getting hot which led to him throwing his hat and shirt somewhere when he took it off.

You couldn’t help but look over his body, he had quite some muscle to him but a softer stomach. Not only that but he was covered in hair (not to the point where it’s like he never shaves) covering his arms, legs, but your favorite part his happy trail. You didn’t even realize how long you had been staring until you heard him clear his throat. Your face heated up in embarrassment as you finally looked away “I’m sorry baby I know how much Dio gets on your nerves is there anything you want me to do to help you out?”. He thought for a moment and decided to not let this chance go to waste.

Within seconds you were forced down to your knees with his thumb in your mouth “Just need you to sit there and look pretty for me~”. You were a bit shocked but decided why the hell not it’s least you can do for him. There he was in front of you, your handsome boyfriend jerking off to you. It was entertaining but you wanted to help him so you when you wrapped your hand around his dick he quickly slapped it away and gave a light slap to your cheek. “Don’t be dumb baby I gave you simple fucking instructions but it seems you can’t even follow them hm?” Maybe I’ll have to teach how to listen when someone tell you to do something. Now be good and maybe I’ll reward you” At this point he was gripping your with a sadistic smile.

This was a bit new never had seeing this side of him before. But you weren’t complaining you were loving every minute of it. Meanwhile Gyro never stopped thrusting into his hand. Seeing the different emotions on your face did nothing but fuel him even more. He was getting closer and it was obvious to you. His moaning becoming louder and he started rubbing his thumb over his tip just like he did when he sent you videos of him jerking off. It’s like you have your own personal camboy. “Shit gonna f-fuck gonna cum~” he threw his head back with a loud moan as he came all over your face. When he finally came down from his high he gave you another slap before scooping some of the cum onto his fingers sticking them in your mouth. He smiled as you started licking them clean “That’s a good little pet”

Ps y’all should totally follow my Twitter where I post nsfw concepts<3

[jojolymes]

𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐃𝐒𝐓 𝐏𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎; thirty-five

࿔*:･ﾟ xxxv.

next: ࿔*:･ﾟ xxxvi.  |  table of contents

YOUR CHEST was aching— or rather, everything was aching, aside from a few parts of you that were dreadfully numb. A groan slipped past your lips as you opened your eyes and adjusted to the light that flooded in through the cabin windows. Your hands tried and failed, to push you up, and when your eyes finally grew accustomed to the light, you almost screamed at the sight of Ringo standing over you. Still, there was not enough air in your lungs for you to do that, and your body seemed to refuse to do anything but lay there.

"Ah, so you're awake. Good," Ringo muttered, leaning back so that you had to turn your head to see him, "he wouldn't appreciate it if you were dead. Though, I made sure not to shoot within range so you should be fine by the time he gets here." Who the hell was he talking about? Gyro? You couldn't say a word without blood seeping from your lips, making your stomach sink. What was Ringo planning for you? He sighed and looked down at his wrist before looking back at you.

"I suppose I should question you now just in case. What do you know about the Corpse Heart?" Ringo asked, face devoid of any emotion. The Corpse Heart? You went to speak once more but started coughing, blood splattering onto the timeworn, wooden floor of the cabin. Ringo watched until you willed yourself to speak, glaring up at him with your cheek still glued to the bloodied floor.

"I... I don't know anything."

"Hmm. He tells me you were related to Robert Speedwagon. Is that not correct?"

Robert?

"Wh-What the fuck do you... know about Robert?"

"So you are related. Alright, well, you must know about the heart then. After all, he was the one who had it."

Robert had the Corpse Heart?

No, he couldn't have. Robert didn't have a stand like you did and if he had indeed had the Corpse Heart, surely you would have known. He would have told you. You were the closest to one another and none of your other brothers had ever compared, as harsh as the statement was. Robert would have told you if that was true. He couldn't have had it. He just couldn't have.

But... he had made it so far into the race. Farther along than any of your other brothers. Far closer to that prize money. You could still remember how much happier your father and your brothers had been every time you read his name in the paper. People all around the neighborhood would come up to you and say how great it was that Robert was one of the finalists. How great that one brother had somehow managed to outdo all the others.

How lucky you were.

How lucky to have a brother who had decided to keep something from you.

How lucky to be told by a stranger that your brother had kept the biggest secret from you and died without uttering a single word.

You couldn't say anything as Ringo studied your expression. His eyes dragged over your face, your bandana now hanging loosely around your neck. You couldn't even find it in you to care as you fought back tears, blinking them away. You wouldn't let them fall now. Ringo hummed, seemingly discontent with your reaction. Your brow furrowed as he turned away from you, to lean over Johnny instead with a map in his hands that you hadn't noticed. Your hand shot out before you could stop it, fingers digging into the fabric of Ringo's shirt with as much power as you could muster.

"D-Don't..."

"I'm not going to hurt him. I need to see how this map aligns with his arm," Ringo said, prying your weak fingers from his shirt, gazing down at you with no hint of pity. There was nothing more for you to do but let your hand fall to the floorboards, staring at the blood that slowly dripped down the side of Johnny's face. With your ear to the floor, as you watched, you wondered if you'd hear Johnny's heartbeat but feared how faint it might be.

You pressed your ear harder against the wood, breathing hard. But you heard no steady thrum echoing against the boards. Instead, you heard a whisper of soft clicks and taps, dull enough to catch your ear. It didn't thump but made a steady, endless symphony, never growing louder or softer as it went. You turned away from the floor and toward the wall of the cabin, eyes narrowing as bits of dust sprinkled through the gaps in the wood.

"Huh?"

The wall burst open, splintered shards of wood hitting the floor as Gyro's steel ball hit Ringo straight in the temple with a sickening crack. There in the sunlight stood Gyro, brows furrowed when he saw your smiling face. Your spirit sang at the sight of him but as the wood started flying back at him and the hope you felt dissipated, you realized that Ringo had used his stand again. Gyro was hidden by the wall once more and you could feel a wave of nauseating dread fall over you.

"Still here... Your actions are meaningless to me. I've already expressed this," Ringo stated as his stand manifested, wrapping itself around his shoulders, "I can rewind six seconds in time. I can do this as many times as I wish. My employer will most likely tell me to dispose of you as well, but doing so is worth nothing to me. I will let you leave this orchard. Go, alone. Return to your race. Do as you wish there..." Your nails dug into the floorboards, splintering into your nailbeds as you bit your lip. Would Gyro try again? Would he save you and Johnny...?

Surely, he'd only save Johnny.

"Ya know, might just be me, but I'm getting the feeling you're looking down on me." Your heart jumped when you heard Gyro's voice, clear as day through the cracked wood of the wall. There was still dust seeping through the cracks. You quickly pressed your ear to the floorboards again and heard that same whirring, growing faster now. Your lips twitched into a smile, ignoring all the inner turmoil you felt as you lay there.

"You said you fiddle with that wristwatch to turn back time but, you know, I threw that ball to check your body. I'll tell you just to be fair. My steel ball's scan found an old wound in your left collarbone—" Ringo twitched, just barely noticeable in your peripherals, "—In my next attack, I'm going to aim my attack at that collarbone. And that impact on that old wound will most definitely paralyze your whole left side. And I don't think you're gonna be able to turn that wristwatch with a paralyzed left hand."

"Not just your left arm, but your left leg, even your left eyelid will drop. You won't even be able to speak. Even if you wanted to there won't be a redo. No more six seconds back in time. The paralysis will also stop your heart." Gyro's voice was getting louder now, the crunch of dry grass announcing each approaching footstep. His voice was like death incarnate, unwavering in its words as the ticking of Ringo's watch echoed in the cabin. But death didn't wait for anyone. Ringo didn't falter and just stared at the door, blood spilling over and down his ear.

The door broke apart with a single kick, revealing Gyro once more. The splintered wood fell around him like a warped halo, hitting the floor with each step he took closer to Ringo. Ringo slowly rose to his feet, letting the map he held in his hands flutter onto Johnny's unmoving body. The tension was palpable, so thick and stagnant that you almost choked on it. You couldn't see Gyro's eyes from where you lay but you knew it was for the better. You lay there, a witness to the trembling men who were fated to stand in each other's way in this very moment.

"From this distance, neither of us is going to miss this shot."

Ringo stared straight back at Gyro, not saying a word, back turned to you and Johnny. Your hand twitched when you realized this— if you could just summon Iron Maiden, you could try and help Johnny. Ringo and Gyro didn't dare look away from the other and you knew that if you were going to save Johnny you'd have to do it then and there. You willed yourself to move, even with your aching body, and slowly pushed yourself toward Johnny, hoping that the threat of Gyro was more important than you.

"So, now what? We can't back down now. It doesn't matter what we want anymore," Gyro stated, hand inching toward the steel ball in his holster. Ringo's hand was sitting on the handle of his gun, fingering the leather. You didn't let the gunshot stop you, nor the crack of Ringo's collarbone, and instead managed to throw yourself onto Johnny, protecting him from the shards of wood that fell from the roof. You felt Iron Maiden's warmth fill your body, hovering over you and Johnny as she repelled any shard away from you.

Gyro flew across the room, landing on a bookshelf that crumbled under his weight. Ringo did the same, landing a ways from you and Johnny, twitching in the pool of blood he found himself in. You sucked a breath from between your teeth, looking at Gyro's unmoving body with a stomach that sank far past your feet.

"I-Iron Maiden!"

Another gunshot rang out and you found yourself back on the ground, lying beside Johnny. Your breath caught in your throat as you stared up at the roof, the shards of wood that would fall on you in the future still partially intact. You looked over at Gyro, meeting his gaze for just a moment, barely even a second. Had he planned to use the wooden shards to beat Ringo? You looked up at the ceiling once more, trying not to be obvious. The wood had been falling all over you, Johnny, and Ringo so if Gyro planned to use those shards, you and Johnny would have to move.

You grabbed Johnny's arm and started pulling him toward you, willing Iron Maiden to reappear and help you. You felt her warmth fill you once more and you almost laughed. Of course, Gyro would use the shards. It was surprising that Ringo hadn't noticed them at all. Your body ached as you strained to pull Johnny closer, his hair falling in front of his eyes. You'd have to heal him with Iron Maiden later, even if he wasn't going to thank you.

"Thought so... So, you turned back time? Six seconds. So what now? One more time?" Gyro asked with blood dribbling down his chin, "One more time?!" Ringo gritted his teeth and took a half step backward as Gyro took one closer. You flinched but continued pulling Johnny toward you, wincing as you went. Your body protested but you wouldn't stop. You'd do something even if Johnny and Gyro hated you right now. You had to.

"Interesting, Gyro Zeppelli," Ringo said with a strained smile, "your eyes have taken a better glow, but you are still merely a conformist!" You could feel the tiny splinters of wood start to fall on you now and you tugged on Johnny's arm a little harder, biting back a cry as you felt your wounds sear hot and excruciating. Gyro's hand was on his holster once more, readying himself for his attack.

"That's not for you to decide! Neither of us can back down now!"

Gyro lurched forward, winding one arm back before chucking it hard at Ringo's collarbone as Ringo pointed his gun at Gyro. You heard a crack and a gunshot and yanked on Johnny, pulling him onto your aching body. You wrapped your arms around him and with a shrill cry, you managed to pull him to the other side of you, holding him tight to yourself. His blond hair splayed across your cheek matted with blood as you watched Gyro land on the bookshelf for the second time.

"This is the second shot! This decides it!" Ringo screamed with his left hand glued to his left collarbone, with blood pouring from the middle of it. He reloaded his gun with a single click and kept it pointed at Gyro, gritting his teeth as he pressed his hand harder into his collarbone. You held Johnny a little tighter, looking at Gyro frantically. Had it worked? You hadn't been too busy shielding Johnny to see if Gyro's plan had worked— your stomach churned.

Gyro met your gaze, his eyes shining with self-assurance. It was unexpected to see a man— he had always been so wishy-washy about you in retrospect, constantly flipping back and forth between thinking you were amazing and wishing you were dead somewhere— staring into your eyes the way Gyro was doing. It tugged hard at your heart, almost like he was trying to rip your heart to bury it six feet under. So when Ringo began to choke on his own blood and unspoken words, you couldn't help but let your heart go.

