#he really shot himself in the foot by the end of it all huh

[daeneryseastar]

the complete and utter irony of aegon waging war against a woman to be the ruling monarch, along with the only two battles he fought in being against women (well, one woman and a child); then being left with just a little girl as his heir at the end of it all, unable to produce any more sons and refusing to name his daughter as his successor. every decision he made, from agreeing to usurp the throne to murdering rhaenyra, concludes with her son being declared king, and his life ending due to a woman’s weapon. poetic justice if i do say so myself.

[4unnyr0se]

pookie pls can you write for gojo where reader and him are coworkers at jujutsu high and have a dynamic similar to utahime and gojo? and like yaga is always making them work together even tho they don’t like eachother, but Gojo lowkey gets off on reader being annoyed at him so there is *tension*? 🥺🥺🥺

❥ whole lotta attitude | satoru gojo

warnings: enemies to lovers, gojo is a dickhead but it's okay because he's gojo, fem! reader, unprotected sex, office sex (im a slut for office sex), multiple orgasms, wall sex, roughness, one hickey, spanking, oral sex (m! receiving), making out, filthy filthy words are spoken, hella sexual tension, reader hates gojo but gojo loooooves her, gojo gets slapped once, degrading, praise, hair pulling, hate(?) sex, gojo texts like a super senior, a little bit of a textfic but not rlly, fluff at the end

MDNI | 18+ content

word count -> 3.6k

Jujutsu High was quiet today. That wasn’t unusual because most of the students were either out on missions or in Shokos’ office experiencing whatever the hell she called “medicine.” The quiet was nice, strangely calming, and reassuring. Being a jujutsu sorcerer yourself, calm was a foreign feeling. The cool breeze blew your hair softly in the wind, the songbirds tweeting a melody that was most becoming on this quiet say. You took a deep breath in as you leaned against a wooden pole, admiring how clear the sky was. Everything was simply perfect. If tomorrow was your last day alive, today would be the most wonderful send-off.

“Hey there princess! I missed you!” 

And just like that, there was no more peace. No more tranquility, no more sing-song bird crap. There’s only Satoru Gojo and his humongous ego that crushes anyone within a 50-foot radius. 

His deep voice was laced with a sickly sweet playful tone that made you want to grab his collar and punch him right in his perfect nose. God, you fucking hated him. He was the bane of your existence with his smug attitude and that stupid infinity that he only turned off when you were around. Did he seriously think you were that weak, and he didn’t even need to use infinity because he could defeat you within a millisecond? Stupid fucking handsome bastard, you hated him with every fiber of your being. 

“What, you’re ignoring me now? Don’t be like that, it’s not nice!” Gojo laughed and practically teleported to where you were sitting, his eyes no doubt sparkling under that black blindfold he always wore. 

You groaned and rolled your eyes, crossing your arms and looking away from the smug bastard. “Fuck off, Gojo. I was having a perfectly peaceful afternoon before your very existence ruined it for me.” You pinched your temple with your index finger and thumb, rubbing the stressed skin. “I was calm for once in my damn life. You really do have a talent for making me wish I was six feet under.”

Gojo playfully pouted and shifted himself to your other side, taking your hand off your temple. He cradled it with his own, royally pissing you off in the process. “Why are you always so grumpy all the time, huh? Is it because your students are always out on missions instead of keeping little ol’ your company?” He mocked slightly, letting go of your hand. His blue eyes sparkled beneath his blindfold, filled with mischief. “I could keep your company, you know that right? Or is Little Miss Grumpy Pants too high and mighty to give me a shot?”

“I would literally rather make out with Jogo than spend more time with you than I’m legally required.”

“Ouch, that hurt.”

“Too bad, so sad.” You smirked, shoving him away. If anyone else had seen that they would have been shocked. The mighty Satoru Gojo, pushed to the ground by a grade two sorcerer. You rose up from the wooden desk and dusted yourself off, walking away as quickly as you could in your tennis shoes.

“I always look forward to these meetings you know!” Gojo yelled at you in the distance only to see the faintest image of your middle finger wiggling at him. Gojo smirked and put down the hem of his blindfold, his hair returning to its usual upright position. 

You stormed back into your office and locked the door shut, sliding down against the mahogany doorframe in exhaustion. How was it possible that just being in his presence absolutely drained you of all resolve? Was he really that strong, or was he just super fucking annoying? You had no idea, no one ever had any idea when it came to Satoru Gojo. 

The beautiful day finally came to an end and you got back to your apartment, collapsing onto your couch. Most jujutsu sorcerers had house provided to them by their clans, but that was not your case. Your neighbors thought you were a teacher at some religious school deep in the country side. It was the best excuse you could come up with for being gone for practically days at a time. Maybe the only bus to the train station broke down or something, any old excuse like that in order to keep the nosy (and mostly elderly) fellow tennents off your back.

“Fuck my life…” You groaned, placing your head in your hands as you stumbled over to your cozy bedroom, it’s warm environment almost giving you a hug in its own way. You slipped into your pajamas and curled up under the covers, setting your alarm on your phone for the next morning. Just as you were about to close your eyes, your phone started to buzz. At first it was just a single vibration, probably a text from your mother or something. But the buzzes and vibrations kept coming until your phone was practically moving itself off the bed.

You groaned in annoyance and turned over, checking the notification center to see who the hell had the nerve to text you nine times in a row. And sure enough, sporting the contact photo of a .5 that he took of himself when he stole your phone that one time, Satoru fucking Gojo had spam texted you at 11:41PM.

“What the actual hell?” You whispered, unlocking your phone to see what could possibly be this important. Nothing was ever this important past 10PM, not even if your apartment building was on fucking fire.

The messages plagued your screen, his smirking face in the contact photo made you even more angry. And yet a faint blush found itself creeping up against your face. Maybe it was the sheer excitement of a man texting you at night, or maybe deep down you actually liked Gojo. You smacked yourself lightly on the cheek, trying to erase that thought from your sleep-ridden mind.

Worst person alive: heyyyy

Worst person alive: r u up???

Worst person alive: theres no way u actually went to bed, omg ur such a grandma

Worst person alive: im bored talk to me

Worst person alive: megumi wont answer my texts :(( i think he hates me

Worst person alive: i know ur awake, u were active three minutes ago on insta

Worst person alive: ik u blocked me on their but jokes on u i have 5 other accounts

Worst person alive: pls pls pls pls talk to me im dying over here princess

Worst person alive: btw yaga assigned us on a mission tmrw mwah

Your eyed widened at the last message, your hands gripped the phone with white-knuckle strength. “Fucker!” You yelled, turning off your phone before melting under the covers. Why did Yaga have to do this to you? You and Gojo together was torture enough, but now you had to do actual work with each other? Gojo was grossly incompetent at anything that didn’t involve exorcising cursed spirits. 

You sighed and closed your eyes, silently praying that a curse would somehow break into your bedroom and murder you right then and there. But unfortuanly, you woke up to your alarm blaring in your ear the next morning.

Gojo and yourself were sat in Yaga’s office, Gojo smirking at you the entire time. You blushed under his gaze, hands gripping the edges of your seat as you waited for Yaga to tell you what the assignment was. Was Yaga being late on purpose just to mess with you? Did you manage to piss him off somehow? A million questions were flying through your mind and there was no answer in sight. 

“I saw you read my messages princess.” Gojo finally spoke, leaning forward. He was significantly taller over you, his towering muscular frame intimating you. “Why didn’t you respond? I was really bored. It’s rude to ignore your friends.” He spoke, that same sticky and syrupy voice coming back to haunt you.

“Maybe that’s because we aren’t friends, Gojo.” You scoffed, flipping your hair behind your back. “Could you please just shut up until Yaga gets here? If I have to listen to you mock me again I might actually explode.” Sighing, you placed your face in your hands.

“Actually,” Gojo purred, getting up from his seat only to sit down in Yaga’s velvet office chair. “Yaga doesn’t have a mission for us, princess.” He kicked his feet up on the desk, taking off his blindfold. His snowy white hair fell into a beautiful mess, with his painfully gorgeous blue eyes lighting up his already hellishly handsome face.

You looked up from your hands to raise an eyebrow, your face immediately turning a bright red upon seeing Gojo without his signature blindfold. “I’m sorry, what? I don’t follow.”

Gojo tutted and threw the black fabric onto your lap, his eyes still staring at your blushing face. Gojo found it simply adorable how you would always get so flustered, so annoyed in his presence. How you would always deny being attracted to him, how you swore up and down that he was put on this Earth to make your life a living hell. But he noticed that you would always squeeze your thighs together when he spoke. It was precious, really. How you thought you could hide your painfully obvious desire for him.

“Ae you hard of hearing or something, princess?” Gojo purred, leaning forward to he could grab onto the collar of your navy blue work uniform. With just a snap of his wrists his face was mere centimeters away from your own, the tips of your noses were pressed up against each other so perfectly. You felt your breathing quicken, the atmosphere in Yaga’s office so thick you could cut it with a butter knife. “I said that Yaga never gave us a fucking mission. I just wanted to see you again.” He breathed out, his steaming air causing the hair on the back of your neck to stand up. His grip on your collar tighten, his eyes were filled with desire. Desire for you that’s long overdue to be broken.

Your brows furrowed at you gripped onto his wrist, trying your best to pry his hand away from your uniform collar. Twisting and turning his wrist every which way turned out ot be fruitless, causing you to grow ever more angry and flustered. Fuck Gojo and his superhuman abilities, fuck him for being the strongest. 

Instead, your hand came flying at his face. Your palm collided with his flesh, the cold stinging sensation snapping Gojo out of his lustful trance. His spare hand crept onto his cheek, rubbing the mark softly. You gulped, nervous to see how the strongest jujutsu sorcerer would react to getting slapped across the face by a grade two. 

He smirked and threw his head back slightly, a dark chuckle emitting from his throat. He looked back down at you, his grip on your collar so strong that you started to choke. “God, I was hoping you would fucking do that.” 

In an instant his lips were on yours, roughly clashing against each other. It took every fiber of his being to not rip all your clothes off right then and there, to bend you over Yaga’s desk and fuck you senseless. Oh how long Gojo had waited to feel your plump lips being ravaged by his own, and how deliciously rewarding it was to play the long game. Finally your lips were melding perfectly with each other, his tongue picking up just the faintest taste of peach chapstick. 

