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pinkanonwrites · 9 months

Text

Handle with Care

Rodimus has finally been allowed to bring you into a meeting to hopefully curb some of his rampant fidgeting problems. It ends up having unforeseen consequences.

First Contact AU! Rodimus/Human Reader

NSFW, DUB-CON, Accidental Stimulation, Rodmius has ADHD and you can pry that fact out of my cold dead hands

(Since this is a First Contact AU Rodimus uses Cybertronian words for body parts instead of human ones for you, but the Reader is a human!)

Rodimus knew he always did his best thinking when he had something to do with his servos. As insistent as Ultra Magnus was that his endless tapping, bouncing, and desk-carving was simply "an untapped well of craving for mayhem", Rodimus knew that having even a little something to fiddle with would make those endless, droning safety meetings into something just barely bordering on tolerable.

And since Ultra Magnus was also sick of his relentless desk vandalism, he finally gave the begrudging all-clear for Rodimus to bring his favorite organic to the meeting room.

"They can remain so long as they are not a distraction." With his soft little buddy cupped carefully in his servos, not even Ultra Magnus's stern words could sway his captain's notable enthusiasm.

"You say that as if they could be any more distracting than the bot carrying them." Megatron added.

"You worry too much! We'll be quieter than moon mice, right bud?" Rodimus ran a thumb over your soft, fuzz-covered helm as he took his seat. You were sitting comfortably in the center of his right palm, legs dangling over the edge between his digits. He kept his middle and ring digits curled up slightly to keep you from toppling forward, and you'd settled yourself in with your arms folded atop them and your chin resting against the tips of his digits. He gave you another soft stroke to the helm and beamed at the content little chirp you let out in response.

Ultra Magnus cleared his vents. "If we may begin, we have a lot of ground to cover. Starting with the grievous filing system Brainstorm has insisted on using for the weapons bay. It flaunts any Cybertronian standard known to bot and presents a massive safety risk when considering…"

Yeah, if Rodimus hadn't brought you along he'd already be itching for a dagger to start carving caricatures with. Instead his left-servo digits wandered lazily over your helm and shoulders, absentmindedly petting as his processor already started phasing out the dialogue of his second-in-command. Primus, organics really were so soft. Even your little coverings were soft, he noted as he ran a digit tip over the fabric covering your torso. You let out another quiet hum, melting ever further into Rodimus's grip as he patted you.

"And if you think your petition to install turbo-thrusters on your private vehicle was approved, Rodimus, I assure you it was not."

"WHA-?! What's wrong with the turbo thrusters? Brainstorm already approved the prototype!" He sat upright and forward in his seat, left servo cupping around your back to make sure you weren't overly jostled. "And they'll look great on the Rod Pod, too. Already painted and everything."

"We can't have one of our captains blowing himself up meteor surfing just because he wanted a thrill. And must I emphasize the use of the word 'prototype'? Meaning 'unfinished and untested'?"

"What better way to test them than on my ship?"

"Do you want them listed alphabetically, or by order of safety protocol?"

Rodimus grumbled, a buzzing charge of irritation spiking through his frame. He cupped your back tighter with his servo to make sure you were still settled in as he flumped back into his seat with an overly dramatic ex-vent. The motion pushed your entire soft fore up against his wide digits, and he could feel a shiver course through your small frame.

"You bored yet?" He murmured, knowing you couldn't fully understand him but also knowing his comments would needle at Ultra Magnus. "Or are you cold? You feel pretty warm." A single digit stroked down the length of your spinal strut and Rodimus startled at the sudden, shaky in-vent you'd failed to stifle. "What was…?"

"Affectionate little organic you've found for yourself, Rodimus." Megatron's comment nearly made Rodimus leap out of his own plating. The taller mech gestured to the way you'd wrapped both of your arms around Rodimus's digits, your cheek pressed against the metal tip of one.

"W-Well yeah! I am their favorite, after all." He asserted, though his free digits kept wandering up and down the expanse of your back. The last thing he wanted was for Megatron and Ultra Magnus to think something was wrong with you. That would just give them more reason to not let him bring you to meetings. No, as soon as he could slip out of here he'd take you to Perceptor himself to get you checked out. Hopefully you could wait it out that long.

But as the meeting progressed Rodimus found that everything that was being said to him was going in one audial processor and straight out the other. He was too focused on your movement, each tiny rock and wriggle. He kept the palm of his other servo pressed against your back to keep you snug and warm, though his own sensors didn't indicate anything out of the norm for your current ambient temperature. Maybe you got bored like he did? Absent-mindedly he began bouncing you in his palm, just barely enough movement to jostle your frame. The dull motion would keep you occupied and keep Rodimus from going stir-crazy with nothing to fiddle with. He was killing two birdbots with one stone!

"...And if we're going to allow Swerve to continue his antics, I must insist that he is at least properly licensed and certified."

"C'mon! It's good for-!" Rodimus had tried to interject, but before he could he was interrupted by a strangled yelp from his palm. All three bots' optics were drawn to your form as you shuddered in Rodimus's servo, arms and legs squeezing around his digits and your helm hanging over the tips of them, hiding your faceplate from view. Your own little servos pushed pathetically at Rodimus's, trying to shove your fore away from his touch as you whimpered.

"You didn't squash them, did you? Rodimus."

"They don't appear to be harmed. Merely… distressed?"

"No worries everything's fine let's pick this up next cycle sounds good okay BYE!" Rodimus spat out a flurry of placations and excuses as he scrambled to leave, cupping you close to his chest the entire sprint back to his own habsuite. Only once he was over his desk, littered with your various human-sized furniture and items, did he carefully uncup his hands and let you sprawl out across a single palm. You remained lying flat on your back, fore heaving as you vented, helm fluff sticky with your organic-made coolant where it clung to your face. As you made optic contact with him you let out the tiniest, most pathetic whine as your servos flew up to cover your face.

"Rodimus…" Though you couldn't fully understand each other, you had settled on a throaty, metered recreation of his name, doing your best to mimic the mechanical warbles he had used to introduce himself to you. He'd heard you use it a handful of times before, mostly to get his attention. But now? Now you seemed absolutely distraught, whining out the word in a high, flustered pitch through your cupped servos.

"What?! What did I do wrong?" He blinked owlishly down at you, poking ever so gently around your form with a free digit. He prodded at your helm, your shoulders, your chassis… But as his digits trailed down your fore you whimpered, hips jerking pathetically up as he neared your pelvis. You let out another embarrassed squeak, one of your pedes kicking frantically against his digit with a metal 'bang!' to shove it away.

Oh. Oops.

Rodimus wasn't stupid, he knew that humans didn't have armor plating. Instead you delighted in covering yourself with various colorful fabrics for different occasions and times of day, a freedom of self-design that he both greatly admired and slightly envied.

But Rodimus had never actually considered that no armor really meant no armor. Not even a modesty plate.

"I'm so sorry!" He hissed, heat rushing to his own faceplate as well. Accidentally making you overload in the middle of a meeting wasn't even on the list of possible ways Rodimus thought things could go wrong, but apparently now it needed to be added. He'd used the vibrating buzz if his digits many a time on other mechs and femmes, but he never intended to use it on you. At least not in that way! Letting you slide oh-so-carefully from his palm and onto the surface of the desk, you continued to languish in your humiliation sprawled out on your back. "I really didn't mean to! I know you don't know what I'm saying but I promise it wasn't on purpose!"

You glanced through your fingers at his faceplate and his apologetic frown, letting out another huff. This one sounded less overwhelmed though, more resigned. You gestured for him to bring a servo closer and he did, only for you to duck your helm under one of his digits and let him pet your soft organic head fluff.

"You forgive me?" You couldn't understand him but gave him a small, reassuring pat on the palm. "Ahh, thank you! If it's any consolation, I don't think either of them noticed."

But as he carefully stroked your helm with two digits, a teeny tiny part of Rodimus's processor was curious. How hard was it for you to keep quiet? Was the wiggling around from you trying to get away from the stimulation, or chase it? Were you scared, overloading in a room full of giant mechs? Or was there a chance that part of you might have… enjoyed it?

Weird. He was weird. And he was going to file those thoughts away behind a door in his processor to only be opened when he needed things to feel self-deprecating about. Rodimus of Nyon, Captain of the Lost Light, secret fantasizer of human overloads… Yeah, that probably wouldn't go over well.

And yet, Rodimus couldn't help how little he actually minded that.

#transformers #transformers x reader #rodimus #rodimus prime #rodimus x reader #rodimus prime x reader #first contact au #valveplug #maccadam

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rallentando1011 · 3 months

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hey so how do you think the rottmnt boys would deal with a s/o who has insomnia unless they’re cuddling their boyfriend or their giant eevee plush in their own house or stealing something from the boys. Like if they got nothing to bury their face in and squish in their sleep, they ain’t sleeping and look tired the next day. They just look so lonely and lost without something to sleep with too. Totally steals one of Raphael’s teddies when they sleep over as Raphael’s lover. For Donnie, probably fall asleep with shelldon if Donnie isn’t for grabs and yes, shelldon was very comfortable, he felt warm and sturdy like Donnie’s plastron sort off. Leo’s pillow which he is never getting back.