"With your left arm, Ringo Roadagain, you guarded your collarbone," Gyro began, sitting up with his gaze fixed on Ringo who writhed on the ground like he had six seconds before turning the knob on his watch the first time, "you wanted to finish me off with that second shot. And because of that defensive stance, your attack didn't hit any vitals and instead hit my shoulder. The end would be when you fired your next shot..." Gyro started getting to his feet as Ringo's body went slack.

"A shard of wood... the pieces of wood that were falling ...you remembered where they were from the first six seconds and used your steel ball to launch them at me," Ringo muttered in shock, eyes trained on Gyro's every move. You, on the other hand, let yourself relax, staring up at the shattered ceiling with Johnny still cradled in your arms. You could feel his faint breath against your neck, feather-light but still there. It was something, better than nothing, for sure.

"Admirable, Gyro Zeppeli... I was one move behind."

"If you hadn't been guarding yourself with one arm, you would have definitely hit my vitals... someone as capable as you..." Gyro trailed off, putting his steel ball back in his holster as he watched Ringo inch his right hand forward, fingers nearing the handle of his gun.

"But that would have brought the match to a duel again... another six-second rewind... it would have gone on. The duel would have never ended. Though it seems as if those six seconds are already up," Ringo said with a faint smile, starting the shakily wrap his fingers around the handle. His wristwatch was still ticking and Ringo knew if he played his cards right, he could kill Gyro right then and there.

"Stop it. Don't try anything funny. There's no second shot for you. Put that gun down. I'm satisfied... there's no reason for me to finish you off," Gyro ordered as Ringo's face fell, his hand sitting comfortably on the gun's handle. He managed to sit himself up, slowly, but up regardless. The shard still poked out of his collarbone, centimeters away from piercing into the flesh of his cheek. But that wouldn't matter soon.

"That's why you are a conformist! Find the path of light! The shining path that one must tread! These are societal values and also a true man's values. They used to be synonymous in the past but currently, the two are not necessarily one and the same," Ringo babbled, blood dripping down from his chin as his heartbeat started to slow, "Man and society are completely different ideals now. But the true road to victory requires embracing the true man's values and you should be able to see it now. Continue the race and find out for yourself... the path of light."

Ringo could see it now, the forest he had grown up in as a child. His mother and his sister waiting for him, big smiles on their faces. How long had it been since he had seen their faces? He could still remember the time before that man had come and taken it all away from him. Back when he couldn't rewind six seconds to stop their brutal deaths. Now, he'd leave it all behind, and finally see what he had only ever dreamed of.

"That is what I will pray for. And I thank you."

Ringo used the last of his strength to point the gun to the right, the glimmer of the metal catching your eye. You didn't even think when Iron Maiden appeared in front of you, deflecting the bullet away from you and Johnny. Gyro didn't either as he chucked the ball he had just put back into Ringo's chest, creating a cacophony of cracks that Ringo could only smile at the sound of. As your head fell onto Johnny's barely rising chest, Gyro stood back and let the light of the sun beat down over him.

"WELCOME TO THE TRUE MAN'S WORLD."

[ravenzeppeli]

Trapped |Yandere Johnny x Reader Angst|

Warning: strong language, physical abuse, verbal abuse, threats, stalking, uncomfortable scenes discussed, yandere relationship. MA

     "I told you not to talk to the likes of Diego Brando!" Snapped your boyfriend, Johnny Joestar, his turquoise eyes glaring daggers at you. "Remember when I told you to avoid him and every man that isn't Gyro or I?! Do you remember Y/N?!" The glare that he shot towards you was one filled with hate, no love resting behind his eyes.

Continung to berate you, he raised his voice, "Get the fuck over here now! Don't use me not being able to walk as an excuse to stay away from me!" His patience was running thin, entire body stiff to the core as you stared at him, terrified to move. "Are you fucking deaf!?"

      You always stayed far away from him when he was angry, back pressed against the harshly cold hotel wall, body visibly shaking. His loud voice filled the small hotel room, causing fear to bubble up inside of you. You couldn't stand being yelled at by him.. why was he so jealous? Never would you dare to cheat on him. The conversation with Diego was nothing more than you asking him questions about his past. What was so terrible about that? A simple, harmless conversation?

You shook your head once, keeping your eyes on him as you kept your back firmly against the wall. Your legs were too scared to move; no, they wouldn't move because they knew that he was going to hurt you. Fuck Gyro, you know that he was the reason that Johnny knew about your little conversation. Your hunch was correct - when Johnny wasn't stalking you and watching your every move Gyro was, not giving you even a single second of privacy. If you knew that your freedom and privacy were going to be taken away then you would have stayed single.

Not even in the bathroom did you get privacy, forced to keep the door open as you do your private business. Closing doors were forbidden, Johnny felt as if he should be able to see all parts of you, including your most private parts. You despised him so much for that, always watching, wearing a little smirk on his face at your discomfort and humiliation.

"I am going to beat the shit out of you if you don't bring your fucking ass over here and stand in front of me! Get over here now!" He screamed, snatching his blue hat off of his head, revealing messy chestnut blonde hair. "We've been together five goddamn months, you know what does and doesn't get you beat!"

       If Gyro were here, he would have already dragged you over to him, leaving once Johnny had his hands securely wrapped around your wrist, light beads of sweat forming on his forehead as he waited for Gyro to leave, only being able to hit and scream at you when he had you alone. He hid the truth, hitting you in places that were hidden beneath your clothes, giving you harsh glances when no one was looking to indicate that when he had you alone you were going to regret displeasing him. This relationship was pure hell, pure hell that you were forced to endure because you couldn't leave him. You've tried, him or Gyro always seemed to find you within hours.

    You forced yourself to find the strength to move, slowly stalking over to him with no anticipation in your step. You saw the light beads of sweat forming on his forehead, his hands resting on his lap, balling into fists so tight that you could see the white of his knuckles. You stood directly in front of him, eyes wide with fear as he stared you down. The silence made you nervous, goose flesh forming on your arms, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up.

True fear wasn't a monster hiding in your closet with plans of scaring you, fear was a crazed man being so obsessed with you that he controlled and stalked every little part of your life, more then ready to attack when you stepped out of the perfect little line that he created for you to stay behind. Why wouldn't he just allow you to be yourself? You wanted to go out and feel the sun on your skin. You wanted to make friends and laugh with others. Ever since meeting Johnny, you're only allowed to do things while he is present, and he would rather have you locked away and hidden from the world. So badly, did you want to leave. You wanted to be free.

        "If you're so scared of me, then why don't you listen to me?! Talking to Diego was unacceptable, and you know that! You are beautiful, Y/N, so beautiful that guys will want to steal you away from me!" He raised his hand behind you, placing two sharp smacks on your bottom, leaving a dark red handprint and a harsh string behind. You flinched but stayed in front of him, hands hanging limply by your side.

"You're stupid for what you've done, so stupid! You know better!" His contiuned, palm smacking away at your upper thighs, three harsh smacks going on each thigh. "Don't you know better?! Or do I have to bear your ass and beat you with a riding crop!?"

       Tears filled your eyes, your body flinching at each painful smack, your clothes providing some protection, but you still felt every harsh blow. "I do know better, I'm sorry, Johnny! I promise that I won't do it again, I'll just stay by you at all times!" You begged him, knowing exactly what he wanted from you. So, in order to spare yourself a beating, you would beg. "Please don't use the riding crop on me, I'll be good! Please give me one more chance!" You resisted the urge to rub your stinging bottom and thighs, knowing that would only anger him.

       "If you ever do this again, I promise that I'll put you in the hospital! Don't you ever fucking test me again, I am not a man that will tolerate you walking all over me! You are my girlfriend, my property and you will listen to me!" He wiped the sweat off of his forehead with the back of his hand. "You almost got fucking killed, you know that? Do you want to be my wife or do you want to be buried six feet underground? Those are your only two choices."

      "I want to be your wife. Nothing more and nothing else, I was put on this earth to be your wife," you told him, feeling as if you were reading lines off of a script. You made your tone sound believable, knowing that even though you didn't want him, you knew that you had to still be with him. You could learn to love him.. that's what you tell yourself so you can fall asleep at night, the thought of being with a crazy man that could snap and kill you at any time for any possible reason still on your mind, ticking away at your sanity.

       "That's what I thought.. only I can love you. Only I can make you happy and give you what you need," Johnny said, raising his hand to caress your cheek, his face instantly softening once you said the words that he wanted to hear. "Now that we are happy again, come lay on the bed. I am tired, it's time we go to bed."

[amourlyns]

⠀ 「 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐧 𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬. 」

⠀ ━━ 🌷 💕

✦ 𝗦𝗨𝗠𝗠𝗔𝗥𝗬 ⨟⠀ Johnny is determined to make you his, even if it takes some white lies.

✦ 𝗣𝗔𝗜𝗥𝗜𝗡𝗚 ⨟⠀Johnny 〞Soap 〞Mactavish + gn!nurse Reader

✦ 𝗔𝗨𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗥𝗦 𝗡𝗢𝗧𝗘 ⨟⠀This is also on ao3 ➜    masterlist

✦ 𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚𝗦 ⨟⠀ None

⠀ ★ ⠀ | JOHNNY WAS A SHIT LIAR, YOU KNEW that and he knew that too. The lengths he’ll go to see you were hilarious, you’d never admit that though.

So, when Johnny shows up to the infirmary with a paper cut you can’t help but sigh at his antics. Maybe if you kept up this front he would leave you alone. ❛ Ach, ya look s’pleased ‘t see me.❜

The sound of Johnny’s voice lingers in your head— his cologne seems to linger too. Damn, you needed him out like.. right now. ❛ You should just give it up, Johnny. Seriously.❜

He doesn’t of course, and you’re not surprised. He knows you don’t actually mean it, because if you did… he wouldn’t be here in the first place. Silence fills the space between you too. Then you break it.

❛ Just one date, just one and that’s it.❜ He accepts it of course, you finally peek out of your shell. Just a bit. And that’s all he needed. Before he leaves, you put a silly Hello Kitty bandaid on his paper cut.

❛ Well I’ll be damned. An ‘ol paper cut was all y’ needed, aye? Can I get a star next ? ❜ You ignore him for the most part, but he can see the small smile that creeps onto your expression.

You shoo him out moments after, and he raises his hand in a defensive manner. Giggling his way out of the infirmary… God, this was going to be rough.

YOU WERE DEFINITELY DRAMATIC… Here you we’re wishing that this night could last forever. Johnny was nothing but a gentleman to you.

But it gets worse, he was a damn good comedian. So funny in fact, it had you wondering why didn’t you go out with him sooner? Well, you were as stubborn as an ox of course. You could feel yourself twinge with a bit of pride at the sight of his Hello Kitty bandaid.. he kept it on?

He follows your line of sight and grins. The warm lighting against the setting sun did him wonders… he just looked so right like this. He was really good at picking places to go as well, almost too good.

He took you to this small botanical garden, then a local coffee shop now you were here, at some food truck with amazing street food. You also noted that he loved walking, not that you mind of course. It was better than being cooped up in the infirmary after all.

The sound of Johnny talking breaks your train of thought. ❛ Ay, I kept the bandaid. The boys teased the hell outta me. ‘S a nice reminder of ya though. ❜ Wow, he’s honest. Maybe too honest, because he’s making you more and more nervous by the minute.

Involuntary smiles and giggles are slipping out and your face is getting warm. Damn, he’s smooth. ❛ That’s sweet of you.❜ Why did you have the strongest urge to kiss him? You don’t of course, but you do feel the need to tease him a bit.

So you lean in, to him. And he replicates your movements, instead, you take a bite out of his gyro. A satisfied groan escapes your lips at the flavor and you’re left with a blissful expression.

When you focus on him again, you’re inches away from his face. Your gazes meet and you pull away. He’s speechless for the most part he couldn’t tell if he should be upset about his gyro and your teasing, or if he should be grateful.

He decides to go with both options. ❛ Cheeky, aren’t ya? ❜ You respond with a small smile, and a satisfied hum. You and Johnny to call it a night and head back to base.