Gojo pulled away from the kiss after about a minute, a thick strand of saliva connecting your lips. He sighed in pleasue as his eye landed on your flustered face, your mouth still agape like a slut.

“So fucking pretty like this,” he muttered, stepping out from behind the desk. He pulled you out of your chair and trapped you against the wall, his muscular torso being so easily felt under the think fabric of the uniforms the school provided. “Been wanting to kiss you since forever, y’know.” He mumbled, dragging his callosued hands up and down the clothed snatches of your wasit. “Your lips taste even better than I imaged, sweetness.”

You blushed at his sultry words, the faint glim in his ocean blue eyes only making your knees evern weaker. Slowly but carefully, your arms wrapped themselves around his broad shoulders. “You’re still on my shitlist,” you muttered, standing on the tips of your toes to meet his eyeline.

“And you’re as stubborn as ever, princess.” Gojo purred picking you up by the bottoms of your thighs, Your legs wrapped instinctively around his waist, making it look like a scene straight out of a movie. “Such a pretty mouth, you gonna let me fuck it?” He whispered, rubbing circled on your bare thighs. The modest jujutsu skirt you wore covered your legs quite nicely, so you never really felt the need to wear tights. And that drove Gojo fucking wild.

“Depends, what’s in it for me?” You smirked, tugging lightly on the baby hairs at the back of his head. Gojo hissed in pleasure, kind of proud that you were being equally as bratty to him as he was to you. 

“The best fuck you’ll ever get, plus some more.” Gojo let go of your thighs, letting you drop onto your knees. You looked up at him, gulping in anticipation as you saw the imprint of his throbbing erection covered by his pants. “You gotta get me prepared first, princess. Or else I might not fuck that pussy as good, got it?” His voice was dripping with desire for you as his expert hands pulled down his pants, tossing them aside along with his boxers. His cock tapped against his shirt, leaving the smallest precum stain.

You bit down on your lip at the sight of his cock, moving yourself foreward. Ever so carefully, your right hand gripping onto the base of his cock. Tongue falling out of your mouth, you took his cock in your wet cavern slowly, your cheeks hollowing out to accommodate his girth and length.

“Shit princess, just like that. Yeah, I knew you would be good at suckin’ dick.” Gojo praised, offering you a slanted smile as your hands stroked what your mouth couldn’t fit. His large hand tangled itself into your messy hair, tugging on the roots ever so gently. His hips bucked into your mouth ever so slowly, almost painfully slow. He treated you like you were so fragile, sharp contrast to when he had you pinned against the wall with his tongue shoved down your throat.

He groaned in pleasure as his cock his the back of his throat, his hips driving his member down your throat even faster. His grip on your hair tighten, causing a small pool of tears to well in the corner of your eye. A singular droplet ran down your pretty little face, which Gojo thought was just the cutest little thing.

“Oh, is my princess crying? What, my dick to big for your slutty little mouth?” His hips stopped snapping into your face, pulling your mouth off of his member slowly. “Well, if you can’t handle my dick in your mouth,” He grabbed your arm, throwing you against the desk. His pushed you down so your face was against the hard mahogany wood, with your ass up and on display for Gojo to smack. “Then maybe your pretty pussy will be able to handle me, hm?”

He shoved your skirt above your ass, the blue material bunching the divet in your waist. His hand ran over your soaked panties, shoving them aside to expose your soaked core to the cold office air. “So pretty f’me…” Gojo mumbled, gathering up some of your slick on his thumb and popping it inside of his mouth. “Delicious too, maybe you’ll be my dinner one day. Wouldn’t you like that, princess?” He teased, his hand cracking against the supple flesh of your perfect ass.

“Fuck!” you cried out, your hands gripping onto the wooden desk for dear life. You grew increasingly frustrated, especially knowing that Gojo was taking immense pleasure in making you wait tt get fucked. “Dammit Gojo, just fuck me already!” You demanded, your eyes being slightly covered by your mess of hair falling in front of them. 

He smacked his hand across your ass again, alighting his cock with your sobbing entrance. “You sure got a whole lotta attitude, princess.” He purred, teasing your hole with his mushroom head. “I’ll be sure to fuck it outta you, don’t you worry your pretty little head.”

He shoved his cock inside of you, hissing as your tight walls enveloped his member. You cried out in both pain and pleasure, having never experienced someone as big or as girthy inside of you. Sure, you had slept around before but this time he might actually make you cum. You wouldn’t have to fake an orgasm just for it to end.

“Shit, Gojo!” You screamed, lifting your head up from the desk to meet his gaze from behind. “Y-you’re too fuckin’ big, you know that?”

Gojo smirked and started to slowly thrust himself in and out of your weeping cunt, the sound of his groans mixing with your moans of pleasure filling the chilly office. “God, you’re so fuckin’ tight. Squeezing me already, princess? Good fuckin’ slut.” He grunted, pulling your hair back so your neck was against his mouth. His hips were now snapping furiously at your ass, his balls clapping against the skin. “You won’t mind if I give you a little mark, right? Gotta make sure you remember being bent over like this, pretty thing.”

His sharp teeth bit down onto your neck, sucking a nasty purple circle right where your jugular would be. The stimulation was utterly overwhelming, your mouth was agape and your throat was starting to hurt from all your cries. “Fuck, such a good slut for me.”

Gojo’s rough and callosued hands reached under your top to grope one of your tits, his fingers pinching and rubbing your nipple under the thin fabric. He could feel your orgasm was fast approaching the way you squeezed onto his cock, almost like your body was trying to suck him in even deeper inside of you. “Gojo, fuck! T-Too fucking handsy!” You managed to moan out, your brain slowly starting to turn to mush as the coil in your belly threatened to snap at any minte. “Fuck, gonna fucking cum!”

Gojo smirked and smacked your ass once more, slipping his hand from behind you to rub on your sensitive clit. “Cum all over this cock baby, f-fuck. Be a good fucking girl.” He demanded in your ear, his fingers now furiously rubbing themselves on your clit while his cock hit every place it needed to.

With a wanton gasp you threw your head back onto his shoulders, your orgasm washing over you like tsunami or a tidal wave. Wave after wave of pure bliss crashed over your every nerve, your eyes feeling fuzzy as you swore you could see stars.

“Fuck, holy fuck! Gojo, oh my fucking God!” you sobbed, your bottom lip trembling as you came down from your high. Gojo sighed and began to kiss your neck gently, his thrusts becoming faster and desperate as he felt his own euphoria approaching.

“Shit, gonna cum princess. Lemme cum inside of you, yeah? God you’re so fucking warm and tight, fuck!” He moaned into your neck, the movement of his hips becoming staggering and sloppy as his hot ropes of sticky cum coated your insides, filling you up so nicely. “F-fuck, oh my god…”

Gojo pulled out of you, smirking to himself as he saw his cum leak from your sloppy pussy. “Fucking amazing, princess.” He bent down to pick up his boxers and pants, putting them on quickly. 

You got up from leaning over the desk and turned around, your face flushed and your hair sticking to your sweaty forehead. Your hands still gripping onto the table, your pretty lips slightly agape. “Holy shit…I think that was the best sex I’ve ever fucking had.” You breathed out, brushing the sweaty babyhairs out of your face.

Gojo smiled and bent down slightly, kissing your nose with a gentleness that was the complete opposite of how he fucked you. “I’ve been wanting to do that sicne I met you, you know.” 

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, adjusting your stretched-out shirt collar. “Stop lying, you already fucked me. No need to lie anymore, Gojo.”

He frowned and grabbed onto your hand, his thumb carefully rubbing onto the back of it. “I’m not lying, you know.”

Raising an eyebrow you looked into his blue eyes, curious as to why there wasn’t a hint of deception swirling around in his oceans of blue. “Gojo…are you being serious?” You whispered, a blush once again covering your face. It wasn’t a blush of desire but a blush of shyness, like you were sixteen years old and just got confessed to.

“Satoru,” he spoke, bringing your hand to cup his pale face. “Call me Satoru, please.”

You smiled and rolled your eyes once more, your hand gently petting his flushed face. You took a step towards him, allowing Gojo to wrap his other hand around your waist. You two held each other in Yaga’s office, the scent of sex and passionate still filling up the otherwise stiff air.

“What are you gonna call me then, Satoru?” You softly spoke, standing on the tips of your toes so your lips were hovering against his once more. Gojo offered you a gentle smile, pecking your lips tenderly.

“I’m gonna call you mine.”

[uzurakis]

HERE TO SEND YOU BLUELOCK HEAD CANNONS! >:D

Can you do headcannons of the guys and how they would be like if they were teaching us how to play soccer? Hope this is interesting for you ^^, if you're interested to make them thanks in advance!

TEACHING YOU SOCCER?!

featuring: michael kaiser. itoshi rin. oliver aiku. isagi yoichi. bachira meguru.

n. yees darling, i was invested to write this (it's a challenging one because i don't really play soccer myself). hope i nailed it though, thank you to u too <3

MICHAEL KAISER. "nice shot!" kaiser exclaimed, clapping you on the back. "but don't get too cocky, mein liebling."

"learned from the best, i guess," you teased, nodding toward kaiser. "after all, my boyfriend's the world's number one striker, hmm?"

kaiser's eyes widened in mock surprise, a beam spreading across his face. "well, when you put it that way," he said, puffing out his chest with pride and sliding back his golden locks. "i suppose i am pretty amazing."

"ah, but if i'm the world's number one striker," he continued, trying to tease you with words, "then that must mean you have to kneel before me, right?"

you lifted an eyebrow, unable to stop snickering at his exaggerated claim. "huh, is that so?" playing along with his joke. "i guess i'll have to remember to bow down to the soccer king himself."

the guy grinned, clearly enjoying the playful exchange. "that's more like it," now his voice filled with mock superiority, typical kaiser. "but don't worry, i'll be a generous king."

ITOSHI RIN. "fine, i'll try my best, but just so you know, i'm not really good at teaching," rin confessed, feeling apologetic because he’s not used to teaching others. and now, his girlfriend wants to learn how to play soccer.

rin took a deep breath, trying to muster up some confidence as he began to explain the basics of dribbling. "uh, alright, first, dribbling. just try to keep the ball close to your feet for now," he instructed, a bit hesitant.