ROTTMNT Boys + Insomniac Reader

Donnie

For Donnie, late nights, all nighters and the unfortunate side effects of the points are not uncommon

His lab work often requires that he stays up late and starts early as a matter of expediency

But that’s not the problem right now

The problem he notices on one late night is how exhausted you are, slumped entirely on his precious desk space

Donnie lightheartedly asks how much melatonin you took only to be met with a condemning look, his main cause of concern

“HOW MUCH- Ahem, I mean, how much melatonin did you take?”

“Like, a handful.”

“And this is a nightly occurrence?”

“Just about.”

“By Darwin- let’s get you to sleep for now. Tomorrow, we’re doing a physical and psych eval. because how are you even alive.”

Donnie sets you up on a sufficiently cozy bench in the lab with a certain drone taking up residence on your lap

After laying you down, the man moves straight back to working at his desk, much to your chagrin

However, that doesn’t mean you don’t have some tricks up your sleeve

“Respectfully, S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. makes a better cuddle buddy,” you call idly to the turtle, trying to conceal your cuddle-seeking agenda

A contemplative hum is Donnie’s response

You persist. “No offense. He’s warm. You’re cold. Not much of a competition.”

“Begrudging sigh- get over here.”

“Say what now?”

“I know you heard me and shan’t be repeating myself. Take up the offer or don’t.”

“Aw. What a sweetheart.”

You join him at his desk chair, curling up cozily into his side with a smug grin, a content drone still on your lap

But your smugness doesn’t last long

Within a few minutes, you’re completely slumped over on Donnie’s shoulder

Donnie also doesn’t have the ability to boast as he too finds himself resting on you, snoring rhythmically into a deep sleep

Mikey

Mikey immediately notices something’s up

Your terrible motor function, your tendency to lean, half-asleep, against any flat surface you find, not to mention your nearly complete lack of hand-eye coordination

Everything comes to a boiling point, quite literally, when you two are cooking together and you zone out with your head down on the counter as your mushroom risotto almost boils over

After he gets the heat off and that situation under control, it’s time for Dr. Feelings to step in and get some answers

“What’s going on?”

“What d’you mean?”

“You seem really drowsy. If something’s wrong, you can tell me. Or not. Any way you’re comfortable with.”

“Nothing’s wrong, per say. It’s just - getting to bed has been really difficult this week for some reason.”

Mikey nods, understanding completely

Once he correctly cleans and puts away dishes and foods, he recommends that you two converse in his room about the situation

You agree, walking alongside him through the lair on precarious legs

The box turtle lays on his bed with you at his side and starts asking questions

When did this bout of insomnia start? What are some of the stressful situations you’ve experienced recently?

As you roll to be right at his side, feeling how warm and cozy the bed feels, admiring the distant babble of potential issues and solutions of this rough patch, the lure of sleep becomes more and more tantalizing

Mikey finishes a thought and looks to you for your opinion, though he’s met with calmly closed eyes and shallow breathing

A smile comes across his face and - even though the in depth solution for this is a larger issue - that is an obstacle in a lot more than just the fact for another day

For now, he just bundles up beside you and drifts off to sleep

Leo

At first when Leo notices your perpetual grogginess, he plays it off as a joke

Asking you what kind of coffin you slept in, referring to you as an elderly person, he’s always got some sort of quip

The concern in his eyes is almost imperceptible

Eventually, his concern cracks through your shell and you feed up to how difficult it is to get to sleep every night

Leo goes slack-jawed

Not only have you been struggling to sleep like his own restless self, but he’s been ribbing you for it?

He’s flabbergasted

“Before you ask, yes, I even tried shutting my phone off and still couldn’t

“Man. This is serious.”

Leo immediately sets to grabbing materials - only the necessities, of course - popcorn, throw blankets, all of his unicorn plushies, good old-fashioned Jupiter Jim movies, and warm tea

The man knows from personal experience that one of the best ways to make yourself sleep is to completely drain your energy and set up a situation in which it is literally impossible not to fall asleep in

“How could snacks possibly help me fall asleep?”

“Not to say just trust me, but just trust me.”

“Source: trust me bro.”

“Exactly.”

One movie and snack time later, you found yourself swaddled in innumerable blankets, plush unicorns clutched tightly to your chest, shoulder to shoulder with your turtle and halfway to unconsciousness, you saw the validity in what he was saying

“Don’t make me regret saying this, but you were right.”

“Of course. When aren’t I?”

“Seriously, thanks.”

“Literally anytime.”

Raph

Raph immediately senses that something’s wrong the second he tries to go to sleep

He goes through his nightly routine just fine: putting on his onesie, brushing his teeth, popping in his retainer, kissing each of his teddy bears goodnight-

Except he can’t

The majority of the plush toys are pristinely lined up in place on his bedside, but as soon as he makes it to the spot of his beloved Captain Cuddles, he’s met only by air and emptiness

And he freaks out

Drawers thrown haphazardly around the room, every piece of furniture in the lair unturned, not a single object in the lair remains unsearched

He’s exasperated, exhausted, completely distraught until you call to tell goodnight

When you hear he’s upset and ask why, he lets you in on the situation

And he’s met with silence

Guilty silence

Before he could chide you, you hung up, and within the hour you were at the lair

Raph seems betrayed, voice cracking and everything, as he asks why you committed such a dissolute deed

“I just haven’t caught much sleep this week, and having something soft or something of yours helps, you know?”

“How long has it been since you slept?”

“Like, three days?”

“It’s only Wednesday.”

“Yep.”

Suddenly, all the stress and distress melts away from his brow, the tension from his shoulders, all replaced by understanding

What was probably going to be an thirty minute rant about the significance of his teddies instead turns into a soft spoken invitation to have a sleepover, and that is an offer you can’t refuse

So, Raph ends up being able to wish each of his stuffies goodnight - and you, too - your head resting on his plastron, the two of you cozily cuddled up

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sidekick-hero · 4 months

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Love from the other side

(steddie | rated: M | wc: 6.2k | tags: Vampire Eddie Munson, Nurse Steve Harrington, Mild Gore, Blood Drinking | AO3)

"Steve, we've got a major crash on the Interstate. Multiple vehicles involved. You're on triage duty. Patients will be arriving in five minutes,” Robin, the head nurse in the ER, tells him in a calm voice. She's Steve's best friend, but even he's sometimes surprised at how calm Robin can be in critical situations. He's seen her fret over the prospect of asking out a girl she likes, and her freak-out before her first date with Nancy is now something of a legend between them.

But ask her to handle a crisis and she's cool as a cucumber.

Steve sighs and nods. That means it's going to be a long night. He's already been on for ten hours, two more and he could have gone home to his cat and his warm, soft bed. But they're understaffed as it is, and with so many new patients in unknown condition coming in, he'll be here for at least another five hours. Maybe more.

He makes his way to the triage area of the ER and braces himself for what's to come.

When he finally makes it home, the sun has already risen and he's dead on his feet.

He stumbles through the front door of his apartment and is greeted by Garfield, his tabby cat, who continues to weave through his legs as he takes off his shoes, almost tripping him. He meows pitifully at Steve.

"Yeah, yeah, you poor thing. You'r treated worse here than in a shelter. Warm and cozy and dry with a human to open your tins and feed you."

Garfield meows again, this time more demanding, emphasizing the urgency with which he wants food.

Throwing up his arms, Steve relents. "Fine. Heaven forbid I get to change into something comfortable first."

As soon as he places Garfield's bowl in front of him, Steve is all but forgotten as the cat digs in. "You're welcome," he says to his beloved little freeloader, not expecting a response. He's talking to a cat, after all, but it still helps make the apartment feel less empty.

And there's no one to judge him for it. Not since Robin moved in with Nancy and he had to find a one-bedroom apartment that he could actually afford on his own.

It's not that he begrudges them their happiness, far from it. But coming home to an empty apartment and talking to his cat instead of another human being got old pretty quickly. Worse than that.

It has become lonely.

"Pull yourself together, Steve, and stop whining," he chides himself, still talking out loud.

Steve sighs. He can see himself ending up a hermit with twenty cats who never leaves the house. Deciding it's best to just go to sleep before his thoughts turn any more self-pitying, he bends down to scratch Garfield's head and tells him, "I'm going to bed."

Garfield continues to ignore him as he sips the milk Steve has placed in front of him.

Steve is off for the next two days and spends the time mostly sleeping, doing laundry, and stocking up on food after realizing he didn't even have a slice of toast for breakfast.

He also goes over to Robin and Nance's for dinner, since he's not a hopeless hermit yet. Between the three of them, they go through three bottles of wine and end up swapping stories and inside jokes until his stomach hurts from laughing so hard.

It doesn't make coming back to an empty apartment any easier.

His next shift is another night shift, and it's surprisingly quiet for a Friday night. So far, the worst he has had to deal with is a nasty cut on a drunk frat boy's forehead after the guy fell through a glass door. Steve's still surprised he didn't hurt himself worse. Head wounds bleed like crazy, though, so he looked like he had been attacked by a serial killer when his equally drunk buddies carried him to the emergency room. Seeing that only one deep cut needed stitches, while the other, shallower cuts on his arms and face would be fine on their own, had put Steve in a surprisingly good mood.