Johnny holds the door open for you, ushering you in like some royal… it’s funny to be honest, it makes you feel special. He definitely earned the star right? Especially after today.

So you give it to him, placing it on his chest giving it a gentle kiss. And you end up giving him one too, on the cheek of course. You don’t want to get his hopes too high now. He smiles like a little kid who just got candy, all cheery and giddy.

You bid him farewell, and he does the same.

He was definitely getting another date with you.

[dumb-doll-lips]

How did the sleepover go? (Other than the dead battery of course)

Because I do try to write about times im getting fucked, using this as an appropriate to try to include what all I can remember.

It was a lot of fun. I went over to his place. After just a little bit of saying hello and stuff, went straight into getting fucked for the first time of the night. He fucked me from behind while I was bent over the bed. I was trying to not have my face on the bed a lot bc we were gonna go get food after and didn’t want to mess up my makeup, which was silly of me. He smacked me ass a lot, and pushed my face into the bed some. I sucked his cock some next, again I was like trying to not be too messy about it to not mess up my makeup too bad and even said something, but at some point he held me down on his cock some and I was gagging a bunch. I think that’s when I gave up on my makeup. He then fucked me on my back, had my feet over his shoulders some first I think, and then liked varied. Had a bit of choking and getting slapped, and some very hot dirty talk around needing him to fill me w cum, I think he like called me a slut some and saying stuff about being his to use and so on. And def got filled w his cum. I really like that it’s like pretty common for me to cum the same time the guy is fucking me does. I def think it feels way good being filled with cum.

I cleaned up some and fixed my makeup, and sipped on a martini a little while chatting a little before we went out to pick up some Greek food. Tho I got a shawarma wrap instead of like a gyro, I don’t think shawarma is Greek. Idk. It was yum. I haven’t had mediterrean or middle eastern food it far too long for how much I like it. We went back to his place to eat and put on the movie nefarious, I wouldn’t say it was a good movie, but it was a fun one to talk during and like be kinda annoyed w lol. After the movie I got changed into this cute floral mesh set, that was like somewhere between lingerie and pajamas, little shorts and top that was held together by a little hook between my tits. And then we did kinda just browse movies and watch some trailers. My top managed to come undone a couple times…which led nicely into getting fucked again.

I don’t super remember the start of things but I know I was on top early on, and then at some points more like on my side and back. More light choking and some slapping and had a pillow over my face some and I think he had my hands pinned down some, but like most hot of all, there was some breeding talk. God that like always gets me, like when it first comes up I feel like my brain always is like short circuiting, and def much more so while getting fucked so well. So off course got filled w cum again. And then went to sleep.

And then was very fun to start the day getting fucked again. I feel like I don’t remember as much from this time. I remember he started w just teasing me some and when fingering me he said something about how wet I was. And more being cummed in too.

Shortly after I’m getting ready to head home and then find out my car door was open the hole time and that my battery was dead. Def felt soo dumb about that. Neither of us had cables (he’s in the tail end of moving and they weren’t here) or really new how (but like he was like saying he’d be able to look it up and stuff, but no cables). So I had to call my dad to come rescue me. My mom also then called me and I heard that she was like mad I didn’t call her instead of my dad which was like why? Did make things more annoying. But like overall def was all a really fun time.

Wow this took like forever to write lol.

[quiverwingquack]

to face unafraid, the plans that we've made

(My giftee for @duckblrsecretsanta2023 was @georgiarose! I hope you like it!)

Gyro and Fenton decide to head home together, and are greeted with the first snow of the season.

The lab is quiet. Manny went home hours ago, and Boyd and Huey took Lil Bulb back to the mansion for some kind of sleepover. That was… four hours ago? Five? Gyro’s been too wrapped up in his latest project to pay much attention to the clock. If he just adjusts this dial, and attaches the wiring to the panels just right, it might work better than last time. And Fenton’s part should be finished tomorrow, so they can start beta tests on this version, so–

“It’s, um, it’s getting late, is all,” Fenton stumbles through his sentences. “I guess–I, um, I just think you should get some rest too. And now would be a good time! I–I mean, if you want to, that is, I–yeah. Sleep?”

Gyro looks up from the gizmo he’s been tinkering with, catching a glimpse of a fading blush on Fenton’s cheek feathers. He hadn’t been listening, but the sight gives him butterflies–why, he doesn’t know, they’ve been together for a few months now–and he puts down his work. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to go home and get some rest now, anyway. They’ve had a lot of late nights in the lab lately, one too many projects in progress, and he knows they’ll both do better work when they’re well-rested, anyway.

“That sounds great, Doctor,” he replies, watching that blush blossom across Fenton’s face again. He’s usually not one to tease, at least not so affectionately, but Fenton’s a sweetheart, and he loves to see him flustered. “Maybe I’ll buy us something to eat, on the way.”

“Oh! I, um, yeah. I–yes! Food sounds great!” Fenton smiles like sunshine, lighting up the lab as he turns to leave. “I’ll, uh, I’ll get our coats!”

Gyro watches him go with a smile of his own. Sometimes it feels like they’re still learning how to be in love. He definitely is. But Fenton… he’s easy to love, with his nervous kindness and drive to help everyone he can and excitement for new, unknown experiences–Gyro really doesn’t know how he ever found Fenton annoying before. His boyfriend is everything he’s ever wanted.

When he returns, Fenton’s bundled up in a scarf M’ma insisted he wear and a pair of mittens gifted to him by a grateful citizen, and carrying Gyro’s coat. Ever the chivalrous gentleman, he helps Gyro into his own coat and scarf, and leads the way to the elevator so he can open the doors for them.

Gyro shuts off the lights, each bank of bright white lights turning inky black with a click. Then, he takes Fenton’s hand, and they head for the surface together.

The ground floor is quiet, a single row of lights left on when everyone else went home. Gyro’s used to leaving this late, if he leaves at all—usually he’d end up taking a quick nap in the lab or stay up until dawn without realizing it—but Fenton squeezes his hand nervously. Gyro draws circles with his thumb on the back of Fenton’s hand reassuringly, taking the lead toward the lobby.

The front doors are giant, with equally large windows looking out at the empty parking lot. The sky is gloomy and dark, even for this late hour, and as they approach the exit, it becomes obvious that it’s started to snow. The big windows reveal small snowflakes drifting down to the pavement in a silent, sparkling dance.

“It’s snowing!” Fenton chirps excitedly, pushing open one of the doors. “Gyro, look!”

“It sure is,” he agrees, pulling the collar of his coat up as if to hide from the snowflakes. “First of the season.”

“Yeah!” His partner looks to the sky with wide, wonder-filled eyes, then spins around slowly as he looks up. “It’s beautiful! I hope it sticks, we could wake up tomorrow to a winter wonderland!”

“Yeah, beautiful,” Gyro agrees. But he isn’t looking at the snow—he’s focused on Fenton’s hair, snowflakes clinging to it like glitter. Focused on his boyfriend’s bright eyes and wide smile, and his delight over something as small as the wintery weather. Fenton’s enchanted by the snow, and Gyro… well, he’s enchanted by Fenton.

Science can explain many things, Gyro thinks, watching him twirl a slow circle under a yellow parking lot light. Science can explain the way that light glows, and why the snow is falling slowly and softly, and science can even explain why his heart begins to race, watching Fenton pause and turn to look back at him. It takes Gyro’s breath away, looking at the way he’s standing, with a glowing yellow halo behind him and sparkly snowflakes clinging to his shoulders.

Science can do plenty, but this doesn’t feel scientific at all. Leaning in for a kiss, bathed in golden light and silent snow, it feels… magical, instead. Fenton’s warm hand caresses Gyro’s cold cheek feathers, and the world beyond this quiet, empty parking lot seems to fade away around them. Gyro closes his eyes, leaning into the warm embrace and pulling Fenton a little closer.

This moment is not science, but magic, and Gyro wants to remember this feeling forever.

[wacky-nameless-inventor-24]

You don’t have to do this but I would love to see you write another story in the Fenro Witch AU where it’s the 1 year anniversary of Boyd’s death and Gyro and Fenton decide to go to Boyd’s grave to pay their respects with flowers with Fenton at some point giving Gyro time alone to say how much he misses Boyd and maybe you could have it that in certain parts such as them walking to Boyd’s grave, we cut to the past on the day of Boyd’s death showing how it happened, Gyro and Fenton’s reaction to finding Boyd (which would probably have a lot of crying, grieving, Gyro holding onto Boyd rocking him in his arms and begging him to wake up), and Boyd’s funeral. Only if you want to write this of course. 😊 ❤️

UAAAAAGH HUGGING GET OUT OF MY HEADDDD IVE HAD A FIC SIMILAR TO THIS PLANNED FOR FOREVER ty for giving me an excuse to write it <3333

Also! purposefully got this done just in time because May 18th is the 1 year anniversary of this au!!

cw- major character death, hanging mentions, implied self harm kind of I think also this is almost 5k words long just so you know how much is under the read more-

Though they never discussed it aloud, they both knew what day it was. 

They never needed to plan the day, they both just knew what to do. 

Neither of them needed to say it. 

It was cloudy that morning, the way it’d been cloudy on that day before. Heavy clouds that hung in the air, weighing down on the earth beneath them. Threatening to spill colder rain on an already freezing day. 

The clouds were so thick it was still dark when they got up. Fenton lit a candle, and together they made their way downstairs. Gyro didn’t say a word, and Fenton knew he’d have to watch him today. It would be rough. 

Fenton got the flowers and blanket ready while Gyro prepared the food, cutting fruit from last fall that had been magically preserved. It was still much too early in the year for any fresh fruit, so they’d have to make do. 

The flowers too- the frost had killed all of the wild ones growing around the house, so they only had a dried bouquet from last year. 

“It’s alright,” Fenton said, mostly to himself, as he arranged the faded, crisped plants. “We’ll bring him fresh ones as soon as spring starts.” 

Gyro didn’t answer, but the duck hadn’t expected him to. Now as he listened, he realized the sound of cutting from the kitchen had stopped. “Are you done?” 

No answer. 

Fenton peered in through the doorway, robes swishing as he moved. “We don’t need too man- what happened?” 

“Accident,” Gyro grunted, holding two of his fingers tightly in his other hand. Bulb sat on the counter next to him, trying to sniff his fingers, and there was blood on the knife. “Wasn’t paying attention.” 

Fenton frowned, he would really need to watch Gyro today. “How bad is it?” He asked as he stepped into the kitchen, moving to one of the medical cupboards.

“It's fine,” the witch grumbled, looking defensive. He still let Fenton take his hand and examine the injury. Bulb looked quite interested too, and mrowed at Fenton, as if asking him to fix the cut. “It’s not that deep.” 

It wasn’t, but it went right across the pads of his middle and pointer fingers. Quite an annoying spot for both an injury and a bandage. Fenton wrapped it for him without saying anything, and offered to finish cutting the fruit. 

At last they were ready, Fenton held the picnic basket in one hand and interlaced his other arm with Gyro’s. It was just bright enough that they could see fine in the gloom, and Fenton looked up to the sky as they set off. “Hopefully it doesn’t snow.” 

Gyro didn’t comment. 

The cemetery was brighter, there were no trees above in the clearing to block the meager light that struggled through the clouds. There was a single tree in the center of the headstones, with huge spreading branches and even further spreading roots. Right now its limbs were bare, they creaked in the wind. 

Other than that, the forest was quiet. 

The plot they were looking for was on the edge of the cemetery, near the treeline. Gyro stopped, reading the headstone as Bulb wound around his legs and Fenton laid out the thick blanket on the crunchy dead grass. 

Boyd Gearloose. 

The date was exactly one year from today.

“You want to do the flowers?” Fenton asked as he reached for their basket. 

Gyro just nodded, he looked simultaneously too numb and emotional to speak. 

Fenton sat as his partner sat the flowers down in front of the grave with great reverence. The headstone was small, it didn’t match the make of the others in the cemetery, and the bouquet nearly obscured the engravings. 

Gyro then slowly sat on the blanket next to the duck, resting his head on his shoulder. Fenton gently put an arm around him, and Bulb curled up in his lap. 