"oi, dont look at me, look at the ball," he reminded you. "sorry," you chuckled, truly didn't realize you weren't paying attention. come on, just look at him. "if i’m being honest, you look really hot like this," you teased, but, it’s true though!

rin's cheeks flushed slightly at your comment, but he quickly regained his composure. "focus," he replied. though there was a hint of annoyance, you couldn't help but sneak a glance at rin's face as he continued to give you instructions, his cheeks flushed slightly from your earlier comment.

suddenly, rin's voice broke through your reverie, snapping you back to reality. "i said focus!"

OLIVER AIKU. "keep your eye on the ball and follow through with your kick," aiku instructed while you attempted to pass the ball to him.

even when you struggled or made mistakes, aiku remained patient and supportive, offering gentle guidance to help you improve. "try to angle your foot a bit more next time," he suggested, as you missed the mark with your pass. "you're doing great, sweetie. just keep practicing."

by the end of the session, you were exhausted but thankful for aiku's patience and support. he wrapped his arm around your shoulders, a proud smile on his lips.

"you're making progress, sweetie," he soothed, genuine and affectionate. "with a little more practice, you'll beat me out here."

BACHIRA MEGURU. "okaaay, let's start with some dribbling drills," he said, bachira was overjoyed since this meant he had another friend to play soccer with. "try to keep the ball under control as you move around me, kaay?"

you nodded, determined to give it your best shot. as you began to dribble the ball, you stumbled a bit, but bachira was quick to offer a push. "nice job, baby! you're getting the hang of it," he cheered, clapping his hands in support.

with each effort, you gained confidence and dribbled past bachira with greater ease. bachira congratulated you on your small wins every time you successfully escaped him. "woah, that was awesome! baby, i’m so happy!" he exclaimed, giving you a high-five.

"great effort, babes! keep it up, and you'll get it," he encouraged, his words filling you with determination. “lets keep playing together!”

ISAGI YOICHI. "hey, it's okay," isagi said gently, stepping closer to you. "here, let me show you."

he moved behind you and gently guided your legs into the correct position, his touch firm yet gentle. "see? keep your body low and your touches light," he explained, moving your legs in rhythm with the ball. "you've got this, angel.”

with isagi's guidance, you began to feel more confident, dribbling the ball with increasing control. whenever you made a mistake, your boyfriend always offered gentle correction and encouragement.

"nice try, but try to keep the ball closer to your feet," he would say, his tone encouraging. "like this," demonstrating the correct form before guiding your legs to mimic his movements.

@uzurakis

[poppy-metal]

[ literally u dont have to write a single thought for this if u want i js want someone to match my freak BUT ]

stepdaddy art and dbf patrick trailing you to a club one night? its phase one in patrick teaching art his precious baby girl breaks a few rules - which art already knows, but he didn't realise exactly how until they follow you out. you, shining bright and brilliant amongst all your friends, radiant as the sun, alight with fire. its fire, too, like how patrick was, that sharp knack for commanding a room whenever you walk into it, demanding to be given what you want. but in a softer way than patrick did. sweeter, a more girlish light. the way art is: charming, bright, sunny. kind. you, in your little skirt - when a motorcycle blows by it flies up, and they catch a quick glimpse of the cutest little lacy panties - and your tight top, miles of legs and chest and skin. bare.

you, giggling and clearly tipsy, if not straight up drunk, flirting your way past the bouncer with your friends. they follow you in, slide the bouncer a few crisp twenties for his cooperation, and watch. watch you dancing, laughing, all hips and arms and shiny hair as you twirl with your friends, and fuck, its mildly reminiscent of another girl they liked a lifetime ago, watching another girl on the dance floor, waiting for the right moment to jump in and play for her number. hypnotic.

and they watch you. flirting your way into a round of shots for you and your friends. dancing right in the middle of the throng of people. arts pleased to see you turn down any guy that approaches you - "its girls night," you giggle - and patrick has to actually fight back a cheer when your heel stomps on a particularly pushy guy's foot. you're here to have fun, to dance. but you're drunk, and needy, and the guy you do end up making out with has patricks roguish grin and arts soft blond curls, but your hazy mind barely even registers this connection, and all patrick and art see is some douchebag with his hands on their girl. the executive decision is made not to interfere, if only because art knows you'd hate him for it. so they fume until you him away to go back to your friends, and they fume the whole ride home, and they fune when you text saying you're sleeping over with alyssa - who the fuck is alyssa?! - to study, and they fume until they fuck, arts face buried in your sugary-vanilla pillows, patrick wrapping a pair of your panties around arts dick, taking advantage of the fact that art cant really see, but he can hear, hears it when patrick asks him if it "feels good, huh? you want to cum all over her panties? yeah? go on, donaldson, you always were a perv, yeah, cum all over your baby girl's panties-" and art does, whining, sobbing, begging. they both pretend they're cumming in you, even though neither will admit it - art into your panties, patrick into arts ass.

you dont notice, when you return the next morning, that someone changed your sheets. you certainly don't notice the missing panties. art hates himself for it - vows it will never happen again. it will.

-kit (slowly going insane over this au)

I'm going to kill myself, truly im at my limit - @gamesetart

in my head - you and art dont know about eachother yet - its just kink talk, at the moment. he's not sure how either of you'd react - you're so possessive and needy of him. jealous so easily - and art. he's still pretty sure art will beat him bloody when he finds out patricks touched you at all - regardless of what he allows to be talked about in bed.

its just show art that you're grown up - to get art to stop seeing you as someone who needs protecting - look at her, art, she knows how to handle herself, she knows how to use her body and dance and work the men around her - she's not helpless and defenseless anymore.

art sees you differently after that night. he already had a hard time looking you in the eye after that night when he'd imagined you - he just realizes you' dont need him to shield you from anything. not anymore. and he..... doesn't like it. can hardly stomach it - who is he, if he can't be needed? its what hes revolved his life around - around you - around you needing him. you needed him when you were younger and your own mother didn't want you but he did and he was there for you and he took you in and you needed him growing up and you needed him for so many things you needed him to watch scary movies with you because they made you jump you needed him to tie your hair for you for school you needed him to buy you pads and tampons when you ran out you needed him to cook you food and be a safe place to come home to you needed him to teach you how to drive you needed him to pick you up from your friends house you needed him you needed him you needed him you needed him you needed him. you needed him.

and now you dont.

you're all grown up and you dont need him.

does he even know you anymore? will he get to know this new person you're becoming? does he want to not be needed by you?

no, he doesn't want that.

and its all he can think about on the drive home and later when patrick fucks him in your bed and he doesn't even fight it this time - just moans like a fucking whore when patrick wraps your panties around his cock and closes his eyes and thinks about you needing him. in a different way. in a new way.

you needed a dad for so long - you made him be that for you - he can be more - he can be anything - as long as you keep needing him - as long as you dont stop -

"god, dont stop -" its a plea - one patrick grants, wrapping the cotton more tightly around his cock, fitting his balls through the opening and rubbing the fabric into his shaft - fuck - "I'm gonna cum -"

"yeah -" patrick groans. he's fucking art so hard - like he's trying to punch art through your bed, the headboard is rattling against the wall, your stuffed animals falling from the bed. "fill her fuckin panties art - she's been so bad, huh? past her curfew and she's flauntin herself to older men - keeping her old man waiting up worryin' about her - while she's out being a slut - "

if it was any other situation art would knock his teeth out for talking about you that way. at the moment he can't, hes too amped up, hips bucking wildly, he reaches down to grip his own dick - shove it down so his head it rubbing into the patch of your panties where your cunt would rest - rubbing rubbing rubbing as his toes fucking curl in your sheets - "oh fuck -" he grunts, tenses -

when he cums - it shudders through his whole body. hole clenching, strangling patricks dick as his balls empty into your panties- stretching the fabric out lewdly around his cock -

"good boy - if she's gonna be a whore under your roof the least she can do is milk your cock - "

art whines. pulses out more cum weakly. thinks hes going to hell and that hes glad you'll never find out about this. you'll never know. you'll leave and you wont need him anymore and he just needs this to cope - that's all.

[preseriesdean]

for @spnficrecfest day seven: tropes 🧡 also check my case fic list which has some more curse-y case fics!

Speechless by candle_beck 11.2k words, rated T, published 2008 Dean loses his voice and their rapport is only moderately impaired.

Crying Talking Sleeping Walking by FrancesHouseman 3.3k words, rated E, published 2016 The witch dies laughing at Dean. It's never a good sign.

Talk around it by @goshen-applecrumbledore 12.8k words, rated E, published 2021, underage “It’s just a truth spell,” Sam tried. “It could be worse.” Dean looked at him like he was stupid. “Yeah, thank God we don’t have a giant, life-ruining secret that we really, really don’t want our dad knowing. Good thing he’s not on his way here right this second.” He scoffed. “Could be worse. Jesus. Good to know you can still lie.”

Heart Shaped Balloon by winsive 18.6k words, rated E, published 2022, underage Sam and Dad are fighting. No surprise, but it's the weekend before Valentine's Day and Dean isn't missing out on the chance to bang a cheerleader just to console his bratty little brother. He does bring back a heart shaped balloon for him, though. It's not supposed to be cursed.

Flood of Water by sevenfists 9.9k words, rated E, published 2006 "Please tell me you know how this happened," Sam said. "Yeah," Dean said. He sat down on the closed lid of the toilet and let his arms fall away from his chest, his clasped hands settling in his lap. His t-shirt clung to him, worn thin from too many washings, and Sam could see the heavy weight of his breasts, his nipples hard in the cold air.

All That Sam by Catchclaw 10.4k words, rated M, published 2012 Dean thinks of himself as an innovator. A sex god. A professional problem solver. And then Sammy gets hit with some hoodoo and all of that shit gets shot straight to hell.

The Talking Cure by Mollyamory 2.4k words, rated T, published 2013 Dean tries to keep his mouth shut, but as much as he wants to keep quiet, he also wants to say--

Desiderata by @dyed-red 45.2k words, rated E, published 2023, incomplete Dean is hit with a curse. It shouldn’t take that much to resolve, could be a gift under other circumstances, but life’s not that simple for the Winchesters.