So good, in fact, that he carelessly remarked to Carol, the other nurse on duty with him, "Looks like a quiet night for once."

You could have heard a needle drop in the silence that followed his statement, and Carol looked ready to murder him. He had just violated the most important rule in any hospital.

Never, under any circumstances, say the "Q" word.

"Fuck. Oh God, I didn't mean..."

"Too fucking late, Harrington." Carol huffed before stalking off, probably to complain about him to her boyfriend, who was also the hospital director's son.

Less than twenty minutes later, all hell broke loose.

A dance floor at a local club had collapsed, resulting in several dozen serious casualties, all arriving on stretchers, crowding the triage area as Steve worked on autopilot. Assess, prioritize, assist.

In the midst of the chaos, another ambulance arrives and he goes over to talk to the paramedics about taking the patient to St. John's instead because they are at capacity, which really means they were past capacity an hour ago.

One look at the patient tells him there is no time for that,

The man on the gurney was only a few years older than Steve and had a gaping wound on his neck. He was white as a sheet and there was too little blood around a wound that looks like it hit a major artery.

"What the fuck?" He can't help but ask and the paramedic shrugs with a puzzled look on his face.

"I don't know, man. Found him like this and whoever called it in left before we got there."

Rolling their new patient in with hurried steps, Steve wonders if there was anything they could do. The wound needed surgery, and they needed to get blood and other fluids into the man as quickly as possible. Judging by the slow and shallow breathing and the sluggish pulse, his system has already started to shut down.

They lost him before they even got to the operating room. Steve doesn't even hear about it until hours later, when everyone who had been on the dance floor has finally been taken care of and a bone-deep exhaustion replaces the adrenaline-fueled energy in his body. He's not proud of it, but he's too tired to spare the news more than a brief burst of sadness.

Over the next weeks, seven more patients with gaping neck wounds come into the ER while Steve’s on shift, all drained of too much blood to make it past the first ten minutes under their care.

Whispers about a killer roaming the streets of Hawkins have started circulating as the number of victims rises steadily and Steve has started to sleep with a baseball bat under his bed. Just in case.

It’s early Tuesday night, four hours into his twelve hours shift, when another one comes in, this time a young girl around Steve’s age with long strawberry blonde hair and a pretty face. On her neck Steve can make out a gaping wound, just like the others had shown.

But this one is bleeding, profusely.

And the girl is awake, looking up at Steve with wide, terrified eyes.

“Hey, you’re safe, it’s gonna be okay, we’re going to take care of you,” he reassures her over and over as they make their way inside, ushering her to get surgery immediately. When he gives her his warmest reassuring smile she even tries her best to smile back.

Steve hopes she makes it.

She does. Against all odds, considering that the last two dozen victims with similar injuries have all died, she makes it.

Her name is Chrissy Cunningham, and when Steve reads the name on her file, he remembers her. She was a year behind him, a cheerleader. They never really talked much, but he remembers that she was kind and talked to him after everyone else on the team and the cheerleading squad had stopped doing so.

He's glad that she survived, and he promises himself that he will check in on her as soon as his shift is over.

If it hadn't been Chrissy, if it hadn't been someone he knew, he probably never would have met Eddie.

At the end of one of those weird in-between shifts at four in the morning, Steve changes into a pair of sweatpants and his favorite hoodie before heading over to the observatory area where they had to put Chrissy for now because a whole wing of the building is under construction due to some asbestos in the walls. She's already in stable condition, only needing fluids and antibiotics because they have no idea what bit her, so they're letting her sleep it off for now and hopefully find a room to put her in the next day.

The halls of the hospital are quiet at this time of night, especially outside the ER, and it's almost eerie. It feels like no one is here but Steve and the thought makes him shiver. All this serial killer talk is really getting to him, he thinks.

Reaching the area separated only by screens, he sees a figure standing by her bed. He can't make out much, but it appears to be a man, judging by his height, and he's leaning over the bed, talking softly to Chrissy. The man, if it is one, but the deep timber of his voice makes Steve think it is, is not wearing scrubs, but jeans and a hoodie, and Steve is pretty sure he's not hospital staff.

Suddenly, he remembers that something - or someone - must have inflicted the injury on Chrissy's neck.

"Hey, who are you, and what are you doing here?" he shouts as he runs over to the bed, and the figure turns to face him.

It is a man, with wide, dark eyes in a pale face framed by equally dark, messy curls.

"Shit, shit, shit," the man curses and bolts, moving faster than should be humanly possible. One moment he's staring at Steve like a deer in the headlights with his big bambi eyes, the next his shoulder slams into Steve, knocking him to the ground as the mysterious figure disappears from view.

He pushes himself upright and rises from the ground with a determined effort, because even though the guy doesn't look like it, it feels like he's been hit by a brick wall. When he regains his footing, he shakes off the impact and makes his way over to Chrissy to check on her.

She's awake, but too weak to sit up, though she tries.

"Shh, hey, don't strain yourself Chrissy, it's all right, he's gone. You're safe," he reassures her, a hand on her shoulder to keep her from moving too much and aggravating her wound.

"No," she says, her voice barely above a whisper, shaking her head slightly. Just when he wants to reiterate that yes, he's really gone, she continues. "He's safe. He saved me."

"What?" Steve asks, taken aback by her statement. He can tell that even the few words she has spoken have taken a toll on her, draining what little strength she has regained, but he can't help it, he needs to know what she means.

"He...saved me. Pulled him...off. Off me. Would have...killed..." she trails off, her eyelids fluttering shut and Steve lets her be.

Pulling up a chair, he sits down next to her to keep watch, just in case her savior decides to come back.

The next day Chrissy is more lucid. She's also in her own room and has already given a statement to the police when Steve comes in for his shift.

It doesn't matter though, he still has to ask her what happened, needs to know who the strange man was who continued to haunt Steve's dreams after he came home sometime in the early morning.

"I don't know who he is, Steve. He just showed up while Jason...while he," she is visibly shaken by having to remember the events of last night and Steve thinks he should tell her that it's okay, she doesn't have to tell him. But he doesn't. It feels like she needs to say it as much as he needs to hear it.

Steeling herself and taking a deep breath, Chrissy continues, "While Jason was biting me. Mauled me, really. I think he would have torn my throat out if this man had not shown up. He slammed into Jason, ripped him off of me, and they both went down. There was a struggle, I could hear it, but everything hurt so much I couldn't move my head. It went on for a while, I don't know how long. Time was really weird. And then the guy was looking down at me, telling me to stay still, that he was going to call an ambulance, and that I just had to hang in there. He pressed something against my neck and it hurt so much, but the pain kept me there, y'know? So I wouldn't float away and never come back. He told me to stay with him and I did. Until we heard the ambulance. Then he told me he was sorry, but he had to go. And then he was gone and the paramedics took me away."

Chrissy looks very pale after telling her story, the dark rings under her eyes more pronounced than when he first entered the room. But before he can let her rest, he has one more question.

"What was he doing here?"

To Steve's surprise, the question makes Chrissy smile. "An apology, because this is no way for a lady to be left in the lurch."

Steve has no idea what to do with this information, so he just takes Chrissy's hand and squeezes it gently.

"You'll be out of here in no time, Chrissy. We will take good care of you, I promise."

"I know. Thanks, Steve."

He turns and walks away, leaving her to get back to sleep, knowing that it will be a long time before he will be able to do the same.

What the fuck is going on?

They find Jason Carver, or what is left of him, the next day. It's all over the news. No one knows why he attacked his girlfriend or who killed him. The reports leave out a lot of the gruesome details, just saying that he was torn to pieces when they found him.

Steve, of course, can't let that be all. He has to know what happened, so after his shift he sneaks down to the morgue to take a look at what is left of Jason, a guy he only knew in passing, since Steve had already left the school when Jason became captain of the basketball team, taking Steve's old position.

What he finds is a body that is badly mangled, just like the news said. There are deep wounds, chunks of flesh missing, his right arm torn from his shoulder. Though it's hard to swallow, it's not the first time Steve has seen a body destroyed almost beyond recognition. What makes him recoil from the dead man in front of him is the fact that Jason Carver's body is already decomposing as if he'd been dead for several days, maybe weeks, instead of not even 48 hours.

Steve leaves the morgue even more confused - and frightened - and heads home with the image of Jason's tattered, rotting body burned into his eyelids.

Over the next three weeks Steve sees four more victims with the same torn throats and bloodless bodies. None of them can be saved like they saved Chrissy.

He doesn’t see the mysterious man again.

It's late June when Steve's life changes forever.

The sun has only set an hour ago and the air is still warm as he walks home from his shift. Robin and Nance's car broke down the day before, and they live on the outskirts of town, so Steve gave them his car until theirs is fixed in a few days. The weather is nice and he doesn't mind walking the three miles to his apartment.

He's almost home, maybe ten minutes away, when he hears someone whistle.