They sat and watched the grave until Fenton’s bottom and back ached, until the clouds had let up to allow more light into the world and Fenton’s neck felt stiff. Still, he refused to move until Gyro did, wanting him to be as comfortable as possible. To let him take his time. He knew they’d be out here for a while, this was why they’d brought food. 

At last Gyro let out a deep shuddering breath, turning to bury his face in Fenton’s neck. His shoulders shook with silent sobs, and Fenton wasted no time in wrapping him into a hug and pulling him closer. 

“I miss him so much,” Gyro breathed through tears, his beak was tucked right up beneath Fenton’s. “All the time.” 

Fenton didn’t answer, rubbing Gyro’s shoulders and staring at the grave. Blinking rapidly when tears pricked his eyes and taking a breath. 

“He turns ten in a few months, right? He’d- he’d be so tall by now.” Gyro shifted his head just slightly so he could see the headstone. His tears wetted Fenton’s feathers and his robes. 

Last year their grief was too fresh to do anything for Boyd’s birthday. Gyro hadn’t even gotten out of bed that day, but that was a regular occurrence then. Their house was still under construction then, they barely had a roof on their first story, and were sleeping in the living room. Fenton only got up to prepare food. 

Gyro hadn’t eaten. 

“He’d like it out here, don’t you think?” Gyro’s voice was cracked. “Especially the peach trees in the summer and the apples in the fall- it’d be so much easier to have more help with harvesting.” 

Fenton let out a soft sob, holding his partner closer. Tearing his gaze from the headstone as he nuzzled against Gyro. “He would’ve loved to help.”

This was all too much. The wound was too fresh, they were picking at the scab too early. Fenton wanted to get away, he’d suddenly rather be anywhere but here. The cemetery was alright on most days, but on others he avoided the place more than the superstitious villagers did. 

Right now he didn’t even want to think about it. 

But he didn’t move. Gyro needed to be here today, and Fenton had spent the last year supporting him, pulling him through this. He wasn’t going to stop today. 

So he clung to his partner and sobbed along with him, too overwhelmed to do anything else. He cried until his head hurt and his face ached and then he cried some more. Gyro only curled tighter against him, letting himself be enveloped by Fenton while also holding himself. And Fenton held him, kept him there. 

Trying to be and to find as much comfort as possible as they unwillingly reminisced on what had happened that night. 

—

They were in a tree, there was a branch digging painfully into Gyro’s back. 

The witch ignored this as he scanned the nearby houses, searching for any hint of what the angry mob had done with Boyd. This was a temporary refuge, and he needed to use it to figure out a way forward. 

Fenton was in the tree next to him, one hand wrapped tightly around a nearby branch as he bit his other fist, trying to keep himself quiet while he sobbed. He was unable to tear his gaze off of their house as it went up in smoke, now a blinding hot beacon in the dark cold night. 

Nothing would be left when the fire went out. That much was clear already. 

Gyro absently rubbed his back while he searched, trying to keep his panic down. As crazed as the mob was now, he was sure they wouldn’t kill an actual child, right? Besides he had the gallows in his view, the nooses hung thankfully empty. It had been a narrow escape.

Every now and then a group of angry villagers would tramp past their hiding space, screaming with their pitchforks in the air. Gyro and Fenton would duck down while simultaneously pulling their legs up, trying to make themselves as small as possible. The cover of night helped- but the tree's lack of leaves did not. It was too early in the year for even any buds. 

Next to him Fenton choked slightly, and the witch leaned over to kiss his temple. “We’ll rebuild when we get out of here.” The loss of their house he could stomach, they’d been needing to get out of the village for months now. 

What he really couldn’t let go of was Boyd, he had to be around here somewhere. 

As Gyro watched, the town’s mayor, the leader of the mob against them, stepped into the open ground between the houses. The witch’s eyes narrowed in hate, following the old man as he walked casually past the burning wreck of timber that used to be Gyro’s house. Fenton didn’t seem to notice him. 

The mayor stepped over to the opposite side of the street, near the woods. He stooped and reached for something that Gyro had dismissed in his study of the area, a misshapen rock, or someone’s discarded shirt. Something small in the shadows, unassuming. Not anything alive- so it couldn’t be Boyd. 

No. 

Gyro stared as the mayor lifted the tiny, ragged thing, it hung limply in his hand. 

No.

Seconds later Gyro had slipped out of the tree, storming past the burning house and into the clearing. “Don’t you dare hurt him- give him to me!” 

The mayor glanced up, looking shocked, before his expression turned to a smile. He held Boyd’s body close- how dare he touch him- and Gyro caught sight of the blood running down Boyd’s head. 

“They’re over here!” the mayor shouted. 

Gyro hardly heard him as he strode toward him. “Give him to me before I curse you and this entire village-” 

“You won’t get the chance.” The mayor lifted his head, smirking. Gyro was mere feet from him now. “You’re dead, witch.” 

Sure enough, there came the sound of shouts and cries through the woods, from the edges of town. Lit torches appeared through the tree trunks, Gyro heard rushing feet. Alerted by the mayor’s cry, they would all be upon him in seconds. He froze. 

But he couldn’t let that stop him. Gyro took the last few steps toward the mayor, reaching for Boyd. “Give him to me-” 

His fingers barely brushed the feathers of Boyd’s temple before the mayor pulled him out of his reach. “Not a chance. In just a few moments, you and your witch accomplice will be joining him.” 

“Give him-” Gyro broke off as something caught hold of his hand, something held him back. Instinctively he yanked himself away, not tearing his gaze from Boyd’s body. “Let go of me!” 

“Gyro, wait.” It was Fenton, hanging onto his sleeve, pulling him away from the mayor, away from Boyd. “We have to get out of here, the whole mob will be here in a second-” 

“Boyd!” Gyro tore his hand from Fenton’s grasp, throwing himself toward the little parrot’s body. Immediately there were strong arms around his waist, holding him back. Now in the middle of the street, Gyro was ready to fight Fenton to get to Boyd.

“He’s gone, Gyro. I’m so sorry.” Fenton’s arm loosened and Gyro broke free, only for his wrist to be snagged again. The shouting was getting closer, the torches drawing near. 

“No, no, I have to get to him-” 

“Gyro!” Fenton shouted. The witch started, looking back at him. 

Fenton had tears in his eyes, his chest was heaving, his grip on Gyro’s wrist tightened. “We have to get out of here- please Gyro. I can’t lose you too. We’ll come back for him I promise- but we have to leave.” 

The mob had nearly reached the street.

Gyro swallowed, and glanced back at Boyd. 

The mayor smiled, canine teeth shining in the firelight. 

Everything stayed frozen like that for a split second, as Gyro felt like he was free falling. The ground disappearing, wind whooshing past him. His stomach churning. 

With a sob he half collapsed against Fenton, allowing the witch to pull him toward the treeline. Together they half stumbled, half ran, trying to get away from the mob behind them. 

That night was a blur. Gyro was barely in reality, just conscious enough to stay upright as Fenton pulled him forward. They were always pursued by the fiery shouting monster, no matter where they went or hid the mob was close on their heels. 

Gyro cut his feet, crashed into trees, tripped several times, but Fenton was always there, helping him up, pulling him along. No matter how many exits the mob blocked off Fenton seemed to find one last one, and get them out through it in the nick of time. 

The witch’s lungs burned and his body ached, but he kept going. Nowhere was safe, they couldn’t stay in any hiding spot for long. He stumped through the forest, sobbing. They had to keep moving, had to stay alive. 

Despite all of this, Gyro barely felt anything. 

All of it was lost in a swirling haze of numbness. 

At last they stopped, Gyro immediately crumpling to the roots of a tree. Clinging to the bark the moment he hit the ground, curling further in on himself as he sobbed. Fenton collapsed next to him, catching his breath, rubbing Gyro’s back. 

“He’s gone, Fenton.” Gyro gasped, curling into a tighter ball, hardly caring where the rocks and roots dug into his back. “He’s gone.” 

Fenton shifted, pulling Gyro further against him. Holding him tightly. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. 

They stayed by that tree that night, sleeping in the roots against the trunk. Gyro curled up on top of Fenton, crying himself to sleep, while Fenton wordlessly held him and did his best to comfort him. 

Nothing would help right now, but Gyro appreciated it. 

The next morning, the witch woke slowly. Even in his sleep he’d still been clinging tightly to Fenton’s shirt, he slowly loosened his fist as he opened his eyes. His fingers were sore.

He wished it’d been a dream, he didn’t want to look up, to realize where they were. In the middle of the freezing woods. 

Without Boyd. 

Looking around and realizing all of this would mean it was true. 

He could hear Fenton’s heartbeat beneath his head, feel the rise and fall of his chest. The duck’s arms were still wrapped around him, holding him close. 

In a flash, Gyro sat up. 

“How could you?!” 

Fenton started awake just in time to feel Gyro’s hands landing on his shoulders, angrily pinning him against the tree. “Huh? Gyro wh-” 

“You made me leave him behind!” Gyro shouted in his face. Fenton blinked up at him. “I wanted to stay- I wanted to get him back- but you wanted to leave! You made me leave him!” 

“Gyro-” 

“I left him with- with- no, you left him- this is your fault he’s not with us!” 

“Gyro-” 

“I shouldn’t have let you make me leave him- I should’ve gone back- I should go back-” 

“Gyro!” 

The duck’s shout snapped him out of it. He froze for a moment, staring at Fenton, hands still tightly gripping to his shoulders. Fenton’s eyes were wide, he looked startled and scared and worried. Hesitantly, as if he were dealing with a spooked wild animal, his hand slowly slid up Gyro’s back.“Gyro, I-”

That was all it took. The witch collapsed on top of him, head ducked as he sobbed into Fenton’s chest, his hands clutching at the shoulders of the duck’s shirt. Holding on to him as tightly as he could, never wanting to let go of what he had left. “I’m sorry-” 

“Hey, sshhhh, it’s okay.” Fenton shushed him, rubbing his back. His voice cracked, and without looking up, Gyro lifted his hand to gently cup the side of Fenton’s face, to catch his tears with his thumb. “I’m- I’m sorry we had to leave him too.” 

Gyro just swallowed, and held onto him tighter. He could feel Fenton’s shuddering breaths beneath him, the duck was doing everything he could to keep himself together. Gyro had completely given up on that by now, he let himself totally break down in Fenton’s arms. 

Somewhere between five minutes and two hours later Fenton shifted, sitting up further against the trunk of the tree. Gyro was forced to sit up with him, but he refused to unbury his face from the duck’s chest. “Hey.” Fenton held the side of his face, trying to get his attention. 

Gyro couldn’t bring himself to move. 

Fenton understood. “As soon as you’re okay enough to be on your own for a little I’ll go get him, okay?” 

The witch lifted his head. “No- no I don’t want to risk you too-” 

“Gyro,” Fenton cut through his worries. “I’ll be safe, I promise. Things will have calmed down by now, now that it’s morning. I’ll sneak in and out and bring him back here so you can see him again, and so they won’t have him. We can bury him out here.” 

Gyro sat back, looking around. 

They were in the old cemetery. 

They’d slept beneath the huge tree in the center of the headstones, perhaps the one safe place for them to go now. As afraid of the witches as the villagers were they were even more afraid of a haunted cemetery and wouldn’t step foot between the graves. It was a perfect safe haven. 

“You brought us here on purpose?” Gyro asked. 

Fenton nodded. “I figured they wouldn’t touch us if we stayed here- especially at night. We’d mostly lost them before I’d thought of it, so that theory hasn’t been entirely tested yet.” 

The witch let out a breath. Burying Boyd here, in a haunted cemetery in the middle of the woods, where no one but them would come to visit him but them. Where he could be secreted away from the people who had killed him. 

Gyro must’ve started shaking because a few seconds later Fenton was pulling him into a hug, squeezing him as tightly as he could. 

“They killed him,” Gyro gasped through tears. “They hated us so much they killed him.” 

Fenton didn’t have an answer to that, so he just held Gyro until the shaking stopped. 