Out of Context by doctor_idiot 7.2k words, rated E, published 2017 When Sam and Dean keep waking up naked, all over each other, and without recollection of the previous night, the first thing Sam does is dig into the lore to find out what's going on. Dean is more concerned with the question why he always seems to be the one who bottoms.

And Baby You Can Sleep While I Drive by merle_p 8.6k words, rated T, published 2021 “So,” Dean says, hesitantly. “This is a dream then?” Sam blinks, confused. “Well, obviously.” “Huh,” Dream-Dean says and scratches his neck. He shifts awkwardly from his right to his left foot but otherwise stays where he is.

Cupid's Got A Gun by geckoholic 13.5k words, rated E, published 2012, non-con Fuck-or-die, set in early S4. But they've been fucking for years, so that shouldn't be a problem, right? Wrong. Ever since hell, Dean's in no hurry to get that show on the road again. They've tried, and it doesn't work, too many bad memories from what's been done to him downstairs. A case that involves a cursed cross and a vengeful witch takes that choice away from them, though…

(for you and me) i got no alibi by remy 23.4k words, rated E, published 2019 There are people hitting on Sam wherever he goes, and Dean is doing weird things like holding doors open for him and touching him way more than is necessary, and it's all driving Sam up the wall. It doesn't help that he's been in love with Dean for just about forever, and all of it feels like a mockery of something he'll never get to have. Meanwhile, Dean is at his wits' end trying to figure out how he can make Sam realize that he is, in fact, trying to get into his pants.

[poppadom0912]

Unexpected

Warnings: Mentions of pregnancy and childbirth

Summary: For nine months, you'd prepared and expected a baby but something unexpected happens.

A/N: Hello! I was back at school this week and have been so drained from the work load so I'm here relaxing and writing away. I only know surface level stuff so I'm sorry for any medical inaccuracies. Exams are next week so I won't be writing anything then. This is unedited and I apologise but please do enjoy!!!!

Four years into your marriage with Kelly, two years with infertility issues, you had come to the point of acceptance and making the possible choice of fostering or adoption.

But then one day you got shot at work and when treating you, the doctor gave you the unexpected news.

You couldn't believe it. You were finally pregnant. After so much struggle, IVF and the unsuccessful tests, you were finally pregnant. You could finally have the family you dreamed of having as a little girl.

You weren't allowed back onto the field. Hank benching you to desk work till your baby welcomed itself. A choice that made you very angsty to get up and be on the move.

You didn't feel like much of a detective being sat at a desk all day while the rest of Intelligence went running around ragged looking and catching bad guys.

So during the moments of peace, you found yourself driving to the firehouse to bother your husband and the people he considered family.

The men and women of 51 loved you as much as they did Kelly, you were one of their own and you were doing the impossible by growing and delivering a mini Kelly Severide into the world.

Kelly rolled his eyes every time you brought up the gender. Call it mothers intuition but you had a gut feeling that you were having a boy, a concept which Kelly didn't mind but thought otherwise.

Refusing to find out the gender, you preferred to watch everyone wait impatiently, their bets pilling up as they put money on your baby's gender.

You scoffed seeing Kim and Hailey 'sneakily' pass money over to Cruz one night at Molly's.

The pregnancy flew by. Small milestones of your belly popping, the first kicks, the weird cravings and watching the growing blob develop on an ultrasound was so surreal but before anyone knew it, you were already hitting the nine month mark.

You left early. Today's case was running late and another murder got called it close to midnight, you were no longer needed and your husband sat at home. The thought of foot massage was ever so enticing.

Said man welcomed you home with the tea that soothed your nausea, your nightly snack at the go and he looked just delicious sitting in his pyjamas.

Pregnancy hormones man. Who would've thought.

And just like every night, the day ended with both of you in bed, his hands gently caressing your ballooning stomach, talking and debriefing with your unborn baby, smiling when a particular comment elicited a kick, showing the imprint on a foot against your skin.

Falling asleep wasn't easy though, especially with the new addition of Braxton hicks. You always found yourself tossing and turning, pushing Kelly to the other side of the bed so you could be left alone with the other love of your life: your pregnancy pillow. The triangular pillow a dream come true.

Eventually, you got up to refill your bottle and water, taking a quick pee because the pressure on your bladder was stupid.

Taking out some ice cubes from the ice tray, you slowly plonked them into your bottle, your eyes heavy with the sleep that refused to come from such a long day at work.

"Baby? Why are you awake?" Kelly's voice was hoarse as he appeared in the kitchen, his hair a mess as he rubbed the sleep away from his eyes.

"Your son is playing football in here. He's already obsessed." You whispered back, letting him recollect himself as he made his way towards you, watching through bleary eyes as you closed the freezer door.

"My son huh? Well I think our daughter is just really excited to meet her very impatient parents." Kelly smirked, his arms circling around your waist before he crouched down to be face level with your protruding stomach.

"Hey baby girl." He whispered, his eyes focused on your stomach and nowhere else. "Your mummy is very tired after working all day. She needs all the sleep before you come home. Do you think you could do me a favour?"

You smiled softly at the sight. Your husband was already smitten and the baby wasn't even here yet.

A few seconds passed and all of a sudden, the little football match came to an end.

You scoffed, looking down at your husband incredulously. "Wow."

Standing back up, Kelly now smiled down at you. "Obviously, I'm the favourite parent."

"Watch it lieutenant." You pouted, poking his chest. "I've got some detectives in my back pocket."

Smiling at each other, basking in the silence and warm lighting, you almost forgot about your sleep deprivation.

Breaking you out of your thoughts was the sound of water dripping, Kelly's face mirroring your thoughts.

"Did you leave the tap on?"

You frowned, you were sure you-

Your mind went blank the millisecond you registered your wet trousers.

Looking down at where your feet would've been had it not been for your stomach being in the way, you swore lightly under your breath.

"I think he interpreted your words differently." You said, looking back up at Kelly who stood astonished.

"Baby's coming today."

*****

You didn't go to the hospital straight away.

Instead, you wiped yourself down and changed clothes while Kelly cleaned up and brought out your already packed hospital bag all while timing the length and time between your contractions.

The sun was rising when you made your way to the hospital, your midwife already in the loop the moment your water broke.

Settling into your room, dressed in your gown, you sighed.

You were bored. What were you supposed to do while you waited for the birth to get into motion.

Your epidural had been confirmed and scheduled for later on when your contractions progressed further. The nurse had just come to measure you before leaving.

You sent a quick text to Hank, apologising for such short notice, saying your maternity leave would start earlier than planned. Kelly had just called Boden, his shift starting not too long ago.

"Boden's got Cruz covering for me." Kelly said, putting his phone in his pocket as he stood by your bedside.

"I'm all yours for the next few weeks."

"I would love you so much if you could just-" You sharply inhaled at the painful contraction, doing the breathing exercises you practised with your midwife. "Just get this baby out."

"How about we go on a walk? Might help speed things up."

All Kelly was met with were your grabby hands.

*****

Several hours later and you were in active labour.

You were surrounded by nurses and the doctor, Kelly glued to your side but at some point when you were pushing, he was ushered away by a nurse who you briefly heard mention the words 'umbilical cord'.

"It's a girl!"

You choked back a sob, your eyes watery as they placed your daughter on your chest for skin-to-skin. Your hands immediately flew to hold her. Your emotions so haywire that you couldn't care less about the cleanliness of her little body.

Inhaling shakily, you looked up through tears at Kelly who was back at your side. He kissed your forehead multiple times, his hand on top of yours so you could both hold your baby.

After a few minutes, she was carefully taken away to be weighed and clean, leaving you and Kelly to revel alone. Reality came crashing down: you had a daughter, your had a-

"Mrs Severide, what's wrong?"

Hearing the doctors question, Kelly looked away from your daughter and back down at you in alarm, his eyes wide in confusion at your own confused face.

"I- I feel..."

You weren't able to finish as you were overcome with the sudden need to push.

It seemed that even without you voicing your thoughts, they knew exactly what was happening.

"Okay Y/N, we go again." The OB said as you squeezed the blood out of Kelly's hand. "Push just like you did."

The next few moments felt like a blur. You weren't too sure what was reality and what was an illusion - everything was happening too fast for you to comprehend what was actually happening.

All of a sudden, a second cry broke out, as loud and high-pitched as the first.

"It's a girl!"

You blinked, your head clearing up.

"Congratulations! Two beautiful girls!"

Then the apparent second baby was placed on your chest, a routine that was just performed not even ten minutes ago.

The tears were flowing now with nothing to stop them. Your shaky hands went to hold her small body as the clouds dissipated and the sky finally cleared.

*****

The two baby beds were rolled towards your bed, Kelly standing up when the nurses entered the recovery room.

"Congratulations mum and dad!" One of the nurses started.

"You have two healthy identical twin girls."

You couldn't believe it, no one could.

There was never a point during the nine months of pregnancy that would even suggest you having twins and now all of a sudden, your leaving the hospital with two twin girls.

You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn't hear Kelly's conversation with the nurses.

"Kelly..." You looked at your husband who was just as shocked as you. "Kelly we have two babies."

"We have twin girls babe." Kelly emphasised, his stupid smile covering his entire face.

"We're not even prepared for one let alone two." You said, sitting up to pick one of them up. "Baby- oh my gosh, we have twins."

Before Kelly could reply, the room door opened and Matt poked his head in. "Knock Knock, can we-"

Matt stopped himself as he laid eyes on the baby on your chest and then the baby that was being picked up by Kelly.

"Matt, move out the way, let me see-" Sylvie barely stopped herself from squealing as she saw the two babies.

"Holy shit, twins?!" Matt half frowned, following Sylvie to your side. "When did this even happen?"

"Literally an hour ago man." Kelly said in greeting to his best friend. "No one had any idea."

"AH- two girls! Congratulations, oh my gosh I'm so happy for you guys." Sylvie gushed, cooing at the little bundles in your arms.

"Oh yeah, Jay and Hailey were somewhere behind us."

Another knock sounded just as the words came from Matt, the door creaking open for the blonde detective to make herself known.