There's a man standing at the entrance to an alley a few feet ahead of him, and since he's the only one around, Steve assumes it must be him whistling at Steve. The guy is hot, there is no way around it, about Steve's height with an athletic build and a haircut that reminds him of the 80's, his blond hair styled into a mullet.

"What's a pretty guy like you doing out here all alone?" The man asks as he gives Steve a slow look. It's supposed to be seductive, Steve thinks, but it just comes off as sleazy. Which is a shame, because the guy has a pretty face, long lashes, full lips, delicate features. Steve's also going through a bit of a dry spell lately, but he's not desperate enough to hook up with a slimy sleazeball like that.

"None of your business, really," he replies, walking a little faster than before. Something doesn't feel right, he thinks, feeling the hairs stand up on the back of his neck.

"Aww, don't be like that, sweet thing. I just wanna talk, I swear." Steve is almost past the guy when their eyes meet and he feels himself freeze. "Why don't you come closer so I can smell you better?"

Even as he thinks, "What the hell is wrong with this guy?" he feels his body turn toward him and his feet propel him forward. He feels himself panic, but it's a distant thing, like an itch under his skin that he can't reach no matter how hard he scratches.

When he's in front of the stranger, so close that their chests almost touch, the man leans in and sniffs Steve's neck like a dog at a slab of meat. He hums deep in his chest and Steve feels the wet touch of his tongue against his skin. It's enough of a shock that he can get his body to react, to fight back, but it's no use. The moment he moves, the man growls menacingly at him.

With his feet still rooted to the ground, Steve feels like he's underwater, his senses dulled and his limbs heavy, weighed down by the tons of water around him. He fights it with all his strength and it takes all he's got to put his hands on the man's chest and push him away.

It's not even close to a hard push, but the man clearly didn't expect Steve to fight back at all, so he stumbles back a bit anyway. Unfortunately for Steve, it only makes him angrier.

"Looks like you got some fight in you after all. Too bad I don't like my food to fight back," he snarls, and before Steve knows what's happening he feels his back slam into the wall behind him, darkness surrounding them on all sides.

He struggles against the hands holding him down, but it's no use, their grip steely and unyielding.

The once pretty face has turned into something twisted and ugly, a grotesque imitation of a human face, and when the thing in front of him opens its mouth, all Steve sees are teeth. Long, sharp teeth.

Steve screams, but not a sound comes out of its mouth.

As those teeth sink into his neck, the face of the man who saved Chrissy's life pops unbidden into his mind. Steve has seen it in his dreams more than once, and it's strangely comforting to think of it now, in what Steve is sure will be his last minutes alive. As if this is all a fucked up dream and Chrissy's mysterious savior will come for him, too.

White hot pain races through his body from where the thing that looked like a man sunk its teeth into him and it's only that pain that makes him believe what he sees next.

One moment he's in mind-numbing agony, almost wishing for death to come and end his suffering, and the next the oppressive weight of that thing is gone, its teeth no longer in Steve. With nothing holding him up, he crumples to the ground, his head dazed and his body shaking like a leaf.

To his right he hears the sounds of a viscous battle. Growls and snarls, flesh hitting flesh, flesh hitting brick, the sound of bones snapping. He's too weak to even turn his head, and part of him is glad for that.

The fight seems to go on forever and Steve feels himself slipping in and out of consciousness. His heart has stopped pounding and his pulse has slowed to about 60 beats per minute, which is good. Not too slow, his system is still going strong. It was cardiac arrest after immense blood loss that had killed the other victims, but so far that doesn't seem to be Steve's fate.

At least not if the wound on his neck that is still slowly bleeding is taken care of soon.

He doesn't dare press his undoubtedly dirty palm against it yet. Hell, he's not even sure if he can lift his hand that far. But something has to be done about the bleeding, sooner rather than later.

As if his savior had heard his thoughts, there is a final, stomach-churning sound of flesh and bone ripping, followed by silence, the fight finally over.

And then there he is, as if his mind had conjured him, the man who saved Chrissy. The man with the big brown doe eyes and the pale skin and the messy curls. There's blood on his face now, and... other things Steve doesn't want to think about.

Steve is safe now, he feels it deep in his soul. He doesn't know how he can know that, how he can trust a complete stranger to keep him safe, but he does. His eyelids flutter shut, the tension finally draining from him completely.

A cool hand on his cheek and a warm, deep voice, tinged with what sounds like fear, pull him back.

"Hey, no, no, no. Steve, you need to stay here with me, okay? Stay with me, sweetheart."

"You know my name," Steve mumbles, fighting the heavy rocks that weigh down his eyelids as he looks at the pretty face in front of him. His eyes dip lower and there's more blood on the man, his clothes torn and his skin exposed. "You're hurt."

"You're very observant, Stevie. Come on, we gotta get you to the hospital. You'll be as good as new in no time." He smiles at Steve and Steve is helpless not to smile back. There's the tease of a dimple forming in his cheek and Steve lifts his hand with Herculean effort to touch it. When the man notices the gesture, the dimple forms fully, deep and alluring. A cold hand catches his before it reaches its target and Steve whines in protest.

The man chuckles fondly. "Here, lemme help you," he says, bringing Steve's hand to his face, the dimple still waiting for Steve to touch it. The skin is soft under his hands and cold too, like it's a winter night and not the end of June.

"I'm gonna pick you up now, Stevie. It's faster than waiting for an ambulance. Just close your eyes and we'll be there before you know it."

Steve feels himself lifted from the ground into strong arms and instinctively turns his head into the man's chest, enjoying the vibration of his soft laughter at the gesture against his cheek.

Then they're moving, and fast. One second he wonders how someone covered in blood and other unspeakable things can smell so good, and the next the lights of the hospital burn bright and painful in his blurry eyes.

"He needs help, now," he hears the man say to someone, his voice firm and demanding. It makes Steve shiver in his arms. And then he's placed on a gurney and his savior leaves with the whisper of cold lips on Steve's forehead.

It's only much later, when he's recovered enough to form coherent thoughts, that Steve realizes two things.

He doesn't even know the name of the man who saved him.

He never heard a heartbeat as his head was pressed against the man's chest.

Steve is released two days later and Robin insists that he stay with her and Nancy for a while. There's really no arguing with his best friend when she's got something on her mind, so he doesn't even try. He's too tired anyway.

His sleep is shit, plagued by nightmares of sharp teeth and blood and bodies being torn to pieces.

He also dreams of the mysterious man, and while these dreams aren't nightmares, they're still confusing, even unsettling, because they leave him feeling hollow. Like he has lost something. Which is ridiculous, the man was never his, he doesn't even know his name.

As he spends the next week at Robin and Nancy's, being pampered and doted on, he has no idea how close he is to learning the name of his savior. That and much more.

After finally convincing his best friend that he can manage on his own, that he needs to go home, that Garfield misses him even with Robin or Nancy stopping by to feed him, it is both daunting and a relief to see Robin's car drive away from where he stands in front of his apartment building.

The nightmares haven't stopped, and he admits that the prospect of being alone in his apartment scares him, but he can't live on his best friend's couch forever. Besides, even there, the nightmares would wake him up shaking and panting, waking Robin and Nancy more than once in the middle of the night. Alone in his apartment, he won't wake anyone with his whimpering and screaming.

Garfield is already waiting for him when he comes through the door, weaving through his legs and meowing at him. Surprised at how much he missed the tabby menace, Steve leans down and takes him in his arms, burying his face in the soft fur.

"Hey baby, sorry for leaving you alone for so long. But Aunt Robbie told me that she and Nancy took good care of you, playing with you and petting you. Probably spoiled you rotten, huh?"

Garfield meows again and pushes his head under Steve's chin, rubbing against him and purring like crazy. Steve smiles into his fur, thinking that he's glad to be home, even if it's still empty except for the purring cat in his arms.

He puts Garfield back down and makes him something to eat before heading to his bathroom to take a long, hot shower and change into something more comfortable. When he pushes open the door and steps inside, he is too stunned by the sight that greets him for any real reaction other than a sharp intake of breath.

On the floor is the man who has taken over most of Steve's dreams and many of his waking thoughts as well.

The man lies still and Steve can see dark stains on his clothes and he just knows it's blood. It could be someone else's, but somehow Steve is sure it's the man's own. Within seconds, he's on his knees next to the unconscious (please just be unconscious) figure, his knees smarting from the way he just fell onto them on the hard and cold tiles.

The man is on his stomach, his face turned to the side, away from Steve, so he moves to turn the man over. He's surprisingly heavy, a dead weight under his hands (no, no, no, not dead, just unconscious, his mind chants), but Steve is nothing if not persistent, and he finally manages to turn the man onto his back.

"Oh God," Steve groans as he can finally assess the damage. There are wounds all over his body, deep gashes on his thighs, his torso, his arms, even his face. "What happened to you?"

"Ten against one. Not...fair," the man replies, his voice barely audible and his eyes still closed. Steve has to lean in to make out the words, but him talking also means the man is still alive, though Steve isn't sure how much longer.

Taking the man's wrist, Steve looks for a pulse to see how far his system has already shut down, but... there is no pulse to be found.