It was hours before Fenton left, no matter how much Gyro assured him he was fine the duck didn’t want to leave him there alone. At last he stood, leaning down to kiss Gyro’s forehead. “I’ll be back in an hour, alright?” 

That felt like the longest hour of Gyro’s life. It was late March and freezing cold, and the witch stayed curled against the trunk of the tree, staring off into space. He’d cried himself out by then, so he simply watched the dead leaves blow past in the cold breeze, occasionally wiping his eyes. 

Having no concept of time in this state Gyro had no idea how long it really was- whether it was one hour or four he would never know. He would sit and wait until Fenton got back and if he didn’t, if he’d been caught, Gyro would simply sit there until he wasted away beneath the tree. 

Though, watching Fenton approach through the trees was the worst part. 

Gyro was already breaking down by the time Fenton emerged into the clearing, Boyd’s small body held against his chest. Tears streaming down his face the witch reached for him, and Fenton gently passed Boyd into his arms. 

“Careful with his head,” Fenton murmured. “They cleaned him up a little, but it looks like that’s where…” he trailed off, not needing to say it. 

They sat together beneath the tree, holding Boyd’s limp body and sobbing. He was cold, too cold, and Gyro held him close to try and warm him up. Maybe if he was warm again, then he could wake up. 

He never did. 

Gyro rocked him the way he used to before putting him to bed, resting his forehead against the little parrot’s. “Boyd,” he whispered. 

From next to him, Fenton made a sound like a cross between a choke and a sob. 

“God Boyd-” the witch hugged him tighter, his arms a protective shield. “I’m so sorry- I should’ve stayed with you- I shouldn’t have let them take you-” 

Of course he could protect him now, after he was already dead. Gyro had been no use in saving his life, in keeping him alive. “I should’ve tried harder to fight them, I promise I was doing my best for you but it-” he choked, “it wasn’t enough.” 

Fenton’s arms around him tightened. 

Together the three of them sank to the ground, Gyro and Fenton no longer strong enough to hold themselves up as they created a little protective circle around Boyd. Shielding him off from the rest of the world. 

But nothing they could do now would make up for losing him. 

They buried Boyd the next day, Fenton sneaking back to the village for food and a shovel. He came back with what looked like a little white fluff ball on his shoulder. “Hey, look who survived the fire!” the duck exclaimed as he approached Gyro with the food. 

The witch glanced up, eyes swollen with tears, but no fresh ones in the moment. “What?”

Fenton sat next to him, passing him some bread and dried fruit. He then lifted the little puff from his shoulder. “It’s Bulb! I didn’t think he’d made it- but I found him in the woods right next to the house.” The duck hesitated. “What’s left of it.” 

Bulb- Boyd’s kitten. The one that Gyro hadn’t wanted, but Boyd had begged for and cared for by himself to prove they could keep it. 

Now it suddenly felt like it was all they had left of him. 

Gyro sighed, reaching out to pet the little cream-colored kitten’s head. “Hey, Bulb.”

Fenton began digging a few minutes later, in an empty spot at the edge of the cemetery near the treeline. The ground was soft and the grass was dead, and the plot didn’t need to be very big. Fenton had it finished all too soon for Gyro’s liking. 

He didn’t want to say goodbye yet. 

Gyro saved four of Boyd’s soft grey feathers, and clung to them as Fenton lowered the little body into the ground. They’d wrapped him in a blanket that Fenton had taken from the village and laid some dried flowers down on top of him. 

Fenton let Gyro put the first handful of dirt back into the grave, Gyro unfurling shaky fingers and letting the first fall loose. Letting go of the dirt felt like letting go of Boyd- releasing his hand for the last time. 

A few moments later, Gyro threw up what little of the food he’d had at the edge of the trees while Fenton rubbed his back. 

It really wasn’t much of a funeral, Gyro sitting at the edge of the grave with Bulb in his lap, numbly watching Fenton fill the dirt back in. He had too many thoughts whirling around his head to voice a final goodbye, he couldn't catch any of them and pin them down long enough to form a coherent thought. 

The exercise was good for Fenton Gyro could tell- the duck had tears in his eyes as he worked but he put as much effort into it as his body allowed him. Sleeves rolled up, grunting, his face red with effort, he worked his way into a rhythm. Letting his emotions out that way. 

Gyro couldn’t. He just stared at the hole as it slowly got more and more shallow, his body aching. Eventually Fenton dropped down next to him, sweating and out of breath. 

Together they sat and stared at the grave until the sun went down. 

—

It was a long time later that they both sat up, and Fenton wordlessly passed out the food. They ate mostly in silence, Gyro occasionally giving little pieces of peaches to Bulb. 

Surprisingly the sun came out- the breeze picked up into a chilling wind, but it blew the clouds out of the way and allowed the warm sun to shine down. Fenton looked up as the sunlight hit them, smiling faintly. They could use a little sun right now. 

Glancing back down, he realized Gyro’s hands were shaking. 

The duck gently reached out and placed his hands on top of Gyro’s, steadying them. The witch swallowed, flipping his hand the other way to tightly interlace his fingers with Fenton’s. Fenton gave him a smile, which Gyro half heartedly returned. 

He was trying. That was something. 

“So much has changed since… since he was here.” Gyro voiced at last, clearing his throat. “It feels like we’re moving on without him, but… but then I come back here and suddenly everything’s exactly the way it was when we buried him.” 

“The sun’s out,” Fenton pointed out. “And you didn’t throw up this time.” Gyro snorted. “So maybe things are better than then?” 

The witch leaned back, propping himself up on one hand. “I suppose.” Letting out a heavy breath, he tilted his head back. “I didn’t even get to hold him one last time-” his breath hitched. “I wish I could’ve known I was tucking him in for the last time, there was so much I could’ve- I should’ve- said and done, I-” he took a deep breath. “I miss him.” 

Fenton folded his legs tighter, looking back at the grave. “Me too.” 

Even in a new place, Boyd’s empty space could be felt. Fenton missed him in the mornings, when he would make squealing noises to try and match the sound of the whistling kettle. The way he used to lay in the sun next to Bulb, soaking up the light just like the cat. In the afternoons he would pick flowers in the spring and present them to Gyro and Fenton, there were so many less vases of small wildflowers now. He used to sing the enchantment songs Gyro taught him at the top of his lungs just for fun, accidentally causing nearby flies to move in a particular pattern or the air to swirl around him. How when they tucked him in at night by telling him stories, he’d listen to theirs before telling an eternally long one of his he came up with on the spot- just so he wouldn’t have to go to sleep. 

Fenton didn’t even realize he was crying again until Gyro had moved right next to him, kissing his forehead and wiping away his tears with his thumb. 

The duck leaned into him, a fresh sob rising in his throat. 

“I’m just so sad about it,” Fenton breathed, his face buried in Gyro’s shoulder. “All the time still. I- I don’t want to be sad anymore but- but I still want- I still need- to miss him.” 

“I know,” Gyro murmured. “I’m sick and tired of being miserable but I don’t want to be happy without him.” 

“Yeah,” the duck swallowed, wrapping an arm around his partner. “Yeah.”

The breeze blew past, ruffling their feathers and stirring the leaves. Doing it’s best to try and carry away some of their grief. 

It wasn’t until the sun was setting that they made their way back to the house, Bulb walking at their heels. Fenton set up a fire near the back porch while Gyro put their things away. The day surprisingly had brought some life back into him- Fenton knew he could leave him alone for a minute. 

They sat out on the back porch and watched the sun go down, both of them looking up at the stars and shedding a few last tears. At last they made dinner in the fire, sitting close to each other to stay warm on the cold early-spring night. 

Gyro rested his head on Fenton’s shoulder. “Talk to me,” he asked. 

Fenton thought for a moment, unsure what to talk about. If Gyro wanted to hear more about Boyd, or if he wanted Fenton to distract him from his grief. 

So he recounted one of the fairytales from one of the storybooks inside. It was one they both knew, though neither had reread in a long time. They didn’t mind, it was something to fill the silence. 

The witch let himself get really into it, doing impressions of the voices, acting out the scenes. At one point he stood to reenact a fight scene, and pulled Gyro up with him, letting him act as the damsel that Fenton was nobly trying to save. 

Gyro spun around their imaginary battlefield with him, laughing and cheering as he collapsed against Fenton, listening to him recount the story. 

Laughter like this from Gyro was all too rare these days, and Fenton pulled him close by the waist, pretending to fight off a great beast. Gyro collapsed into him, drunk off of laughter as he wrapped his arms around the duck’s shoulders and cackled into his ears. Fenton squeezed him tight, not wanting to let the moment go. 

With one last dramatic whirl Fenton slayed their imaginary beast, and together they landed back in their seats by the fire, clutching to one another as they laughed. Gyro’s head on Fenton’s chest as he clung to his shoulders, shaking with laughter. 

Fenton held on to him as their laughter died down, turning to a quiet contentment. 

Gyro lifted his head, nuzzling the end of his beak against Fenton’s. “Thank you.” 

The duck grinned at him. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” 

[falloutjuli]

MORE JOHNNY CONTENT. I got mad brainrot so yeah, I can’t stop writing for him. This time I wanted something comforting, so this came to be. Just casually 5k words of Johnny and reader being two depressed fucks that form a cute friendship and then more.

Fall Out Boy title reference because I can. Try to stop me, I’ll wait here.  

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

Johnny x suicidal!Reader - The Kids aren’t alright. 

Wordcount: 5,4K

Short summary: MODERN AU - While you contemplate jumping off a bridge, you meet a peculiar guy who keeps you grounded. Through time, you turn from strangers to friends to more than words can describe.

Warnings: Mention of suicide, depression, self-hatred, all that Jazz. Gyro and you bully Johnny.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

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Your hands gripped the iron railing harder, the metal warm underneath your touch by now. You gaze at the water underneath you, how it taunts you with its flow and the reflecting lights. It looks inviting and yet you can't bring your body to jump over the railing to become one with the water. A sigh escaped your lips as you thought this over. 

In theory, everything was set. This wasn't your first time at this bridge after all. The letter was written, all affairs in order and yet, despite the set up, you felt not ready. So, you just kept staring, going through the dark thoughts that brought you here. A tear escaped your eye, and it would remain only one, you lacked the energy to actually cry at this point. 

"Contemplating suicide?" A voice asked behind you. Your expression soured and without looking away from the water underneath you answered the person who dared to disturb you. 

"If you're gonna ask me to fuck you since I'm gonna ef myself off anyways then do me a favor and jump over the railing yourself." You spat. It wasn't the first time some guy tried to get a pity fuck simply because they assumed you were gonna kill yourself. 

"I wasn't gonna ask for such a thing, but even if then I'd need your help to get over the railing." You turned your head you were met by sapphire blue eyes that looked similarly tired to yours. The guy those gorgeous eyes belonged to sat in a wheelchair, so that's probably why he couldn't make the jump himself.

"Sorry." You said dryly, wiping the tear away that had escaped your eye earlier. "Normally the strangers that wanna speak to me here are perverts." "That sucks." He simply shrugged and now the two of you were staring at the water.

 "Contemplating suicide?" You asked him the same question as he did to you. "Mhm." Was the simply hummed answer. "Life just sucks huh?" You struck up a conversation, unsure why exactly. Everyone else in your life you were trying to push away, yet him you invited to a conversation. 

"Yeah, tell me all about it." A moment of silence passed. "For how long?" 

"Pretty much since I was a kid. I have a pretty shit father. And you?" The boy casually mentioned. It was a strange situation, but you felt somewhat comfortable, so you didn’t mind talking to him more. "Teenage years. Then it was better for a while but now all I mainly do is sit in my apartment all day and think about ending it."  

"You're copying my life story? How rude for someone who just told me to jump over the railing." The boy joked next to you, and you chuckled. "That's the first time in a while that I was able to laugh at something." You said and let go of the railing. "Glad to help." 

You two turned to face each other and take in every detail. The guy was good looking, those eyes were absolutely stunning despite the sorrow they held, golden hair that poked out from under his beanie and framed his face in a beautiful way. A bright blue hoodie with stars for a top and casual sweatpants with vans for bottom. 

You wondered if he inspected you so thoroughly too and judging by his eyes wandering over you he might. 