"Y/N, hey-" Hailey gasped so loudly that Jay's swearing could be heard from inside the room.

"Woah." Jay's lack of words proved his surprise.

You and Kelly laughed.

"Well Kelly was right, they're girls."

Jay and Sylvie high-fived, their smirks making it evident they were on the winning side of the bet.

"This is definitely unexpected. I have no idea how we're going to manage." You said, handing one baby off to Hailey while Kelly lay the other into Matt's outstretched arms.

"That's what we're here for, along with the rest of 51 and Intelligence." Sylvie said, looking fondly at the baby in Matt's arms as she held your hand in both of hers comfortingly.

"You've got a very big family ready to help. We're first responders, it's our job."

You hugged the blonde, overcome with sudden emotion.

"Besides," Jay spoke up, gently taking the baby from Hailey's arms into his. "What godparents would we be?"

The room dissolved into laughter.

You had two adorable girls and an entire village at your beck and call. While unexpected, they were more than welcome with open arms and open hearts.

[falling-star-cygnus]

ONE BADASS BILLY COMING RIGHT UP >W< -> these two know what's up

thank you all so much for your kind words, by the by!! words can't express how thankful i am that you enjoy my content <3 Masterlist

bare with me, this is about to be a dumpster fire of attempted trick shots and angsty dialogue. LET'S GOOO 🙌

It all happened in an instant.

The shot was lined up, non-lethal upon the Boss's request, and he swore he could see target lines painted in gold-

And the roof caved in on him.

"You've gotten soft, Kid."

It was one of the special occasions that the Hares' weren't making a deal for a Hollow Raid- one with some kinda mechanic enthusiast this time. Why were all the mechanics they met so hellbent on prying into his wiring anyway?

"And I don't just mean your mettle."

It made it hard to find a consistent repairman.

Billy didn't know what his bullet ended up hitting- when the shot went wide- didn't remember much of anything after his head was kathunked by a heavy piece of tin, but he knew it lodged in something fleshy. And he really hoped it wasn't one of his girls.

"Guess some things never change though, huh?"

....really hoped it wasn't one of his girls.

Squirreling his way out of this batch of rubble was thankfully... relatively... painless. At the very least the android kept the majority of his oil inside this time. If Billy ignored the piece of rebar in his abdomen then it wasn't there, and it clatters to the ground forgotten all the same anyway.

A note sits innocuously among the tattered remains of the warehouse, a single geometric flower etched in the corner. It's expensive paper, cardstock the android thinks, with roughly the same feel as a hit card.

Fitting. ________________________________________ Heey, Kid. Enjoy your power nap? By the time you read this, we'll be long gone. So don't bother searching too hard, kay? ;) Or blowing a fuse, the Hare broads are safe. For now, anyway, the tiny one- white hair?- put up one hell of a fight when you went down. Jeez. Anyway, I think you know how these things work. Deliver 5000D to XXXX and you'll get your girls back If you're quick about it, we won't even declaw your kitty ---------------------------+_____________|\_/^

Billy crumples the note before even reaching the sign off. He doesn't care. The location he was given was one he was familiar with, a little hole in the wall where foot traffic was light.

A hole in the wall where everyone had some sort of involvement with each other. No one would be there by accident.

No one would leave by accident either.

The android can feel a familiar buzzing under his plating. A buzz that tinted his video sensors with target signs rather than faces and made his trigger happy fingers even twitchier.

It was terrifyingly familiar.

He wanted to sink into it, let himself fall into old habits until the Boss ordered him out of it. And why shouldn't he, anyway? His family was gone. The people who let him be Billy instead of Billy Kid, the feared enforcer, were gone.

"You've gotten soft, Kid."

War was not a place for soft metals, or gentle hands, or off-beat dances. Billy had gotten careless, allowed himself to become too lax in the clumsy love of people who didn't quite know how to be a family.

This was his fault.

Something bumps into his sneaker.

Billy just barely manages to keep himself from shooting it down, and it's only because the tiny thing's green body registers as familiar.

"Amillion?"

Nicole's little Bangboo, as quiet a thing it is, chitters at him- clutching at his ankle like a needy dog. Billy hates that it soothes the fire ant itch- that need to hurt- under his plating somewhat.

"Did you get yourself hurt?" the android questions as he crouches down.

"Ehn-na. Nah, Nah!"

...yeah, he doesn't know why he asked either. Amillion is a hardy sucker. For a Bangboo, at least.

"Na- ehn-na! Ehn!"

It sticks out it's plush little hand, waving it was such insistence that Billy feels compelled to take it between his fingers. The android keeps his grip gentle, despite-

Discomfort spikes in Billy's head as memories- familiar, warm, memories- are inputted directly into his video processors.

Braiding soft hair, powering off in the sun with the smallest Hares curled into jacket, dancing in cramped living rooms with the weight of socked feet on smooth metal.

His family chases away that burning rage that had threatened to drown him- a life ring in a sea of brownish red tar that drags him back to his body.

"Ehna..."

It takes a few more seconds, mostly because every wire in his body is clinging to the remnants of his girls' voices, but the android snaps back to the present.

Amillion pats his palm with a comforting chirrup.

...right.. Billy wasn't a mindless weapon anymore. He wasn't going to act like one. ->;<- Slinking into a rusty warehouse with a bright green Bangboo hooked onto his shoulder theoretically should've been harder than it was. Especially considering his own choice of bright red leather.

Or- as Nicole would say- his choice of R255 leather.

Heh.

Billy missed his boss.

The android descends on the group with a flurry of bullets, ignoring the screams that ring out as the metal shells find new homes in kneecaps, elbows, and feet. Immobilizing shots.

Not lethal ones.

Although Amillion might not have gotten that memo, considering it's little machine gun causes... quite a few lackeys to drop. But what Billy doesn't dwell on can't hurt him. His abdomen throbs.

It doesn't take long for the head honcho to come scurrying out of his hidey hole.

What do you know, flooding an anthill with blood works just as well as flooding it with water.

The android shoves his gun into the hollow of his jaw.

"Where are they."

"Hey, hey, hey-!" he tries to backpedal, hands raised up by his head, "We can talk about this, yeah? Calm down-"

Billy is freshly out of patience, and apparently- so is the Bangboo, because they pull the hammer back at the same time.

"They're not hurt! Just- oh, who am I kidding, you're not going to kill me." He's not, but Amillion might.

"You've gotten soft, Kid."

It's odd to hear it said again, that phrase that's been rattling around his memory banks. Maybe he has.

Maybe it's not such a bad thing if it means more warm memories to look back on. The android pulls the gun back-

"Wow," the man chuckles, low and mocking and borderline hysteric, "You really have! Showing me mer- hrk!?"

-and pistol whips him.

"Believe me," Billy starts, holstering The Girls to take the man by the back of the neck, "Putting a bullet between your teeth sounds pretty good right now."

The man gulps and if the android had a mouth he'd probably grin.

"Killing you would be mercy."

Compared to what my girls' are going to do to you after I make sure they're ok, Billy tacks on- in the privacy of his head. His fingers twitch on the back of the man's neck.

"If I find out you've hurt them..." "I haven't! I haven't, I swear, they're all ok!"

...and this was the man that called the android soft? He caved so quickly..

After everything is said in done, the man hadn't been lying. Nicole, Nekomata, and Anby are all ok- sans the slight irritation of rope burns and metal cuff chafing. [Anby had to be restrained more effectively]

The girls' let him fuss over them for all of a few minutes before returning the favor tenfold. Which he didn't think was fair- the android wasn't the one that got kidnapped!

"You have a hole in your abdomen!" Nicole nearly screeches, shaking him by his lapels but being careful not to dislodge Amillion from the hook on his shoulder, "Billy!"

"You were in danger!"

[danmainacc]

FIRST SIGHT

Leo meets (y/n) for the first time....and is absolutely whipped

Character: Leonardo

Writing type: One-shot

Warnings: just some good ol’ fluffy fluff :) but when I tell you Leo is WHIPPED ;) and if you couldn’t tell, this is pre-movie

Author’s note: I promise I’m gonna get to the other turtles soon. I just have Leo on the brain and I can’t get him out !! and let me know if I got too mushy, cause I feel like I did. I feel like i did a bad job on this one, but I’m not sure. you guys let me know. ( header credit to qoeww )

...

“This isn’t exactly how I expected Pizza Thursday to go!” Leo exclaimed as he got into a battle stance, the pizza--monster--yokai--thing roaring, mushrooms and olives flying out its mouth

“Yeah, well I don’t think everyone expects a mutant pizza monster to attack them on their weekly outing,” Donnie sighed, flipping down his goggles as he pressed a button on his staff, two jets appearing at the ends.

“It’s alright. This guy doesn’t seem too tough. We’ll bake him and get back to Pizza Thursday before we kn--MIKEY!! STOP EATING THE MONSTER!” Raph’s eyes went wide as he caught sight of his youngest brother. 

The pizza-yokai cocked a bell-pepper eyebrow, looking down at it’s foot, only to let out a horrified shout at the sight of Mikey nibbling on his ankle.

“Whraf can I sayph? Hessh sawwr goowd!” Mikey smiled with a full mouth, disregarding his brother and continuing to chow down.

“Gross, man,” Leo grimaced, shuddering at the sight as he cringed away from the scene.

Donnie sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “’Angelo, if you’re gonna eat him, at least talk without your mouth full.”

“ENOUGH!” The yokai roared, flinging Mikey off his ankle and into Donnie, the two crashing into a window.

“Guys!” Raph exclaimed, snapping his head over to the window, worriedly.

Two shaky thumbs up slowly raised from behind the now shattered window, and Raph let out a sigh of relief.

“Oh, you’re in for it now,” Leo spat, his usual shit-eating grin replaced with an icy glare.

“Leo, wait! Don’t r--.” But the sound of a closing portal cut Raph off, making him groan in frustration.

“Rush in.”

Leo appeared in mid-air, right in front of the monster, and sliced off the olives it used for eyes, chopping off its weird crust feet once he landed on the ground.

“Guess you could say I really...sliced things up,” his smirk returned as he proudly stood up, his back to the yokai.

The thing, now blind and footless, let out a blood-curdling roar, swinging and flailing in every direction like a wild animal.