He remembers not hearing a heartbeat when his cheek was pressed against the man's chest, so he presses his ear to where the man's heart is, waiting for the sound of its faint beat.

Nothing.

Steve leans back and searches the man's eyes, half-open now and clearly alive.

"How... you can't be alive. You don't have a pulse, your heart isn't beating." He is stammering, but it's a lot to take in. It shouldn't be possible. It's not like he wants the guy to be dead, but for all intents and purposes, he should be.

Bloodied lips pull back into a faint smile. "Sweetheart, not even the most beautiful sight like you could make my heart beat again. Although it really tries for you."

Despite everything, the way this guy flirts with him while he lies in his own blood brings a crooked smile to Steve's face.

"There, that smile? If it could, my heart would be beating out of my chest right now." Steve can tell the man is trying for levity, but he's fading and fast.

"As charming as you are, you're also bleeding all over my bathroom floor. With no pulse or heartbeat. And I don't even know your friggin' name! So forgive me for asking, but what the fuck?"

"Sorry for the blood on your floor, I tried to patch myself up, but I must have passed out. Embarrassing, really. Didn't think you'd be back so soon. I'd get out of your hair, but... well, you know. I don't think I can move." The words start to slur halfway through, and those beautiful brown eyes keep disappearing behind heavy eyelids. Steve has to do something, quickly, before his savior dies.

"Eddie," the man croaks, his voice barely audible. Steve wouldn't have heard it if it weren't for the intent way he stares at him.

"What?"

"My name. Eddie."

"Eddie. Okay." Steve nods his head, the hand still wrapped around Eddie's wrist grabbing his hand instead, squeezing it gently. "Eddie, we need to get you to the hospital now."

It looks like Eddie tries to shake his head, but gives up halfway, exhausted. "No. They can't help me."

"But they can! Someone needs to sew up your wounds, and you've lost too much blood, you need a blood transfusion and fluids and - why are you laughing?"

"You're right, I need blood, but not the way you think."

The image of sharp teeth flickers behind his eyelids, a gnarled face snarling at him. The feeling of those teeth buried in his neck, white-hot pain shooting through his veins.

"What... Eddie, I don't..."

Eddie's face turns toward him, his nostrils flaring as he takes a deep breath, as if smelling the air.

"Come closer so I can smell you better."

Two different voices growling and snarling, not just one.

Strong arms lifting him off the ground as if he weighed nothing, carrying him nearly three miles. "It's faster than waiting for an ambulance."

"You're not human." Steve whispers. It's not a question.

Eddie answers it anyway. "No, I'm not."

"You're... You're a..." He can't say it, can't even think it.

"A vampire, yes." Eddie says it for him and everything falls into place. The neck wounds, the drained victims, the sharp teeth and the inhuman strength and speed.

"You want my blood." Steve has no idea why he's stating the obvious instead of running as fast as he can, but something tells him he's still safe with Eddie.

"So observant." Eddie chuckles, but it sounds wet and weak. "Yeah. But I won't take it, don't worry, Stevie."

In his mind Steve goes over the things he knows.

Eddie is a vampire. A vampire who killed another vampire to save Steve’s life. To save Chrissy’s life.

Eddie is dying. He may already be dead, but it looks like vampires can die again. Permanently.

Eddie wants his blood.

"Would it help you? My blood, I mean." That's the only thing he's not sure about. The most important thing, at least.

It looks like an inhuman - invampire, Steve thinks - effort, but Eddie manages to shake his head firmly.

"Steve, no."

"Would. It. Help?" Steve insists.

Eddie, the stubborn asshole, presses his lips together and refuses to look at him. That's answer enough for him.

Still holding Eddie's hand in his, he lifts his other hand to Eddie's mouth and presses the inside of his wrist against the closed mouth.

"Come on, Eddie. Drink." Another shake of the man's head only strengthens Steve's resolve. "Eddie, please. You saved my life. Let me do the same."

The stubborn ass continues to refuse, so Steve does the only logical thing. He stands, grabs his razor, and slides the blade across his wrist, just deep enough to draw blood from the otherwise shallow wound.

He presses the wrist back against Eddie's lips and this time he feels the man tremble.

"Please drink. I want you to. Let me help you." Moving his wrist and smearing his blood over Eddie's full lips, Steve pleads again, his voice breaking. "Please, Eddie."

It's the last please that does it, and the next thing Steve feels is the white-hot pain of teeth sinking into his wrist. Still smiling through the pain, he squeezes Eddie's hand. "That's it, you're doing so good. Take what you need."

And Eddie does. He drinks and drinks and drinks until the world goes fuzzy and black spots start dancing in front of Steve's eyes.

"Eddie," Steve slurs before everything goes dark.

When Steve comes to, he's in his bed.

His wrist is wrapped tightly in a pristine-looking white bandage, and he's wearing his pajamas. He has no idea how he got here or what happened, everything is kind of blurry. Steve tries to sit up, but almost immediately the world starts spinning and he groans in protest.

That's when the door to his bedroom opens and his mysterious savior walks into the room with a bowl in his hand.

Eddie, his mind supplies. His name is Eddie and he was dying the last time Steve saw him.

"Are you okay?" Steve asks him, his voice full of worry and he gets a sad smile in return.

"Stevie, I'm the one who should be asking you that." Eddie sits down next to him on the bed but doesn't touch him. He looks tense and Steve wonders why. Though most of what happened is a blur, he remembers holding Eddie's hand and Eddie calling him beautiful.

"I'm fine. A little dizzy, but fine. You were the one bleeding all over my bathroom floor. What happened, how are you even standing, how long was I out?"

Eddie reaches out and takes Steve's cheek in his hand. "You saved my life, Stevie. That's what happened. And you almost got yourself killed, you self-sacrificing idiot. So even though it saved my life, I have to ask you, beg you if I have to, to never do anything so stupid again."

Steve puts his own hand on top of Eddie's hand on his face and looks him in the eye as he tells him, "You saved my life first and risked your own as well. So I guess the pot is calling the kettle black here."

He's rewarded with a dimpled smile. "Fair point. Now that we're even, can you promise me you'll never do anything like this again?"

"I dunno. Can you promise not to try to save me again if I'm in danger?" He knows it's a low blow, but if it helps him get his point across, he's not above playing dirty. Besides, part of him really wants to know. The needy part, the scared part.

"You know the answer to that," Eddie says, brushing his thumb across Steve's cheekbone.

"Isn't that a little unfair?"

"Yeah," Eddie whispers, and Steve realizes he's so much closer than before. "But I don't care if it keeps you safe."

Steve feels his heart thunder in his chest, his eyes darting from Eddie's to the other man's lips and back again. Licking his own lips, Steve asks, "And why is that?"

Eddie's lips are only a breath away from his own, and he tastes his answer as much as he hears it.

"You know that answer as well."

Before Steve can say anything else, Eddie's cool, smooth lips seal over his and every thought in his mind is forgotten. There's only Eddie.

Later he'll ask about the other vampires. About all the dead people in the emergency room. He'll ask who Eddie is, why he's running around town saving people, and who hurt him so badly.

But all that can wait, at least until Steve is done drinking down the delicious sounds falling from Eddie's mouth.

This is a little birthday gift for my dear friend @yournowheregirl. Alice, I know you love vampires so I tried my best to give you some. Time ran out on me but I still hope you like it 💜

I hope you had the best birthday ever because you deserve nothing but happiness.

Edit: I forgot while posting to say that this is heavily inspired by a wonderful podcast I highly recommend, Not quite dead. Give it a listen folks!

#steddie #steddie fanfiction #vampire eddie munson #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #Nurse Steve Harrington #my writing

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melancholiaenthroned · 16 days

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ok ive slept on it i feel like i can talk about the ep better now... basically whats craziest to me is that if any of it was intentional it could be so good. i dont think wed ever actually get a season where the bad kids r protrayed as in the wrong, but if they were a little more self aware the ways that theyve also been overtaken by rage could be seen. gorgug especially, and especially because it was channeled through porter's mentorship, who the bad kids can conceptualize as manipulating gorgug but not the rat grinders. its interesting because esp w/o their favorite npcs this season the bad kids have rlly closed in on themselves and become a lot more codependent, seeming to constantly suspect anyone new of possibly betraying them. which in a meta way makes sense, cuz its players v brennan, but in universe it comes across as crazy paranoid and cliquey and theyre just so unaware of it that any way it could have come across as interesting comes across as frustrating instead. like a lot of what they do and say to the rat grinders comes across as straight up bullying, and they genuinely seem to derive pleasure from putting them down. which again, in a meta way makes sense, but in universe it makes u wonder WHY were meant to find the rat grinders dislike of the bad kids so horrible when the bad kids hatred is justified. even kipperlily at her worst thoughts -- those are thoughts she shared in therapy. are we meant to begrudge a 17 year old girl speaking to her therapist about her feelings? not even actions, literally just thoughts in her head? that she was again sharing, and probably couldve worked through if not for magical interference, confidentially in therapy? were meant to hate ruben, who doesnt even LIKE kipperlily either, who didnt start becoming the person the bad kids seem to hate until AFTER he died and was magically resurrected changed. why? oh because hes an enemy and this is a battle episode and hes on the field. ruben acting in what is quite literally self defense and being told "you were a waste of time" and having no idea whats going on and responding "what do you mean? youre killing my friends!" i swear to god if that insight check on buddy hadnt been a nat 1 i think we honestly would have gotten a whole different episode

#poison.txt #fh #d20 #fhjy spoilers #erm. anyway

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heich0e · 1 year

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the heart is but a winding road p.1 - shouto todoroki/f!reader (1.3k) pro-hero shouto, we're talkin late 20s early 30s-ish, this independent bachelor turned begrudging father figure fic was almost certainly inspired by buddy daddies, pure fluff, sho is about to make a new bff who happens to be 5 years old much to everyone's surprise

YOU ARE HERE - p.2 - p.3 - p.4 (upcoming)

It’s not that Shouto wouldn’t make a good parent. Quite the opposite really. It’s just that after his tumultuous upbringing, he’s more at peace with the idea of spending his adulthood independently. He’s a bit awkward with kids anyway. Doesn’t know how to talk to them. The idea of having one toddling along behind him 24/7 makes him kinda itchy and uncomfortable, like when sweaters are made with synthetic material and get put through the dryer.