"Thank you." You said, unsure if he'd get it but going by the faint smile on his lips he did. "No, thank you." And with that, you each turned to get going home. -------

With heavy steps you made your way to the space you dreaded and loved at the same time. 

You had been away for a week. But today it was too much again and so you returned to probably stare at the water again, pussy out and then go home to continue lying in bed. A heavy sigh was let out and you took a deep breath of the cold night air. Just as you were almost at your usual spot you saw the guy from a week ago. 

He was next to the bench in his wheelchair, staring out at the city. You contemplated turning around, not wanting to bother him or anything, but your sluggish steps dragged you to the bench in the end to plop down next to him. "Hey." "Hey." You two greeted each other as if you were friends. In reality, you didn't even know each other's names. 

"Rough week?" He asked and turned to look at you. "Doesn't even begin to describe it. Judging you're here yours was shit too?" He nodded. A moment of silence passed. 

"I don't know whether or not to be glad to have met you again. Because while I like talking to you... Meeting here, at this place at this time of night..." You knew what he was implying. 

"Meeting here is bad, because it means we are here to do something else originally." He hummed in approval. "What's your name?" You finally asked him. "Johnny." 

"Y/N." You answered before he needed to ask. Now you sat there in silence. "Do you have therapy?" You eventually asked him. "Yeah. I have to otherwise I'm sure my friend would kill me. "Sounds adorable."

 "He's a good friend, but I feel like he doesn't really know what's going on in me." "I know what you mean." You mumbled and thought about your friends who had claimed to be there for you only to immediately turn once you weren't happy go lucky. You two fell in silence again. A comfortable one. -----

  Weeks passed. Sometimes you were alone at the bridge. Sometimes by coincidence, Johnny was there too. You had learned quite a lot about each other by now. Johnny is a university student. Before that he was a jockey and a good one at that. 

But an incident which he didn’t want to elaborate on, left him paralyzed from the waist down, which ended his career prematurely. He comes from money but has cut ties with his family and now lives with his best friend, an Italian medical student. 

You also told him about yourself, your home life, which also wasn't the best, how you were now living alone in a tiny apartment to try to fix your life but that didn't work out so now you continuously came to this bridge to end it all. Johnny did it because he struggled massively with his depression and self-hatred. Meeting him had already become the best thing in your life because talking to him grounded you, made you feel valuable. Like you mattered to someone. Today when you came to your usual spot it was empty. Nothing surprising, Johnny and you never agreed on times to meet, it was by coincidence. Yet when you reached the bench, you normally sat on next him there was a paper taped to it. "-⭐ 559-xxx-xxxx "

The star. Johnny wore stars on his clothing and beanie regularly and his last name was Joestar so potentially... He left the note here earlier for you to have his number? Nervously you got your phone out and typed the number in to shoot him a message. "You're lucky I found it." Not too long after a message came in. "Y/N?" "No, the pervert who found your message. Yes of course it's me." "Thank God. I was nervous once I got home you might not come today, and the note would get destroyed." "You're a lucky one." You typed and decided to walk back home already. "I know I am. How are you?" ------

The next time you met Johnny was on his home turf. 

You had texted with him a good chunk before, and he invited you over to his place. To say you were curious and nervous was an understatement. You'd meet Gyro, the Italian Johnny lived with, see his apartment, and room and deepen the strange friendship you two had.

It was a weird feeling, since you had previously only meet on a bridge both of you wanted to jump off to end your life. You pressed the doorbell nervously and waited a few seconds before a tall, blond man opened the door. He had long beautiful hair and shining green eyes with a flashy smile thanks to the gold grills. 

"Gyro I assume." You said, somewhat intimidated, unsure how to carry yourself. You offered your hand and Gyro pulled you into, giving you a friendly hug, making you almost trip over in the process. 

"So, you're the bridge friend! It’s such a pleasure to finally meet you, Johnny talks a lot about you!" Gyro proclaimed and your blood ran cold. Did Gyro know? "Johnny is over in his room, second door to the left. I'm busy cooking for us tonight, so I'll catch you in a bit yeah?" 

Gyro had something about him that made you feel comfortable despite everything. His energy and smile were a little infectious and you could easily tell why Johnny liked him. "Thank you. Good luck with the cooking." "I don't need luck, it's in my blood." He grinned, before disappearing in the kitchen. You grabbed your backpacks strap a little tighter before you went to Johnny's room, knocking before you entered. 

You didn't know what you thought his room would look like, but it certainly wasn't like this. White Ikea furniture, a big desk with his wheelchair in front of it. On it a high-tech computer. Big wardrobe, opposite to it and to the right, right next to the door was his bed with Johnny on it. 

"Glad you could make it." He said, a smile on his lips. "And miss out on seeing your room and getting to know the funny man that just pulled me inside? Wouldn't miss it for the world." 

On the wall next to Johnny’s bed were several framed pictures which you quickly inspected. Many were of his horse, Slow Dancer, some were with Gyro and Johnny on horses, riding, or doing some fun stuff together. 

"Describing Gyro as Funny feels like a hate crime." Johnny said dryly. "Aw, I like him. He seems fun." You saw a glint of jealousy flash over his face. "No worries, I like you even more." You sat down, next to Johnny on his bed and looked away. 

"Did you tell him why we met? He called me bridge friend." 

"No, no, don't worry. He thinks I just go there to relax and get out. If he knew what I originally went there for, he wouldn't let me leave the apartment without him." 

"Okay, good. I was afraid for a second." 

"Don’t be, I'd never tell him anything you told me that you'd probably don't want him to know. All he knows is pretty much that I met you while out and kept meeting you there. He also gave the idea with the note." 

That was very nice of him. Being immediately branded as "mentally ill", "unstable" or anything was one of your worst nightmares. Before you could say much, Gyro popped his head in. "Dinner is almost ready!" He proclaimed before leaving again. 

"Come on. Let's go." Johnny just said and went to get the crutches near the bed end that you hadn’t noticed until now. You quickly went to grab them for him as you were closer. "Didn't know you could partially walk." 

"I don’t like bragging with dat Physical therapy. I'm also not very good at it, still relying on my chair a huge chunk of the time." "That's still progress though." Johnny tried his hardest to suppress the smile on his face. You just went for the door, opening it for him. 

"After you M'Lady." Johnny rolled his eyes and went ahead so you could follow him to the living room where Gyro had set up the tiny dinner table. You took a seat next to the window with Johnny next to you. Next to him and the window too would Gyro then sit, who now came in, cursing in Italian, probably because the stealing bowl in his hands was burning them. 

"Cazzo." He said as he put it down and you curiously eyed the dark green bowl. Spaghetti. You had to smile. "Well then, I hope it tastes as good as it is hot." Gyro mumbled, taking his seat opposite to you. The first few minutes you simply sat in silence since you were still a little nervous and didn't know what to do. 

"So, your name's Y/N?" Gyro asked with a smile, flashing his grills again. You nodded, forcing an awkward smile. Johnny eyed you, noticed your discomfort and sneakily slid his free hand under the table to take yours. A kind smile adorned his lips, he was trying to make you comfortable, and he easily succeeded at that. Not that you’d let him know that he had too much of an ego already.

"What a pretty name!" Gyro said resting his head now on his hands. "Thank you. Gyro is pretty and quite unique too. You're from Italy Johnny mentioned?" "Naples to be exact. So, you and Johnny are friends?" Before you could answer said blond chimed in. 

"Yeah, but I might need to reconsider because they called you funny." Gyro happily clasped his hands together, his smile growing wider. "Oh Johnny, we both know you’re laughing at my jokes too. You just don’t wanna admit it!" 

The evening was one of the nicest you had in a long while. Gyro and Johnny were incredibly comfortable to be around and got you out of the hardened shell you had developed. 

---------

You unlocked the door with the spare key Gyro and Johnny gave you a while ago. Your backpack was uncomfortably warm by now, so you were happy when you dropped it off once in Johnny's room. 

Can you come over, spare some time? It's a bad day.

Johnny had sent that to you, and you made sure to not lose time before dropping by. 

"Hey." Johnny mumbled. He was entangled in his bedsheets, his head messy, and expression tired. "Hey." You answered and began opening your backpack, a familiar smell immediately invaded Johnny's nostrils. You placed the red box carefully next to him, waiting for his reaction. 

"Did you seriously stop by a McDonald's on the way here to bring me a fucking happy meal of all things?" Ah good, his snarky side was still intact. 

"Yeah. Thought you might like the toy and you apparently need a Happy meal today." Johnny chuckled, falling onto his back and hiding his face with his arm. "You're crazy." 

"That's why you like me." 

"Did you bring Gyro something too? He'll be pissed if he gets back and sees he didn't get anything." You laughed and went back to your backpack, grabbing another happy meal. 

"Of course. Lemme bring it to his room, be back soon." You said and left for Gyros room. You opened the door and placed it on Gyros messy desk that was cluttered with medical books and papers. You pushed it a little aside to not place the meal on anything important and then marched back to your blond friend who needed you today. 

"Did you get it for the “My Little Pony” toys?" He asked as he spun around the plastic horse in his fingers. "Yeah. Got you Rainbow Dash and Pinkie Pie for Gyro." 

"You're ridiculous. Just because we both ride?" You nodded proudly and went to grab your single burger. "Eat, you need it." You reminded him as he begrudgingly shoved some fries in his mouth . 

You both sat against his headboard with Johnny soon resting his head on your shoulder as he chewed on a cheeseburger. "What has you down today?" You finally asked, curious why he had asked you to come over. 

"Today is my accidents anniversary." You furrowed your brows. "You shouldn't keep track of that." "I'm not. The date’s just engraved in my brain. Whenever I wake up on this date, I'm immediately reminded of it." 

Oh Johnny, you thought and went to grab his hand. It was nicely warm, and you intertwined your fingers with his. "Then how about we make it a habit of doing something fun that day. Get your mind off it?" 

With a hesitant and lazy nod Johnny agreed and you pulled out your phone to save it in your calendar. You checked the "Yearly reminder" option and went to type in the name of the appointment. "Johnny Day" you named it and heard a chuckle from you shoulder. 

"A whole day dedicated to me?" Now you nodded and smiled as you went back to your Home screen which was a picture of you Johnny and Gyro together, just doing funny faces. You tossed it aside, as it wasn't important as the blond next to you. Seeing as Johnny was done with his food, you put it away, and then gestured for him to properly lay down.

 As he did as asked, you did the same, resting you head on his shoulder, one of your arms draped around his waist. Johnny's arms also found your frame, pulling you close to him. "You know..." You began as your hand lazily drew circles in his side. "I had a horrible day too. But being here with you now... It made it an okay day." Johnny smiled lazily. "Knowing I made your day better makes mine better." 

You two remained like that. Just holding onto the other and enjoying the warmth and comfort that was provided. 

 "I'm home!" Gyro called out into the dark apartment feeling bad for not being able to be there for Johnny today. He knew very well what day it was and when Johnny didn't even really speak to him early that morning, he just knew what was going on. But he unfortunately had important classes today that he absolutely couldn't skip no matter how bad he wanted to. 

Once in his own room, Gyro was confused by the happy meal box placed on his desk. He giddily looked inside finding a pony toy and some food that has been cold for a while now. Gyro immediately had a suspicious who might have deployed that there. 

With whispered nyo-ho-ho’s he tiptoed to Johnny's room, carefully opening it, only to completely forget his mischievous plans as he saw Y/N and Johnny cuddling together on the bed, soundly asleep. A dreamy smile painted his expression as he just couldn't believe how adorable they were. 

As silently as he could he closed the door again, going back to his room to see if he could heat up his nuggets again. He made a mental note to thank Y/N for their kindness tomorrow. 

-------

You let your head crash against Johnny headboard. Your phone bored you, so you tossed it aside and listened to the mechanical keyboard sounds Johnny made while typing. 

You contemplated just dipping, going home to live your depressive episode in your own four walls without having to worry about Johnny and Gyro. It has been a shit week kind of. 

Nothing went right, pure stress from all sides, stuff that would have anyone down, but you just felt particularly exhausted and drained. Even coming over felt like a chore today and it wasn’t much better than Johnny was a busy bee, typing away code and text without much of a pause. 