“Leo, behind you!” Raph, Don, and Mikey warned in unison, Leo not turning around fast enough.

The monster’s cheese arm sent Leo flying head first towards a brick wall.

“LEO!” his brother’s frantically shouted, trying to make it to the wall before he collided.

“Nope, nope nope!” Leo quickly said, creating a portal in front of himself just in the nick of time.

Now, instead of having his brains splattered on a wall, he was now strewn over a whole bunch of soft garbage bags.

He let out a sigh of relief, tiredly letting his head lay limp.

‘Never thought I’d be so thankful for trash.’

But as his angle changed, he was able to view the ledge of a rooftop, what he saw making his heart stop dead in it’s tracks.

It felt as if all the world’s distractions were sucked out, horns, sirens, the squeaking of rats, all to let this moment stand alone.

Sitting on the ledge was the most jaw-dropping girl Leo had ever seen.

Her hair, her eyes, skin. Hell, it had looked like she had been dozing off. But her half-lidded smile at the stars made his heart start up again, now thumping twice as fast. 

Leo quickly rubbed his eyes, just to be sure he wasn’t seeing things.

He hit his head pretty hard.

But she was still there, looking down at him, actually. She looked concerned.

Wait, was she talking?

“Huh?” Leo groggily asked, shaking himself out of his reverie as he focused on what she was saying

“I asked if you were you alright? You crashed pretty hard,” you called from above, your voice smooth and silky.

Practically music.

“Oh, yeah! I’m okay! Right as reign!” Leo smiled, quickly changing his sprawled out position to a relaxed one, mentally scolding himself once he realized what he said.

‘Right as reign? You are such an idiot.’

A kind smile quirked on your lips. “That still sounded bad. I’m gonna come down,” you squinted, trying to make out the figure below.

Leo frantically got up, dusting off banana peels and stray apple cores as he drew his swords. 

He had to get out of there and fast.

There was no way she could see him. She’d probably be grossed out at the fact he was a turtle-guy.

Don’t get him wrong, he wanted to do nothing else but stay and talk to the super-model before him. 

But being a mutant isn’t exactly the best conversation starter.

You carefully stood up, wary of you balance as you planted a foot right on the ledge.

But, unluckily, the brick fell out, causing you to free fall from the top of the roof.

You let out a terrified yelp, and without a beat, Leo was already in the air, catching you and pulling you tightly against his plastron.

You curiously felt at his plastron, making the poor turtle turn dark red, before opening your eyes, going wide at the sight of him.

In that moment, your stomach dropped to your feet. 

The portal that he just jumped out of was no never mind right now, you were more concerned with him.

Even with the turtle-y parts, you still found this man incredibly handsome. Shit, if anything, the turtle-y bits might’ve assisted in that department.

“Whoa, careful there,” Leo smiled, safely landing on the ground with the two of you still in tact.

“Wouldn’t want you falling for me.”

You smiled as Leo put you down, a soft laugh leaving your lips that made him practically melt.

“Are you alri--.”

You quickly wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him into a tight hug, giving him a quick squeeze.

“Thank you for catching me. I’d probably be dead if you didn’t,” you sighed, the recent events now sinking in.

Leo was thanking the stars that hugs didn’t let you see the other person, because on the other side, he was blushing like a maniac.

“No problem,” he, surprisingly, managed to say without a voice-crack. “What were you--uh--what were you doing on the ledge, anyway?”

The two of you pulled away, and you awkwardly scratched the back of your neck, hoping you didn’t overstep anything with the hug.

“Oh, I just like to sit there and think. The view helps me really focus,” you sheepishly answered, looking up at him through your lashes, the height difference now very clear.

“I’m just glad you were here to catch me.”

He smiled a bashful smile, avoiding eye contact with you at all costs. “It was no biggie.”

You smiled, thoughtlessly checking your watch to see that it was way past midnight.

“Shit. It’s past my curfew. I gotta go,” you sadly sighed, pointing back to your building.

Leo pouted.

You were going? Already? But he had just met you.

“Will I see you again?” he asked, a little more desperate than he wanted.

You grinned, shooting him a nod. “Of course. I got too many questions to not see you again.”

You whipped out your phone, pulling up the contacts app. “Here,” you handed it to him, “Type in your cell so we can text.”

His smile stretched from ear to ear as he carefully took your phone, punching in his number and handing it back to you.

You took the phone back and threw an arm around his shoulder, pulling him in for a selfie and taking it in one motion, the poor turtle blurry and blushing.

“There,” you quietly snickered, making the unprepared photo his profile picture. “All set.”

You turned to the turtle, giving him a regal curtsy. “Until we meet again, good sir.”

Leo smirked, playing along and bowing. “Until we meet again, madame.”

And with that, you flashed him one more smile before stuffing your hands in your pockets, walking around the alley corner and right into your complex.

Once Leo was completely sure you were out of ear-shot, he sighed, slumping against the alley wall.

‘That....was amazing.’

He whipped out his phone, his heart wanting to text you right away, but his head knew it was too soon, scraping the idea.

But what he did see, was 15 missed texts from Donnie, 6 from Mikey, and 146 from Raph.

‘Oh, I am so dead.’

...

[aealzx]

Shortly after the two families had snarfed down an ungodly amount of food for dinner Don and Leon had ushered Lil Mikey back to the infirmary to check on his injuries. They would get to Raph after, but they figured it would be easier on everyone to disentangle Lil Mikey from the group first. Even throughout dinner Donnie had remained with his back stubbornly squished against Raph’s side, keeping wrapped up in the blanket and eating the scallop alfredo from a bowl held close to his chin. He seemed to be slowly doing better though, so Don made sure the others didn’t make a fuss over it, reminding them that their guests had all been through extremely stressful events recently. Something that had Leon understandably eager to get the bandages off Lil Mikey’s arm so he could see and assess the damage for himself.

“So Leatherhead was the one that took care of you? Not Don?” Leon asked, glancing over at Don as the latter patiently allowed Leon to take the lead once more.

“Yeah, Don and Leo took care of Donnie – wow that’s weird to say – while Leatherhead and Big Raph took care of me,” Lil Mikey confirmed, wincing slightly when Leon jostled his arm in a way that caused the damaged muscle to protest. He was used to Leon’s hands winding and unwinding bandaging on him, but the injury was still a new experience that made him a little anxious. Enough that the foot he had hanging off the edge of the table swayed slightly.

“Okay,” Leon accepted, figuring Raphael had done the same for Lil Mikey as he’d done for Raph and acted like a distraction. When he carefully peeled the gauze back from the wound Leon ended up giving a small gasp. “Ohmigosh, it’s tiny! I thought it would be a lot bigger. How big was the bullet?” he blurted, brushing his fingers over the stitches before looking at Don.

Don could only chuckle, feeling a little bad for the slight startle Lil Mikey had gotten from Leon’s gasp, and leaned closer for a moment to see for himself. “It was only a nine millimeter one. We were lucky and even though there wasn’t an exit wound he didn’t seem to have gotten too much damage. Leatherhead said it was pretty easy to remove the bullet, it was just the cleanup and disinfection that took the longest.”

Listening to the explanation, Leon’s expression lit in a way only his would when discussing this matter. Looking back at the injury, Leon could only grin. “Gosh, I don’t even think it’ll scar that much. You guys are amazing,” he gushed, taking a few more seconds to admire the work before he started to apply some more ointment and clean gauze.

“Yeah, Big Raph mentioned they got a lot of practice,” Lil Mikey recalled, swinging his foot slightly once again. “I’m glad the people we end up fighting don’t tend to use guns. This really hurt,” he admitted, trying to keep his voice light.

It was subtle for others, but obvious for Leon that Lil Mikey wasn’t completely okay from the event. The slightly tense strain in Lil Mikey’s tone was enough to get Leon to pause, looking up at Lil Mikey’s face. “...Does it still hurt a lot?” he asked, just to make sure Lil Mikey wasn’t trying to be tougher than he needed to.

“No!” Lil Mikey assured quickly. “No, it’s good. It doesn’t even hurt that much, especially with the meds.” He wasn’t lying. He still didn’t really notice the injury until he tried to move his arm too much. But he knew he needed to give a little more so that Leon didn’t think he was pushing it off. “I guess… I’m just still a little scared when I think about it.”

Admittedly it was a fair emotion to have towards being shot, but Leon ended up giving a small snort. “You open a portal to another dimension and completely wreck both your arms for months, but brush that off like it’s nothing. And then getting shot and having a tiny little stitched up wound scares you?” he asked, a little incredulously.

Lil Mikey’s eyes went a little wider at the comparison, having not thought about it before. “...Huh. I guess the fact that I was saving you instead of getting saved by others made a big difference. Every time I got worried about the portal scars I just had to remember that you were still home with us, and it was gonna be okay.”

The response from Lil Mikey caused Leon’s teasing smile to falter, threatening to fade completely but instead settling into one of concerned fondness. He wasn’t sure what to respond, and consequently ended up reacting to Don’s movement instead.

As soon as Leon mentioned Lil Mikey opening a portal to another dimension Don tried to subtly but quickly pull out his phone to text Raphael. Unfortunately for him it didn’t go unnoticed, and he reflexively gripped his phone harder and tried to pull away when Leon’s hand smacked over the top of it. Leon had been intending to take the phone away from Don, but after feeling his fingers clenching the device in an iron grip Leon changed tactics, meeting Don’s gaze with a now steely smile. “...Who ya texting, Old Don?” Leon asked, his voice venomously sweet.

Don realized his mistake immediately, and had to keep himself from groaning at his own stupidity. Of course the teens would be wary of them having possible outside communication. So while he didn’t exactly want Leon to see what he’d been typing, he relented and opened his palm to give up his phone. “See for yourself,” he accepted, hoping Leon didn’t take too much offense to his unfiltered phrasing.

The phone being so easily relinquished caught Leon slightly off guard, the smile faltering halfway as he studied Don for a moment, looking for anything to hint that he was trying to pull a fast one on him as soon as he looked away. He couldn’t find anything though, and eventually looked down at the phone screen. The recipient was labeled as Raphael, with a more candid picture of the elder turtle in the bubble. And the most recent message sent sooner than Don had intended read ‘Did you know Little Mikey got his scars from opening an interesting’.