His friends often tell him he’ll probably change his mind as he gets older. His family does too. But he keeps getting older and his stance stays the same. Fuyumi gets married and starts having kids first. Natsuo and his partner eventually adopt as well after trying for a few years. Denki elopes on a trip abroad and has three kids before their graduating class has even hit 25. Kirishima is next. Momo. Sero. Slowly, everyone Shouto knows is settling down and getting married and starting families.

And he just… doesn’t want that.

“‘Scuse me.”

Shouto is staring at a puddle in the middle of the street one afternoon, lost in his thoughts. It’s just stopped raining, and everything around him on the city street is soaked as the water slowly pools and slithers away into the storm drains. His phone is in his hand, open to where Uraraka has just sent a text to the old class 1-A group chat to announce she’s having her second baby.

Shouto turns towards the sound that interrupted his swirling thoughts, and a pair of wide eyes gazes up at him from roughly thigh-height.

“Yes?” the man asks, polite but a bit clipped, as he stares down warily at the child by his feet.

The kid probably wants a picture, he realizes. Even out of his Pro Hero suit he’s still fairly recognizable, and it’s a common occurrence. He’s got a baseball cap and mask on today though, and really hadn’t wanted to be spotted.

“Uhhh, uhmm…” the kid stammers, tugging at the hem of their little yellow rain jacket.

Shouto sighs a little.

“Do you want a pho-“

“Littering is bad!”

The child’s hands are balled up into determined little fists at their sides, their eyes squeezed closed like they mustered all their strength to say the words.

And Shouto is… speechless.

“Uh,” he falters, uncertain what the hell is even happening. “Yeah?”

The kid's eyes open again, and this time they look more resolved than they had a moment prior. Less friendly, too.

“So why’d you LITTER?”

People walking by on the sidewalk are starting to stare now, and Shouto gets that itchy, uncomfortable sensation that he hates as he feels the prickle of their eyes on him.

“What are you talking about?” he asks the child nervously, tugging his cap down a little further over his face.

The kid puffs out their cheeks indignantly.

“You dropped this garbage on the ground back there.” Clutched in the child’s tiny fist is a slip of paper—a receipt, Shouto quickly surmises. His receipt from the shop he’d just visited, which must have fallen from his pocket when he’d pulled out his phone. The little gremlin waves it around accusatorially. “And you didn’t pick it up! That’s littering.”

Shouto crouches down to meet the kid at eye-level, hoping that, if nothing else, it will stop raising its voice if he gets a bit closer.

“That was an accident,” Shouto tries to explain—tries to deescalate the situation—but the look on the child’s face doesn’t soften in the slightest. The worst part about all of this is that Shouto does actually need that receipt. He eyes it for a moment, contemplating his next move, and then he sighs. “Can I have that back?”

“No,” the kid answers immediately. “Littering is a crime and this is my eminence.”

“Your what?” the man asks flatly.

“My eminence,” the kid replies, turning their nose up at him like he’s the one being foolish.

Shouto blinks blankly at the knee-high pain in his ass.

“Nao! Nao!”

A startled, frantic voice makes Shouto’s head turn on instinct—the panic igniting a sense, an alertness, that’s been long-engrained in him.

He spots you down the road, an umbrella in your hand and a flustered but relieved look on your face, racing towards him.

Him?

Shouto is confused for a moment, until he remembers he’s not alone.

“Mama!” the present bane of Shouto’s existence melts into something unrecognizable to the thorn they’d been in his side only a moment prior—their tone sweet and excited when they spot you jogging over.

“Nao-chan,” you breathe, falling to your knees on the sidewalk and wrapping your arms around their little yellow-raincoat clad body, “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

“Mama, I caught a criminal!” the child, who Shouto can only assume is named Nao, says excitedly as they point an eager finger in his direction.

You turn and face Shouto with a startled look on your face.

This day is really not going his way.

Your cautious eyes scan Shouto for a moment, understandably wary considering your child just proudly labelled him a criminal, but he sees a flicker of recognition kindling behind your gaze that melts away your initial look of mistrust. Begrudgingly, he reaches up and loops a finger under the edge of his mask, tugging it down to his chin to reveal his face.

Your lips part, then close again.

“Nao-chan, I think you made a mistake,” you say softly to the child tucked against your side.

“Nuh-uh, Mama! I caught him littering and I got eminence!”

“Evidence, baby,” you correct the child gently.

“Yeah, that!”

You squeeze your eyes shut, looking vaguely mortified, and huff out a little laugh.

“I’m so sorry,” you say to Shouto, an apologetic grimace on your face, “he’s been obsessed with the recycling hero lately. It’s all he talks about.”

Shouto eyes the child, the boy, at your side. He’s familiar with Reductro, the Recycling Hero, but only vaguely. He’s been working with the education branch of the Hero Commission for the past few years, teaching kids to minimize their waste and promote taking care of the environment, and the two have met in passing a few times through work and the like. Shouto had no idea he had these kind of die-hard fans.

“You like Reductro?” Shouto asks the kid curiously.

The little boy’s face lights up.

“He’s the best!”

“What’s so cool about him?” Shouto asks, genuinely interested.

“He came to my school last week and he helps to get plastic outta the ocean!” The little boys eyes sparkle as he replies. “He took a gillion plastic bags out of the bay last year!”

Shouto purses his lips. that is pretty cool.

“Nao, give the nice hero back his receipt now, please,” you urge your son, seemingly eager to end this ordeal amicably.

The little boy squints up at Shouto’s face, shuffling a bit closer. “You’re a hero?” he asks skeptically.

Shouto nods. “I’m Pro Hero Shouto.”

The little boy’s jaw gapes, and Shouto feels a little swell of smugness in his chest. He’s the number three hero after all, the kid must have heard of him.

“Do you know Reductro?”

The swell of his hubris deflates immediately.

A few more words are exchanged as Nao—Naoyuki, age 5, likes Pro Hero Reductro and dislikes broccoli, as Shouto comes soon to learn—returns his misplaced receipt and you apologize again for your son’s overzealousness. With a few polite bows and one last apology for good measure, the three of you part ways—Naoyuki’s little rain boots thumping along the sidewalk as the two of you depart hand-in-hand.

Shouto looks down at the paper in his palm after you’re gone, unable to shake the foreign feeling that’s crept over him, and curled itself into his chest underneath his ribs. He clasps his fingers around the troublesome receipt and shoves his hand into his coat pocket as he sets off in the direction of his apartment.

He keeps the little slip of paper tightly in his grip the entire way home.

#shoto todoroki x reader #shoto x reader #shoto todoroki x you #todoroki x reader #shoto x you #bnha fic #bnha writing #writing

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loth-creatures · 8 months

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Wolfwren is just so funny to me. I can't quite take them seriously, but well if they're gonna be that goddamn homosexual on screen I guess I have no choice.

They're like the opposite of otp they're like one true divorce.

They never really get past wanting to kill each other but they wanna fuck so bad it makes them look stupid but they still hate each other but they're also both lonely af and circumstances are circumstancing so they form a begrudging and mildly toxic attachment/friendship/fuck-buddy-ship that there's no getting rid of but every time it almost starts working they end up trying to kill each other again. They never actually date but they have broken up 1 million times.

Ezra or Ketsu find Sabine moping and glowering over her phone and a bottle of whiskey and they're like what's wrong- oh you unblocked her again didn't you :(

Baylan finds Shin crying about it and he's like you know you could still just kill her 🙄

Disaster lesbians of all time

Ehahaaaaa I had this in my drafts before the finale we pretend it did not happen I'm fucking off to au land bye

#wolfwren #sabine wren #shin hati #shin hati x sabine wren #ahsoka series #ahsoka show #eel thoughts

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ms-scarletwings · 9 months

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Warm take, but

I would bet my entire left lung that if IZ was not canceled before the rest of the incomplete episodes/scripts were allowed some airtime, the begrudging bromance potential between Zim and Skoodge could have ended up one of if not the most popular ship among viewers. I’m still forever miffed that we were cheated out of so much more on-screen Skoodge antics generally, though.