You looked over to the blond who downed his third coffee of the day and read something on his screen. Maybe you bothered him? Was he secretly hoping you'd finally leave? Probably not, you knew him well, but intrusive thoughts are intrusive and often illogical, so you were stuck with that. But knowing you'd probably rip him out of his flow you decided to just remain on his bed, not making the effort to leave. 

From the other side of the wall, you could hear Gyro cursing in Italian, he probably got something in his online questionnaire wrong. Somehow that was soothing. The silence with the keyboard sounds and occasionally sounds of a strange Italian man made you feel at ease, so it was better to remain here and not sit in silence in a dark lonely apartment. 

You shifted and went to rest your head on Johnny's blue pillow that smelled just like him. It involuntarily made you smile a little. You simply closed your eyes trying to get some rest and recharge energy by simply trying to relax. And it worked wonders. Your head felt empty and light, letting you just lay there, taking in the sound of Johnny typing away. 

Until the typing stopped. You looked over, wondering why the typing had stopped only to see Johnny looking at you worryingly. To your further surprise, he got up from his wheelchair, which he prefers to use for his desk, and made the few steps over to the bed, using the desk for support before dropping on the bed.

 Once on it he crawled up to you, carefully pressing your back against his chest. "What's with you, you have been so silent all week." He said and you felt bad for making him worry and stop in his work. "Just a shit time. You know how it is." You heard him exhale through his nose, signaling his approval. 

"No need to worry. You gotta work on your assignment." You tried to remind him, not wanting to keep him from more important tasks and to be frank, you felt like the very least important thing all around. But Johnny's grip around you only tightened. 

"Not happening. I'm staying right here with ya. You have been there for me so much recently, the last I can do is be here with you. Also, I have been coming along so well today, I can easily take a break." Absentmindedly you nodded and took hold of his hand. "It's important though Johnny." 

"Right now, you're the most important thing for me. Let me be there, okay Darlin’?" Arguing with the Kentuckian was pointless you knew as much. He was a stubborn asshole, and therefore if he decided to lay with you on the bed, nothing could change his mind. 

"What has you feeling down?" He asked you just shrugged, carefully to not accidentally hurt him by doing so. Death by a shoulder into his face was certainly not cool. "I dunno. I guess everything? This week has just been me making a fool of myself everywhere. From me missing appointments, forgetting my stuff and lots of added stress on top of all that... It's just a lot currently. Lots of people tell me I’m bothering them."

 You turned to lay on your back, Johnny remained on his side, studying you face. You just looked up at the ceiling, as you continued. “I’m not bothering you or Gyro too, am I?” 

Johnny quickly rebutted, “Never. I’d rather you are here and give me an excuse for a break than you sitting alone in that apartment of yours, hear me?” 

You nodded, feeling the breaking point coming as tears build up in your eyes. Crying in front of Johnny wasn’t embarrassing at least, he too had cried in your arms before. It was no big deal. 

“Stay the night yeah? M’sure Gyro won’t mind cooking for one person more. Right?” The last part he screamed, loud enough to summon the Italian from the next room. 

“What was that?” Gyro asked once he too was in the room. You crying, while cuddling with Johnny wasn’t even odd to him anymore. He had walked in on you two doing weirder things, like getting drunk together and quoting old memes. 

“I said you wouldn’t mind cooking for one more person when Y/N stays the night.” “Of course not. You’re always welcome here!” Gyro proclaimed and you thanked him for it before you noticed something. 

“Every time I’m here Gyro cooks. I’m starting to get the feeling Johnny doesn’t cook at all, because he can’t each the top shelves.” Gyro began crackling like crazy and Johnny immediately deadpanned. “I-It’s because he can’t look into the pots o-on the stove!” Gyro managed to press out between his laughs and you laughed like crazy too. 

“I hate you two so much.” Johnny mumbled and let go of you to sit up. “Making fun of my height when I’m in a wheelchair. That’s offensive I’ll have you know!” “Gyro is also taller when you’re standing though.” You argued and earned a flick to the head from the blond man. 

Gyro finally managed to get a grip and made his way to the kitchen, still laughing. “How mean of you, I offer you to spend the night, in my bed of all things and you make fun of me!” Johnny complained and you went to hug him.

“Im sowwy Jownny.” He was cute when he was pouting. “At least you’re laughing, so I accept you making jokes at my expense. For now.” You smiled and kissed his cheek. “There ain’t much to make fun of though. I’m better when I make fun of Gyro.” Johnny raised an eyebrow. “Really?” 

“Yeah. Come on get in your chair, lets bully him back while he cooks.” Johnny did as asked and let you roll him into the kitchen. Normally he didn’t like someone rolling him around. You though? 

You were allowed pretty much anything when it came to him. Even making fun of him.

-------

You huffed and puffed as you moved the boxes. 

"Il mio Dio, Y/N." Gyro mumbled as he went to grab one away from you. "What's in there?" He asked as he watched the poorly scribbled note. "My anime figures." He looked at you with a deadpan expression that you were only used to from Johnny. 

"Ah come on, you already moved in last week. Don't judge me." You complained and grabbed the last two boxes of your own. "Yeah and thanks to us, you won't even need to care about setting up the furniture, we already did that." You bickered with Gyro a little more until you two finally set the boxes inside your new room. 

A while ago Johnny and Gyro had asked you if you wanted to move in with them, in a bigger apartment of course, as it became a totally normal thing to spend a huge chunk of time there already. You happily said yes, excited to not sour in your old apartment anymore but instead to live with your two closest friends.

 Johnny was busy unpacking some of your stuff already while you and Gyro went to get the last boxes from your old apartment with his pickup truck. Once in your new room, you felt content with how Johnny was decorating things already.

 "I'll hang up the pictures though, we don't want them at waist height." You joked and earned an elbow to the ribs from him. "Come on you can't even complain at my work so far." 

You really couldn't. He had set up your plastic plants nicely, made your bed already, however he managed that, Gyro and you must have taken a while, and put the bedside lamp on the table. "No no, you're doing fine. Can't wait to unpack everything and get settled in." 

"Can't wait to finally rest in someone else's bed." Johnny joked. In the time you have known one another Johnny has never been in your old apartment. It was simply a good bit away, wheelchair unfriendly, and super cramped. 

Even Gyro said so and he was in the already empty rooms.

 And it was a regular thing that you and Johnny shared a bed. Gyro considered you two a couple already, besides not officially being one or anything. The blond Italian simply enjoyed watching you two dance around one another, feelings clearly blossomed in both of you. 

"Who said you're allowed in my bed, Johnny?" 

"I did and I know i am." 

"That attitude of yours will be your death someday." 

Silence lingered as you two kept unpacking and sorting. You let Johnny keep on decorating your boards and table, while you were busy stuffing your clothes into your new wardrobe. 

While you were busy trying to get your hoodies into the tiny space, Johnny found something in your box that peaked his interest. A tiny book decorated with Stars and a horse, probably drawn by you. 

Johnny checked over his shoulder, you were still busy and cursing, trying to fit stuff in so he decided to have a look. At the first page his note with his number was taped in. 

He flipped ahead to check what else was here. Receipts from when you guys went out , movie tickets, pictures of you, Johnny and Gyro. You had collected memories in here, he concluded and flipped towards the end. There was a picture of him and you on Slow Dancer that Gyro had taken. Underneath it read "Keep going. For this." Around it you had doodled pretty stars. 

Johnny had been so amazed by this that he didn't notice your looming presence over him. "Weren't you taught not to snoop." You spoke, making Johnny almost jump out of his chair. 

"Sorry, sorry, i was just intrigued." "Dummy." You mumbled and flicked his head, taking the book away into your bedside table drawer it wandered. "It's cute." He spoke. "Thanks. My therapist advised me to try to visualize what keeps me motivated and Honestly ever since I met you, it's been wanting to make more experiences and memories with you." You confessed casually. "Same here." Johnny said with a faint shade of red on his cheeks. 

The buzzing of the apartment door had you both snap out of the situation, and you knew what it meant. 

"Pizza is here!" Gyro proclaimed, setting the boxes down on the couch table. Johnny was already going through Netflix's catalog to pick something to mindlessly watch. 

Once decided, you three sat there, watching some parody movie. Gyro was seated next to Johnny, and you sat on the floor in front of the paraplegic. Dinner was silent, except for Gyros occasional bad jokes as he found the movie not entertaining enough. 

His two friend were soon sick of his antics though, so when Gyro offhand mentioned he still had to go and study some more, the other two silently thanked god for it. 

At first you were alone in your new room, just stretched out on the bed, enjoying the way Johnny had set up things so far, but you knew you'd make it even more homely in the next few weeks. This too would soon come into the book. 

A knock on the door soon interrupted your train of thoughts and you moved to look who entered. It was Johnny to no one's surprise and he casually came over, having taken his crutches from his room. 

"You're getting better at it." "Stop lying." You chuckled. Johnny hated being complimented on his walking progress. 

He described it was "patronizing. No one compliments you when you're normally walking either so why now?" You knew it was mainly Johnny's self-hatred that made it hard for him to accept compliments, so you made sure to give him enough to get used to them. 

Johnny sat down on your bed, the mattress shifting a little as he did and put away his crutches before he scooted over closer to you, embracing your figure in his arms. "Are you happy?" "Now I am." You answered, a chuckle escaped Johnny's body, as he held you closer. 

"I was mainly talking about your room and the apartment but alrighty." You inhaled Johnny scent as you were pressed against his chest, your head resting in the crook of his neck. He felt like home. He and Gyro did. The two had taken prime slots in your heart and you were always in better mood with them around, even on your worst days. 

"Johnny?" "Mhm." He mumbled, obviously just as tired as you. "I love you." "Me you too darlin'." He squished you a little and you gave his neck a kiss in return. 

It was nothing but a casual confession. Just words to properly express and define your feelings towards him now. The lines between "Friend" and "Lover" had long been blurred already. You two didn't need labels. 

You were simply Y/N and Johnny, who found deep appreciation for one another when you met on a bridge you wanted to jump off. 

[kabillieu]

Ate a gyro at a restaurant where someone had been very thoughtful about design choices for the women’s restroom. Like, hmmm, what do women like? Pink and flowers, that’s it!

After meeting Dominic for lunch, I stopped by a roadside produce stand on the way home and bought peaches and tomatoes. I really appreciate all the random produce stands operated by grandparents here. $10 bought me four big tomatoes and five big peaches. In general I’m delighted to be back in a part of the country where I can buy as much in-season local produce as I want, and it’s as easy as pulling over on the side of the road I’m already traveling down. I have eaten nearly a peach a day for the past six weeks. It’s the only way to live. How did I go without for so long???

I had plans to do things this afternoon but can only seem to sit on the couch in an exhausted daze. I know Dominic wishes I were more of an industrious can-do sort of spouse who will just unpack and set up an entire house by herself but I am not! I am tired and overwhelmed and have executive dysfunction.

I will wish he didn’t wire our entire house with an Apple HomeKit so that now if I want to turn on any lights or listen to any music I have to talk to the invisible ghost living in the speakers in every room. We will be the first to be dragged from our homes in the middle of the night in the coming horrors because Dominic essentially bugged our entire house.

[writebackatya]

Could you do Donald and Della, “Do you think we’re friends in every universe?”

Oooh! This is too good! Perfect duo, great line, let’s do this!!!

On the Edge of the Duckverse!

To say that it was late at the Money Bin would be an understatement. It had been hours since the members of Team Science had decided to take a break from the progress they have made on their own dimensional portal and had retired for the evening. All though the building was not without its occupants, for three members of Clan McDuck were still there; and only two of those members were ready to leave.

A sigh left Donald’s beak letting out the exhaustion he felt while also prepping him for the conversation ahead.

“Della, let’s go! I wanna head to bed!”

“Then go! I’m busy!”

The lab doors behind Donald closed as he went over to his sister. The underwater lab was practically pitch black with all the lights turned off as well as all the lab windows being closed on account of all the fish making their way around the lab.