Leon realized his hand probably caused an autofill for the last word before sending the message, but it didn’t stop him from frowning. As Raphael’s message came back, asking for clarification, Leon tossed the phone back to Don. “You’re all really annoying, you know that? Why do you keep butting in our business?”

“Leo,” Lil Mikey chided immediately, his voice lowered and slightly hissed. That wasn’t an appropriate tone to take with someone who had been more than helpful for them in his mind.

Don held his tongue for a moment, not able to blame Leon at all for his reaction and only feeling upset with himself for not considering his action might be taken wrong. He’d thought Leon was a little more comfortable with him than he apparently was. “... I’m sorry. We’re just curious, and want to help. But don’t want to push you guys too hard, so we’re trying to figure things out on our own so you don’t have to tell us about it,” Don admitted, a little hesitant but hoping honesty would help instead of causing more problems in this case.

“You ever think I don’t want to tell you about my life?” Leon snapped back.

“You don’t want to? Or you can’t?” Don asked, his voice gentle yet blunt as he noted Leon’s response coming from distress instead of anger. And as Don suspected, the call out to Leon’s smothered discord caused him to freeze for a moment, eyes widening slightly and losing focus as he reflexively shut down in avoidance. Making a stilling motion to Lil Mikey as the lad quickly started to respond, Don waved his hand gently in Leon’s vision to get his attention without touching him. Once Leon’s eyes flicked back to him, Don carefully gripped Leon’s palm with one hand while the other cupped against Leon’s jaw. “I know you’re probably a little scared right now, but can you just focus on my hands for a moment? Let me know if they’re too warm, or if I’m holding you too hard. Also we used a different ointment this time for Lil Mikey. Can you smell the difference? This one smells more herbal than synthetic, yeah?”

Leon didn’t verbally respond, but Don could see his mind quickly shifting to focus on what was requested of him. Eyes flicking down to their hands as his cheek pressed into Don’s other palm slightly. A deep breath as he tried to smell what Don was pointing out, let out in a shaky exhalation before another was drawn. All the while Lil Mikey watched in surprise, marveling at how easily Don addressed Leon.

A few more slow breaths in and out, and Leon sullenly looked up at Don, the annoyance from before having faded into sheepishness. “...How did you do that so easily?” he ended up asking, voice quiet.

Don could only give Leon a bittersweet smile, lowering his hand to Leon’s shoulder and giving the other a squeeze when he saw Leon wasn’t quite ready to be without physical comfort yet. “My Leo…,” Don started,  then caught himself and reorganized his thoughts to explain better. “When we were teenagers, Leo got in a fight that almost cost his life. And while protecting him the rest of us almost got caught in a gas leak explosion. He ended up a little different for awhile because of it, and we had to get some help from Master Splinter’s old friend because none of us knew how to address the trauma he held. And as we got older we eventually learned what had happened, and how to help. It’s come in handy for all of us, even to this day.” The explanation was gentle, and Don tried to be as open as he could about it. And at the end he released his grip and lifted his heavily scarred arm slightly to draw attention to it, trying to ignore how the infirmary had gained two newcomers by now.

Having felt Leon’s distress, Donnie had hurriedly disentangled himself from the couch to make his way to the infirmary with the others. The blanket was still held around his shoulders, and he studied the room with a slight glare before he begrudgingly considered that Leon wasn’t being intentionally antagonized. Leon even seemed effectively distracted, and curiously engaged with the conversation now too, so Donnie held his own questions back with narrowed eyes as he approached. After side eyeing Don to make sure he wouldn’t suddenly try to grab him or something, Donnie leaned against Leon’s back just enough to tuck his head down against Leon’s skull, offering his own form of comfort.

The other newcomer was Raphael. Having not gotten a response from Don quick enough he’d decided to come find his brother in person. But with the scene he’d walked into he decidedly remained at the doorway, folding his arms and pursing his lips warily. He didn’t like where the conversation was going, but he also realized this wasn’t about him and kept quiet.

“...What happened to your arm?” Leon asked, taking the bait Don laid and looking down Don’s arm. Seeing how many scars there were and noting how his grip was definitely weaker than his other hand. The muscles in that arm seemed slightly smaller too.

“...I had my arm in a generator, trying to remove the crystal core, when it got turned back on,” Don answered, giving up his own personal grief story in exchange for having learned something similar about Lil Mikey. “Fifteen fractures along my entire arm, along with deep gashes wherever you see a scar. It scared Raphael pretty good, and Leatherhead still blames himself for not being able to do better fixing it up. It’s one of the many events that motivated us to get such a nicely stocked infirmary.”

Leon was quiet as he processed what Don had told him. Trying to guess exactly how much damage had been done to Don’s arm, and what it had taken to get it back to the state it was in now instead of amputating it. And then he slowly began to fully realize what Don had told him. Their infirmary was top of the line because they needed it to be. Because they hadn’t had just one close call. Don had just told Leon that all of them had almost died when they were teenagers. And then told him there was one more time where Don had personally, probably almost died again after that. And yet they were all still there, smiling and laughing and not breaking down at everything that even slightly reminded them of the events. The next breath from Leon shook slightly, and he reached up to bother Donnie into giving him an arm to hold. “...How are you guys not… How are you still functioning like normal?”

It was a question that Don noticed had as much pain as it had hope in it, and Don could only smile in pained warmth. “Emotional wounds, and mental wounds can heal just like physical ones. As long as they’re taken care of properly,” he assured, returning his hand to Leon’s to give it another squeeze. “I’m asking all the questions I am because I don’t want to just help you guys with your physical injuries. I want to help with everything else too, because when we get you guys back home I want you to be able to feel safe and sound there…. Okay?”

Leon’s gaze fell, but this time it was because of thought instead of wanting to avoid Don. It was too hard to respond with trust just yet. He couldn’t say it was okay, or that he was willing to talk. He couldn’t even say he couldn’t talk about it yet either. So instead he just looked away and relented with a form of direction. “...Ask April about it… She and Mikey are the only ones that can manage to talk about it so far.” The admittance caused him to tighten his grip around Donnie’s arm, afraid he’d just made a mistake by giving Don information he hadn’t had before. It didn’t help that Donnie shared his unease, his eyes moving to stare in mild warning at Don without moving his head. It was a rare moment of them being vulnerable, and Donnie was promising hell to pay if Don used it against them.

By this point Don was starting to get used to the twins’ wariness and bristled emotions, and could only withdraw his own hands as a physical motion to show he wasn’t going to try to pry any more from Leon. “Thank you. For trusting me a little,” he responded first, wanting Leon to know he appreciated his openness. “How about I finish getting Mikey’s arm dressed again, and you can go back to the living room with Donnie to relax more?”

Leaving the situation he was in felt tempting, but Leon also didn’t want to leave Lil Mikey half cared for. He was the one who was supposed to take care of them in this situation after all. He’d needed help with Raph, but something as simple as changing a bandage wasn’t hard. And yet he couldn’t find the motivation to want to complete the job. “..You sure?” Leon asked, half giving in to his reluctant lethargy.

“Sure. You can take it easy. And if I’m too rough then I give Mikey full permission to throw me out the door,” Don persisted brightly. It was a mild joke, but Leon understood why Don had said it. He didn’t mind if the boys got rough with him to protect themselves. He didn’t mind if they were baring their teeth in wary defensiveness. It was nice to hear, and Leon’s nerves stilled a little more as he shifted to stand up, keeping a hold of Donnie’s arm and pulling him with him.

“Alright. Let…,” Leon relented fully, starting to say his usual line of giving them permission to get him if they needed anything. But this time, he didn’t actually want to be bothered. So the words were changed as he started again. “I’ll let you take care of it. And I’ll send April in to help Mikey back when you’re done.”

It was a bit surprising, hearing Leon give Don an easy way to get April and Lil Mikey together to be able to ask them what had happened. But Don could only smile warmly, taking the response to mean he had done well in responding to Leon’s concerns. “Alright. Take it easy, and we’ll come get Raph when we’re ready,” Don bid, letting the two boys shuffle out of the room.

____________________

Previous Next

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laughing weakly as I post this at ungodly hours of the night just because I wanted to actually get one up and was worried I wouldn't be able to come back to it tomorrow X'D

sorry for the delay this time. I had a brain crisis like a month ago or something I dunno keeping track of time has been hard especially with having double duty at work and not sleeping the greatest because of leg aches all the time now |D I used to be able to do Rizen and CDK at the same time, but now just 1 project it a bit difficult to work on. I haven't given up on any of my projects, they're just taking a way long time to update now

Fun note though, when I was doing the final before post read through on this Better Days by Arman Cekin and Faydee came on my playlist and I thought it was cute for the latter scenes.

[renecdote]

stay, I said

A soft prompt fill for @thekristen999 who requested ‘bombarding them with blankets, tea, heating pads, and anything else they’d need when injured/under the weather’.

Also for BTHB: black eye

[Read on AO3]

“Here.”

Buck’s voice is barely a warning before a blanket drops onto Eddie’s stomach. He startles, more reflex than reaction, and opens his one good eye to squint up at his best friend.

“Huh?”

Buck rolls his eyes, halfway to you don’t have to pretend with me, remember?

“You were shivering,” he says, and there are three perfectly comfortable armchairs he could sit in (plus one that looks exactly like the others but for some reason isn’t comfortable at all), but he lifts Eddie’s feet and slips under them at the end of the couch instead. “You’re not going to make me tuck it around you too, are you?”

Eddie grumbles, but it’s half-hearted. He keeps the ice pack in place over his eye with one hand and messily arranges the blanket with the other. It’s warm enough that he thinks it must have just come out of the dryer, and the sudden heat makes him shiver harder for a moment, until his body adjusts and he relaxes into it with a sigh. A numbing chill is still seeping down through his cheek, his neck, stiffening his shoulders, but with the blanket to huddle under and Buck’s hand resting warm on his ankle, it’s sinking into something more relief than cold.