Ffs we would have seen what he looked like as a smeet in the Trial. We would have seen what the tallest looked like as smeets too, because Zim deadass grew up with all of them. But that dynamic he had with Skoodge during the Hobo 13 incident has literally had childhood precedent which, lmfao.

Also, for anyone who hasn’t read up on the series plans, Skoodge was going to be revealed to be living in Zim’s basement ever since Hobo-13. Not just in a roach in the walls way. Like, he was eventually gonna become a whole sidekick along GIR and mini-moose, actually helping in some of the plans against Dib. Canon exile buddies. You cannot fathom how angry I am that Dib never got to meet Skoodge on screen, yet was so close to him.

#invader zim #iz fandom #invader skoodge #skoodge #scarlet rambles about things #what makes it freaking hilarious is that zim just fucking hates Skoodge #like he’s literally just oozing resentment over the fact that Skoodge already completed his assignment

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15-lizards · 1 month

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Do you have any headcannons about any culture clashes Robert Baratheon would've faced in the vale? And do you think that made him even closer to Ned as they both felt like outsiders at the tender ages of 8&10?

Yes omfg I don’t know why they didn’t treat his stay like a reeducation camp bc To Me the lords of the vale would never let any "undesirable" behavior go unchecked. I guess Jon Arryn was like hey guys Autism runs in the Starks dw

The ppl of the Vale (to me) are like supper stuffy, haughty nobility who are obsessed with tradition and the “proper” ways of doing things. So when Ned (from the brusque, straightforward, severely unfrivolous north) and Robert (from the loud, crass, rough around the edges, also straightforward Stormlands) came up the mountain they were like who is this autistic child and his feral buddy.

They definitely felt alone like ugh I wish we got more of Ned reminiscing on his time in the Vale, he spent most of his youth there. I think they both felt really lonely with they both arrived. Ned was probably super closed off while Robert was trying to overcompensate. Causing problems and such in order to fill the storms end shaped void.

When they both realized they were equally lonely they probably attached at the hip immediately. Prime example of those friendships that are like high energy excitable risk taker outgoing impulsive chasing the adrenaline rush friend X anxiety disordered overthinking painfully shy 30 step plan for any possible scenario friend.

Once everyone got used to their outsider personalities the boys were just like...those two weird kids who we have begrudging affection for. Robert probably tried to convince Ned to climb down the side of the Eyrie with him multiple times and Ned had to be his impulse control multiple times. Cut to Lord Royce having a stroke in the background while Jon goes ahhh the youth

#characters reminiscing about youthful shenanigans and carefree days in the midst of a grim and serious complex political story>>>#YOU CAN NEVER GO BACK TO THE WAY THINGS WERE BABEY!

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iisasarcasticlittleshite · 7 months

Text

'Hey, wait up Mammon!' Asmodeus flagged the second-born down, huffing pitifully at having to do so much as jog to catch up with him. 'Have you seen MC? I'm pretty sure they said they'd be in the library right now with Belphie to make sure he didn't fall asleep.'

'Nah. Walked to RAD with 'em this morning 'n' lost 'em in Satan's class.' Mammon drawled casually. 'Human was moody as hell today, said they slept like shit.'

'Oh, poor dear. Maybe I should-'

Asmodeus stopped mid sentence and Mammon's smooth gait stuttered. Their pacts flared, flooded with seething, cold ire.

The two demons shared a look. 'Did you?' Asked Asmo.

Mammon nodded once, face set in a firm line, deadly serious. 'Sure did.'

That ire came with a tether, pulling them both toward the courtyard, where demons are slowly gathering, looking at the open doors as raised voices flooded through.

The gathering crowd parted for the avatars of Lust and Greed and they reached the door just as a very familiar voices yelled out in a very unfamiliar tone.

'You will not speak to me like that!'

MC's icy growl was a far cry from the human they're familiar with, the human who never raises their voice, who keeps a cool head and argues with logic and calm.

'I am not here for you to marvel at, not here for your fucking entertainment!' MC seethed, and they round to their human on the face of another demon, both of them with hackles raised and eyes burning.

Lucifer's pact mask bobbed on their throat with every breath, and they could swear they saw the glow of the other pacts beneath MC's uniform.

'Do you not realise how easy you are to replace?!' Seethed the demon. 'Just another human in the mess.'

'At least I'm not afraid of my next breath.' MC snapped. 'Keep your thoughts to yourself, nobody asked you your fucking opinion!'

'Why you-!'

'Oh piss off already. I'm done with you.' MC snapped, spinning on their heel and shoving through the gathered crowd, they didn't notice Asmo or Mammon watching, let alone Beel and Lucifer who'd overheard the last few words.

Beel was quick at their heels, steps eating ground to follow the tug of the pact and leave his brothers to absolutely demolish the demon in his wake. Perhaps literally.

He caught up with MC just as they left RAD, clearly heading home as the massive demon fell into stride beside them. 'Are you alright?'

'I'm fine.' The human puffed, voice cold and distant, eyes pinned straight ahead. 'Sorry. I shouldn't have risen to the argument, it's just an off day.'

'No need to be sorry.' Beel said softly, hoping to ease the tension in their shoulders. 'You're allowed to have feelings, and you're allowed to get mad. I know that demon rubs you the wrong way.'

MC sighed, forcing themselves to relax. 'Still...I don't like feeling this angry.'

'I get it. Do you want to go somewhere? Eat, drink? I'll get Belphie if you want a nap buddy.'

MC paused mid-step, looking at Beel, and then over his shoulder. Of course they wouldn't judge, none of them would ever begrudge MC genuine anger.

They felt seven hearts on the end of the threads binding them to their demons, flooded with concern, pride, righteous anger...

MC smiled, heaving a deep breath as they carried on walking, venting to Beel, who listened happily as they let that anger fade from their system and leave them in peace once more.

#obey me #obey me x mc #obey me brothers x mc

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lilithlinen · 2 months

Text

"Daddy" - Tex Johnson x You

Requested by @sunnythebunny7 ❤️❤️I couldn't sleep last night thinking about your request😂❤️.

WARNING: If you're uncomfortable with the 'Daddy kink' don't proceed.

You're laying on the couch, curled up under a blanket watching tv and holding onto one of your plushies for comfort while Tex is away, he said he is on his way, but he hasn't arrived yet. Then suddenly, you hear footsteps, and you sit up thinking it's Tex. "Tex?" you asked softly.

The door opens, and to your surprise, it's not Tex. Instead, it's one of his colleagues, laughing and holding a large Sanrio plushie. He tosses it to you, mocking, "Look at our little baby, still holding her stuffed animal!"

You look stricken, feeling exposed and vulnerable. Your eyes well up with tears, clutching your plushie tightly. Tex's colleague snickers, invoking memories of past incidents where you had been made to feel weak and childlike.

The colleague continues to tease you, commenting on how you should be embarrassed about your collection. "At your age," he smirks, "you should have outgrown this kind of thing."

You try to defend yourself, your voice shaking. "They...they help me cope. When things get hard..." you trail off, unable to continue. The hurtful stares and condescending laughter leave you feeling like a small child again - a helpless, vulnerable target for others' amusement.

Meanwhile, Tex returns from his errand, hearing the commotion. He storms into the room, taking in the scene before him. His face darkens as he fixes the colleague with a cold stare. "You wanna apologize," he growls, making his displeasure known.

The colleague laughs it off, dismissing Tex's anger. "Calm down, buddy. It was just a joke."

But Tex isn't backing down. His hands clench into fists, and his voice drips with menace. "This ain't a joke." He steps closer to the man, his eyes never leaving the intruder. "You don't know what kind of pain this young lady has been through, and you have no right to belittle her coping mechanisms. If you don't watch your tongue, I swear I'll break it for you."

"This," he says through clenched teeth, "is someone I care about." His gaze shifts back to you, softening slightly. A protective fervor burns in his eyes. "You touch her again, and we'll see if you're laughing then."

The tension in the room hangs thick in the air. The colleague hesitates, sensing Tex's unrelenting aggression. Finally, he relents, offering a begrudging apology, "Alright, alright. Sorry, kid. I didn't mean any harm."

Tex nods, satisfied if not entirely pleased. "Good. Now get out."

Once the colleague leaves, Tex turns back to you, offering you a reassuring smile despite the tense situation. Those dark eyes seem to promise safety, a shelter from the harsh world outside. With a hand lightly brushed across your cheek, Tex murmurs, "Don't listen to them, kiddo. They don't know shit."

He glances at the Sanrio plushie lying forgotten near you, picking it up gently and inspecting it carefully. A playful glint appears in his eyes as he adds, "Besides, I think this one's kinda cute. Reminds me of something."

You sniffle, wiping away your tears and holding the plushie close. "It's just...embarrassing. They make me feel like I'm weak, or immature."

Exasperation mixed with fondness colors Tex's deep timbre. "You ain't weak, sugar. Far from it. Just...different than most. Don't let 'em make you doubt who you are." He says, cupping your chin tenderly.