The only light in the lab came from the portal's monitor. The device was still a work-in-progress, all though it could not be used to bring things in and out of the portal in a stable manner, it did allow the user to view the other multiverses. So Della was doing just that; her eyes glued to the screen as her hands went back and forth between the keyboard and a nearby notepad.

"How did you even get this thing up and running?" Donald inquired as he approached his sister.

"Please," Della scoffed, "it's one of Gyro's devices, the genius has been using the same password since 2003."

"You're joking, it's still GeniusInnovator140?!"

"All one word, the G & the I are capitalized."

Donald snickered before glancing over at Della's notepad. From a quick glance Donald could see various coordinates for different universes, some of which were crossed out. Besides that, the duck also noticed his sister had taken some notes down which didn't surprise him, however one word popped out as he scanned the paper.

"...Hey, why is my name written down by-"

Della quickly went to grab the notepad only for Donald to grab it first.

"It's nothing!" Della answered as she tried to pull her notepad back.

"Then let go!" Donald demanded as he tried to pull the notepad out of his sister's hands.

"No! This is mine, so hands off!"

"Never! What did you see!?"

"Nothing! Don't worry about it!"

"I'll tell Gyro you're messing with his team's machines!"

"I'll tell that scrawny know-it-all to his face myself!"

"I'll tell Uncle Scrooge!"

"Fine!" Della yelled as she let go of the notepad causing Donald to fall flat on his back. Della then grabbed the notepad from Donald and began typing in coordinates.

"You are NOT going to believe this..." Della muttered as she then hit the enter key.

Donald got up from the ground and shook his head before looking over at the monitor.

On the screen was a masked duck sporting a red and blue cape, black and red tights, yellow shoes, black mask and a blue sailor hat.

Donald's beak dropped. "Is that me?!"

"Well duh, it's not like that costume does a good job hiding your identity." Della scoffed.

"I don't believe this!" Donald almost laughed in astonishment.

"Yeah, it's hard to believe that someone who banned Super Snooper comics in his boat because he thought they were 'too violent' would be a superhero." Della joked.

"...The boys told you about that?"

"Yeah. Did you also ban rock-n-roll because it's the devil's music?"

"Ha-ha," Donald rolled his eyes, "do you have any idea what's going on?"

"Barely." Della shrugged. "Everyone in this universe only speaks Italian."

"Ho usato google traduttore per fare questa frase!" The Donald Duck on the monitor exclaimed.

"Oh..." Donald Duck responded sounding a little disappointed.

"...That's not the only universe where I found you, Donnie." Della smirked as she looked into her notepad and went ahead typed in the next coordinates.

Donald glued his eyes to the monitor as it displayed the next multiverse to the two ducks.

In this world Donald was sporting a snazzy purple jacket and blue button up shirt and was at the front door of some sort of club greeting a variety of different guests who looked excited to enter.

"I own a club!?"

"Co-own," Della corrected, "with your old pal, Mickey."

"Really?!" Donald asked facing his sister.

"Yeah, the boys are performers there, Goofy's the head waiter and the rest of your pals work there too." Della explained. "You're honestly with them in a lot of these universes..."

"No fooling!?" Donald asked as he looked back at the monitor. "Can you show me them?!"

"I thought it was time for bed."

"That can wait! I wanna see all the universe you found where I'm something really cool!" Donald said as he pulled up a chair and sat by his sister. "Besides, it might be awhile til Uncle Scrooge comes looking for us."

Della rolled her eyes and chuckled to herself as she typed in the next coordinates.

One after another, Donald witnessed the many lives he lived in other universes. Donald saw himself wear many hats such as one of a musketeer with his old pals fighting the Beagle Boys as well as another universe where he wore a helmet and was fighting mythical creatures with José and Panchito as well as some feminine mostly hairless mammal. But most of these universe, Donald saw himself sporting his blue sailor hat and matching suit, but he still found himself off on some sort of adventure with either his friends or his Uncle and Nephews. Some were a bit more different than others.

"Come on!"

"This is it!"

"Take that!"

Donald and Della stared blankly at the monitor as they watched this universe's Donald and Goofy fighting alongside some spikey haired mostly hairless mammal against some shadowy creatures.

"...Okay," Donald spoke up, "I honestly don't know what the hell is going on here."

"I think you guys are fighting the darkness or something?" Della answered. "I don't know, that kid with the key-looking sword might explain things after this fight."

"Well regardless, me being a sorcerer is really cool"

"Yeah, I figured you'd say that."

"Ha..." Donald's laugh trailed off as a thought occurred to him, "Della, why were you hiding all this from me?"

"Whaaaaat, I wasn't hiding anything from you."

"You didn't want to show me these things at first."

"Uhh...it was because you were tired and I just knew that you'd want to stay a-"

"Oh come on!" Donald scoffed as his sister tried to form her excuse. "I know what this is about, you're jealous!"

"WHAT?!"

"Yeah! You were looking for other universes were you were something awesome like a superhero or paranormal investigator or sorcerer! You were jealous that in all these universes I was getting all these amazing roles while you were-...you were..."

Silence had overtaken the lab as the monitor kept displaying the other universe.

"This looks like a great place for ingre-"

Donald muted the monitor. "...Were you able to find yourself at all?"

"...No." Della looked away from her brother. "Every universe had you with practically everyone. My boys, Uncle Scrooge, Gyro, your many pals. And me? Well I just wasn't there..."

"Della, I'm-"

"But why!?" Della sighed as she looked up at the muted monitor. "Am I just a very shitty sister dumping my boys onto you so I can just fuck off somewhere else or am I just dead?!"

"Della."

"You know what I hope it's the latter, because my family doesn't deserve to ha-"

"DELLA!" Donald shouted as he turned off the screen monitor. The duck then clapped his hands together turning on the lab's lights, where he was greeted to the sight of his sister looking right at him.

"...Look, I don't know." Donald began, "I don't know why you're not there with me by side in any of those universes. We're only looking at a snapshot of these other versions of our lives. You might not be there now, but I'm sure you had a good reason."

"Why do you think that?"

"Because you're my sister, you dummy! And there was a time in my life here in this universe when you weren't with me by my side." Donald smiled at Della. "But you are now, and you're still my sister and quite possibly the best friend I've ever had."

"..." Della smiled back at her Donald as she turned the monitor back on and observed the screen. "...Do you think we're friends in every universe?"

"I don't see why not." Donald answered as he looked over at the monitor.

"...Well, I think I'm ready for bed." Della stated as she turned off the machine and headed to the exit with her brother. "Okay fun question time: If you could swap universes with any of the Donalds you've seen tonight, which one would it be?"

"Hmm..." Donald thought as the two stepped into the elevator, "none."

"None!? Why not?"

"I like my life here," Donald shrugged, "at least I know the people I love are okay and not too far away from me."

"Aww...You see if I were you, I would've answered that universe where you, Jose and Panchito were fighting alongside that Amazon chick. I would totally hook up with her."

The elevator door closed and then ascended the two up to their uncle and pretty soon, the bin had no occupants.

[starcolonelkatrinamoon]

Origins: Tisha | Alone in the Dark

3111, June 2nd Unknown Location in the Periphery 500,000+ Km outside of closest gravity well

Tikhon fought the controls of his custom Phoenix Hawk as it hurtled through the black. The mech's gyro screamed as it strained to counteract the spin that had been imparted by the failure of the reaction mass containment. He tried and failed to bring the jumpjets back online - there was no atmosphere to pressurize and so nothing to charge the system with.

Maybe plasma pressure from the engine could be used. He knew that in an emergency you could vent pressure from the reactor at the cost of a potential shutdown… but out here that shutdown would be an immediate death sentence. What if he supercharged the gyro? Overspeeding the inertial stabilizer could be done in a pinch with the right safety overrides. But that could fuse the rings and then the annoying but small spin would be an inertial nightmare.

Slumping back in the cockpit, he wondered if this would be it. If he would simply drift off out of the conflict zone into the dark, never to be seen again. He wondered what Rabiga would think - would she be angry with him? Overheating the reaction mass and causing a rupture was a pretty stupid thing to mess up. And yet here he was. No reaction mass and-

Targets on radar. His hands snapped back to the controls. They were heading towards the conflict zone. Rabiga was there. He needed to-

Once, Rabiga had talked to him about safety systems and redundancy. How a BattleMech, if built correctly, could dump reaction mass into the life support if it was water or air and vice versa. You could use one to balance the other in an emergency.

He knew what he had to do.

His hands shook as a wobbly grin crept onto his face. Reaching out, he began the override protocols to dump life support into the pressure bottles. A nervous giggle bubbled up from him.

He only needed a few minutes.

The rest could go to charge the system.

The life support system charged slowly into the reaction mass discharge reservoir. He watched with trepidation as the gauge slowly drained, down and down and down. Ten minutes. Seven.

Five.

Bingo.

A few precise shots of the Phoenix Hawk’s maneuver jets counteracted the spin. Now he was just drifting.

He would time his flight with music. It was the best he had. Ticking the audio system, a tune began to drift over his ears.

His EI implants ached with need. It was time to begin. Leaning back into the control seat, Tikhon permitted the implants to connect through to the mech.

A few moments of disconcerting sensations and then they were One again. Their lithe body shifted into a position more befitting the work to begin and a heavy burn threw Them into a new vector. Additional puffs of propellant gave Them speed.

They rapidly approached the radar signatures, Their mind now providing names - a lance of Spiders.

Easy prey.

Their single ERPPC slung a bolt towards the rearmost light mech. The bolt impacted, blowing through the rear center torso and eating a hole in the engine. The containment burst all at once, the plasma leak hurling the mech off of the plane of engagement.

It took the other spiders a moment to realize what had happened. By the time they were beginning to turn, They had already blown by at velocity. Thrusters puffed and They twirled elegantly, coming about to fire another bolt while They had the opportunity on this vector.

That shot was not as good. It only damaged a leg.

Disappointing.

Another heavy burn would bring Them into a wide, arcing turn. They had angled the thrust vector into something more oblique to disorient the return fire. Lasers searched for Their armor in the dark, failing to find it. They were difficult to see with the pure black paintjob anyways.

There. An opportunity. Burning in, They fired a shot at one of the spiders and aimed a kick at another.

The bolt connected solidly with the side torso of one, while the kick connected with the other. Armor ground against armor, the mass behind the kick throwing the spider into an unrecoverable spin off into the black.

That left two spiders in total to be concerned about. One who was undamaged and the other having suffered a dreadful hit.

Several puffs of propellant righted Them before a heavy burn would send Them arcing below the plane of engagement. They danced around scattered pieces of armor and laserfire.

5% reaction mass remaining. Barely enough.

They spiraled around, twisting around the two spiders. Another bolt put the damaged one out of its misery - the poor machine going still as something critical inside of it was destroyed.

Only one remaining. An assault boost was the way as They threw themselves at the spider, an initial ERPPC bolt taking the armor and a big chunk of structure off of a leg.

The two mechs collided in a maelstrom of armor fragments, paint chips, and melee attacks.

They took a hit to the torso.

They gave one to the arm.

The exchange of blows continued, armor panels being sheared away and tossed off into the emptiness of space until finally They could press an advantage. Their hand actuator closed around the cockpit of the final spider, the implication heavy.

The spider went limp. They had admitted defeat.

And now They could rest. Their pressure bottles were running incredibly low. Life support was beeping.

And someone was calling for them in the back of their head.

“TIKHON!"

…

"TIK…!”

…

“TI….!”

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

“Ti……”

…

"Tisha…"

A soft groan escaped the woman as she cracked one eye open. Her face was laid against the hard edge of a keyboard, drool trailing from her mouth onto the workbench. Her gaze traced up to the screen, partially re-written OS code for an Omega displayed on the screen. She lazily pressed the button to save. A shadow crossed her, drowning out the blinding light of the maintenance tent.

“Wake up, Tisha. It is bad to sleep on technical benches. Come, let us get you to the star's tent, quiaff?"

It was Rabiga standing over her. A smile crossed her expression before she nodded, allowing the elemental to help her up.

Her EI implants ached with a memory of a need from a day long passed.

But she ignored them and followed her best friend to their quarters.