His fingers trace along your jawline, tracing delicate bone structure. As his thumb strokes over your quivering lip, Tex continues, "You give me head like no other, sweety. So experienced, so skilled. What about that is childish?"

Your lips tremble, relief washing over you at Tex's defense. You manage a faint smile and blush deeply.

His fingers trace imaginary patterns on the plushie's fabric, his grin becoming wicked. "Well now, aren't you the lucky one. Daddy's here to protect you. From monsters and rude men alike."

He lifts an eyebrow, a lascivious gleam entering his eyes as he compares the plushie to its supposed inspiration. "But hey, sweetheart...why stop at cute toys when you got the real item right here?"

You blush deeply, averting your gaze. But there's a hint of curiosity too, peeking through your embarrassment. "T-...The real item?"

Tex chuckles, the sound low and throaty. His finger traces a path down your jawline, stopping just below your chin. "That's right," he whispers, leaning closer to whisper in your ear. "The big doggy, waiting to take care of his pup."

Your heart races, pulse fluttering wildly in your chest. You swallow hard, trying not to betray your nervousness. But Tex's words ignite a strange mix of fear and anticipation within you.

"What do you say, kiddo? Want some comfort?" He tilts your head up delicately, capturing those wide, anxious eyes. Tex's voice drops to a velvety purr, "Want me to show you what a real daddy can do?"

You swallow again, hesitating only for a moment. Then, surprisingly, you find courage to meet his gaze boldly. "Show me, daddy..." you breathe out softly, your voice wavering with trepidation.

A slow, satisfying smile spreads across Tex's face. The corner of his lips curls up as if savoring a juicy secret. He sets the plushie toy aside, replacing it with his warm, calloused hand on yours "Very well," he purrs, leading you toward the bedroom. "Let's get started on your education, darling."

As you enter the bedroom, Tex strips off his jacket and shirt nonchalantly. He begins undressing slowly, enjoying every second of your breathless gaze. The muscles of his broad shoulders glisten under the dim light, punctuated by the trimmed beard and mustache framing his features.

He lies on the bed, stretching languidly. A smirk plays at the edges of his lips. "Join me, kiddo."

You hesitate, swallowing hard against the sudden dryness in your mouth. Despite your apprehension, you feel a surge of desire course through your veins. Nervously, you follow his command, crawling onto the bed beside him.

Tex reaches out, grasping your waist and pulling you close. His fingertips dance along the curve of your spine, drawing gentle circles that send electric sparks coursing through your body. He nudges you down onto the mattress, positioning himself behind you.

"Ready for daddy's lesson, little girl?" he asks, his voice husky with lust. His thumb brushes against your sensitive spot, eliciting a gasp from you. "Or do you want me to go easier?" adding, "There's no rush, we've got all night." His voice is velvet-soft, filled with understanding and promises of patience. Slowly, Tex shifts his weight over you, pressing into your back gently. Your naked bodies brush against each other, your pulsing arousal barely hiding beneath the sheets.

With practiced ease, he reaches around, tracing his fingers down your core. He strokes your clit gently, coaxing out the wetness that already starts to flow freely. A soft, encouraging word escapes his lips: "Remember, no pain, no gain."

You whimper, arching slightly into his touch. Your eyes squeeze shut as you try to control your breaths, but the building sensation seems too powerful to quell. Tex's fingers slide deeper, massaging your insides tenderly. Each stroke makes you even wetter.

Slowly, Tex withdraws his fingers from the wet heat between your legs. He leans down, kissing your neck passionately while his erection nestles against your backside. "It's time," he growls, his voice thick with desire. "For your first real taste of daddy's love."

Despite the apprehension, you can't help but moan softly at his proximity. Your fears seem to fade a little under his touch, replaced by anticipation and need.

Feeling your discomfort, Tex pauses. A plan forms in his mind, a way to make this less daunting for his 'kiddo'.

Reaching out, he grabs one of your plushie from the end of the bed and presses it into your hands. "Here," he murmurs, his voice filled with affection.

As he guides himself towards your entry, his movements are measured and careful, affording you every opportunity to adjust.

You clutch the plushie tightly, heart pounding in your ears. You feel a pang of relief at his consideration, unexpected tears pricking your eyes. With a shuddering breath, you nod in agreement.

"All right," Tex murmurs, his voice steady yet laced with tenderness. He pushes forward slowly, the tip of him breaching your tight entrance. A wave of sensations washes over you, mingled with both pleasure and slight discomfort. Your entire focus centers on the feeling of intrusion, the unfamiliar invasion of this intimidating figure.

He remains still, allowing your body to accommodate him. Tex's breath hitches, waiting patiently for your signal.

"How does it feel, baby?" he croons softly into your ear, his voice riddled with concern and anticipation. "Can I move?"

Trembling, you nod slightly, too overwhelmed to speak clearly. Every fiber of your being is focused on handling this new experience, his girth stretching your tissues, filling you in ways unimaginable until now.

Tex nods, his forehead resting against the curve of your shoulder blade. With a deep breath, he begins to thrust - slow, deliberate strokes designed to acclimatize you to his presence. Each movement claiming you territory after territory.

As Tex thrusts into you, he whispers encouraging words, urging you to vocalize your feelings.

"Tell me how it feels, kiddo," he pants heavily, his voice hoarse. "Do you hurt?"

You gasp, unable to hold back your emotions anymore. You rock against him, struggling to find a comfortable position. The familiar plushie rubbing against you provides small consolation amidst the foreign invasion.

"I... it burns," you admit hesitantly. "But...it also feels good."

A satisfied rumble echoes from Tex's chest. His pace quickens, seizing the opportunity to please you despite your apprehensions. "Of course it hurts," he acknowledges, his voice becoming even sexier with raw intensity. "This is how you learn, honey. This is how you become mine."

His thrusts intensify, deeper now, each strike stoking the fire of passion that had begun to simmer between them. Despite the initial discomfort, warmth blossoms within your core, fueling your desire further.

In turn, you moan loudly, completely engulfed by the carnal exchange.

"Does it hurt?" Tex repeats, checking again even though his body tells him otherwise.

Your response is a fierce shake of your head. "No, it's... it's getting better, daddy," you gasp, your voice trembling. "I think I'm starting to like it."

His heart swells with pride. Releasing one hand, he trails his fingers up to your nipple, pinching gently. Your eyes fly open wide, your face clenched with pleasurable pain. "That's what I want to hear, sweetheart."

With renewed vigor, Tex drives into you, more forcefully than before. His dark eyes blaze with hunger, piercing your skin with each percussive thrust. Slowly, rhythmically, you succumb to the dance, matching his movements with growing enthusiasm.

The plush toy bounces along, an innocent witness to your wild union. Its synthetic fur rustling against your movements.

"Is it enough, daddy?" You question, your voice thick with need. "Can I touch myself?"

Tex smiles against your skin, pleased by your submission. "Of course, darling," he responds, his own breathing labored. "Make yourself feel good."

With trembling hands, you reach your hand down between your legs, your fingers slick with your shared arousal. You rub circles on your clitoris, making the ache more intense. Your hips buck in time with his thrusts.

The room spins around you, the world narrowing down to just this moment. Your fingertips press harder on your clitoris, matching Tex's increasing intensity. Surrendering to his dominance and your own lust, you meet each surge of his hips eagerly.

As he nears his climax, Tex cradles you tightly, holding you close as if afraid you might slip away. The tempo increases, driven by pure instinct and desire.

Finally, he groans loudly, his semen flooding into you. Your inner walls pulse around him, milking him dry of his seed. Even the plushie beneath you vibrates faintly from the force of your orgasm.

When it's over, Tex collapses onto your back, panting heavily. He holds the stuffed toy against your cheek, murmuring apologies in a voice thick with satisfaction.

"Sorry, kiddo," he says softly. "Maybe next time we'll use something else."

You giggle into the embrace, exhausted yet content. Your breathing slows down gradually, your heartbeat synchronizing with his.

Still, the plushie rests between you both, evidence of your shared adventure. A testament to a night neither of you will soon forget.

You turn towards him, tilting your head to meet his gaze. Your eyes sparkle with unshed tears of joy, mirrored by the shimmer in his own.

"I don't mind, Daddy," you confess shyly, tracing the outline of his jawline. "It hurt, but it felt good too."

His smile softens, his fingers delving into your tousled hair. "That's my brave girl," he coos proudly. "You took everything I gave, just like a good girl."

Slowly, you unwind from each other, limbs dragging reluctantly apart. He helps you clean up, tenderly wiping away residual fluids. Your gazes lock once more, this time-sharing unspoken promises of future nights ahead.

"Come here," Tex signals, opening his arms.

Without hesitation, you crawl up, snuggling against his firm chest. He wraps you both in a warm blanket, your hearts beating harmoniously.

Sleep takes you both gently, wrapped protectively in his arms.

#tex johnson #tex johnson x you #tex johnson x reader #tex johnson imagine #swedish dicks #keanu reeves #keanu reeves gif #keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves x you #keanuedit #keanuverse #keanu characters #smut #daddy’s babygirl #daddy's good girl #daddy k!nk #keanu #keanu reeves imagine

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