Relief leaves room for everything else to filter back in as well: Hen and Chimney laughing as they restock the ambulance, someone boxing in the gym, Bobby muttering to himself as he fills out paperwork at the kitchen table. The alarm could go off at any moment, thrusting them into the middle of the next emergency, but for now it’s quiet. Calm. Eddie could almost let it coax him towards a nap, if not for Buck sitting at the other end of the couch, tight lines around his eyes like he’s the one with the headache instead of Eddie.

“I’m fine, Buck,” he says, softer than he thinks he means it to be. “Chimney checked me out, remember? It’s just a bruise.”

Buck’s smile is a sideways, glancing kind of look. “I know.”

But he still worries at his cheek when he thinks Eddie isn’t looking. Still flicks through apps on his phone in a way that means he isn’t absorbing any of it.

Eddie gets it—he and guilt have their own messy, long-standing relationship—but this isn’t something that Buck should feel guilty about. It was an accident. A random, could-have-happened-to-anyone hazard of the job. Like being struck by lightning. Like being shot in the middle of an LA street in broad daylight. Like being trapped at the bottom of a well. There’s nothing either of them could have done to stop those things from happening either. It’s not a comfort, not really, but it is a fact. Sometimes, Frank keeps telling him, you just have to accept facts even if you don’t like them.

Eddie pokes at Buck with his toes, insistent, until Buck huffs and turns to look at him, and then he says, “It wasn’t your fault either.”

This tight little frown, like Buck knows that, but. But.

“I had the other end of your line, Eddie.”

And it’s not I should have been better or I should have done something differently but it is I feel responsible, even if I shouldn’t. Eddie knows what that’s like too. Sometimes when they touch—elbows knocking, a hand on one shoulder, fingers brushing around a cup of coffee—he swears he can feel a static shock, like the lightning that connected them for half a second is still clinging to them, that bright line tying them together for the rest of their lives.

It’s a stupid thing to think. Their lives have been tied together since long before the lightning strike.

“You got me down,” Eddie reminds Buck. He doesn’t say you saved me because it feels too dramatic for a black eye, even if it did feel a little dramatic when the earthquake hit, brick shaking and crumbling under his foot, his line going taut when he dropped, the jutting facade of the building catching him just underneath his helmet. Thank god for goggles, even if they didn’t stop the blood vessels bursting with the impact.

If he closes his eyes, he can still hear his team yelling, Buck’s voice rising above them all: Eddie Eddie Eddie.

“Eddie…”

“Buck.”

A natural disaster happened, Buck. Back through time, a hand on Buck’s shoulder, chasing his gaze until he finally met Eddie’s eyes: there’s no one in the world I trust with my son more than you. The addendum it carries now—has always carried, even if Eddie never knew quite how to put it into words: there’s no one in the world I trust with myself more than you.

A minute, two, stretching out between them. Then Buck sighs and gives in. “Fine.”

He puts his phone on the armrest and sinks back against the couch, legs stretched out, staring up at the criss-cross of beams on the ceiling. His hand on Eddie’s ankle is warm and steady. If not for the ache around Eddie’s eye, it could be any day between calls, any good moment as easily as any bad one.

“Do you remember your first earthquake?” Eddie finds himself asking, curious. It’s the kind of question he should have asked before, he thinks, when his first earthquake cleaved a building in half and Buck spent the whole day trying to reassure him that his son was safe. But there was too much going on then, too many other things crowding his mind, and after that it just—never came up.

“On the job?” Buck sounds just as surprised by the question. “Um. There was one while I was at the academy—I remember that. Training was cancelled for the rest of the day and we helped with first aid and cleanup in the streets. There were a few small ones during my probationary year, too. Just tremors, you know? The biggest was a 5.6 I think. That was—” The slightest stumble, like his brain just caught up with where the words were going. “It was a week after Abby left LA and I remember being glad that she wasn’t there because it meant she didn’t have to deal with the crazy number of calls we got.”

It was only a small quake today. If Eddie hadn’t been hanging off the side of a building at the time, it wouldn’t have been a big deal at all.

It still isn’t a big deal.

That first earthquake—7.1, not even two weeks on the job—he came home with bruises that he doesn’t remember getting. There were harsh lines where his harness bit into his skin, splotches of blue-black over his knees, a particularly tender spot on his right elbow. He caught glimpses of them on Buck at the start of their next shift as well, the bruising from his harness even darker than Eddie’s, obvious enough that Chimney had whistled when he came into the locker room. Buck laughed it off, but Eddie remembers seeing the way he pressed his hands against the bruises later and knowing that he was thinking about the people they couldn’t save.

This isn’t like that. Everyone made it out alive today. The damage is less, even if it’s a little more visible. A little more personal. Gingerly, knowing it’s going to hurt, Eddie sets aside the ice pack and prods at his eye.

“How is it?” Buck asks, head turned on the back of the couch to watch him

The heat is gone, but Eddie can still feel the swelling and the sharp throb of bruising coming up under his fingertips. It’s going to be an ugly black and blue for a few days before it starts to yellow and fade.

“Better,” he says anyway. Ice and painkillers have dulled the pain, his headache like a tight band around his temple instead of the pickaxe it felt like earlier.

“That’s good.” Buck’s thumb is moving on his ankle now, an absent kind of caress. The shiver of electricity it sends up his leg is probably all in Eddie’s head. “Are you going to be okay driving home?”

They’ve still got a couple hours before they have to worry about that. Eddie would be lying if he said he was looking forward to LA traffic, or the shine of sun through the windshield, but his eye isn’t swollen shut and he hasn’t had any problems with his vision.

“I’ll be fine,” he reassures Buck. And he will be—he is—but. “Why don’t you come over? We can have breakfast, you can help me do housework…”

“Oh I see, you want me to do all your chores for you,” Buck says, but he’s smiling, like he can’t think of any better way to spend a Tuesday morning than helping Eddie fold his laundry.

“I’ll make you eggs benedict,” Eddie offers. “I think I’ve almost got the hang of the hollandaise sauce.”

Buck makes a considering sound. “Counter offer: you’re hurt, which means you get to sit at the table and judge me while I try to recreate Bobby’s baked eggs.”

“I heard that,” Bobby’s voice floats over to them. “I’m not giving you my recipe just because Eddie has a black eye, Buck.”

Eddie snickers at the caught-in-the-cookie-jar look on Buck’s face.

“Come on, Cap,” he wheedles, twisted around to give Bobby his best pleading look. “You told me the secret chilli ingredient!”

Bobby just shrugs, shuffling his paperwork like it might hide his amused smile. “The mystery is what makes it taste so good.”

Eddie is pretty sure they’ll be going home with the baked egg recipe tucked into Buck’s bag anyway. Just like he knows that Buck will make him breakfast and help with all the housework he’s been neglecting and, yeah, part of it will be the guilt he can’t shake, but most of it will be because he—

Because they’re family.

Because they care about each other.

They take care of each other.

“It’s okay,” he says to Buck, loud enough for Bobby to overhear. “I’m sure we can find a better recipe on the internet anyway.”

“Better?” Buck squawks incredulously, in almost the same tone that Bobby echoes, “the internet?”

It hurts to laugh, his cheek aching, the creases around his eye tugging at the bruising, but Eddie can’t help laughing anyway.

“Now you’re definitely not getting the recipe,” Bobby threatens, but Eddie isn’t worried.

And he’s right:

When they’re back at his house, bags lying in a heap together beside the couch, his eyes closed at the kitchen table with a fresh ice pack held against his eye, Buck pulls out eggs and an assortment of spices and Bobby’s recipe, neatly handwritten, on a piece of notepaper that was folded and tucked into his bag. Eddie isn’t watching, but he hears the way Buck moves around his kitchen, easy and comfortable, never having to ask to find everything he needs.

“I was never worried,” he says, and he hears the stillness when Buck pauses. He was scared, maybe, for half a second, his adrenaline spiking as the world shook around him, but. “You had the other end of my line, how could I be worried?”

It feels like a confession. More than the one it is. Eddie wants to look at Buck, but he can’t make himself open his eyes.

“You knew I’d get you down,” Buck says.

It’s not a question.

Eddie opens his eyes.

“I knew you’d make me breakfast too.”

Buck ducks his head when he smiles. It’s a mannerism that Eddie has seen a hundred times, in a hundred different conversations, and it shouldn’t mean anything now, but it feels like it does.

“So what am I going to do next?” Buck asks, his gaze steady now, halfway to a dare. It’s the kind that screams prove me right instead of prove me wrong.

Eddie smiles. “You’re going to wash the dishes, and make me take another dose of Advil, and then—then you’ll stay. Probably agree to take a nap on the couch, then fold all my laundry while I’m sleeping.”

Buck is still smiling, unembarrassed. “You seem pretty sure about that.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, and his voice is as steady as his gaze. “I am.”

And he’s right: Buck stays.

Eddie wakes up forty-five minutes later to find all his laundry neatly folded on the dining table and Buck stretched out on the couch, snoring against a throw pillow. A blanket is falling off at his hips, pooling on the ground, and Eddie carefully picks it up and tucks it back in.

Then he leaves as quietly as he came, heading into the kitchen in search of a fresh ice pack for his eye.

[darlingshane]

the big bad pineapple

Frank Castle x GN!Reader

Rating: G

Word Count: 703

Summary: Frank thinks you have a terrible taste in pizza.

Content/Warnings: Crack, Fluff, Eating, Pizza, Established Relationship, Gun Mention.

Prompt: Frank/anyone, he's Italian and his partner puts pineapple on pizza and Frank's APPALLED. He can take torture but this is too much. – for @daredevilexchange's Prompt Fest.

– Read below or at AO3.

On your way home, you order a couple of pizzas for dinner and by the time you arrive, Frank has already invited himself into your apartment. As you close the door, you can see from the entryway he's made himself at home as usual, leaned back on the couch, with one foot propped on the edge of the coffee table, his hands busy scrubbing a shotgun with a brush, and an assortment of cleaning tools and weapons laid all around him.

“Hey.”

“Evening, sweetheart,” his lips curve up, glancing at you as you take off your coat and place your bag down before walking up to the couch.

Standing behind him, you hold his head and tilt it backwards as you lean forwards to capture his precious mouth. Your lips bounce thrice against his, and after the third he smiles as you press one more kiss on the bridge of his nose.

“Foot,” you semi-scold right after, straightening your posture.

“Sorry,” Frank scoffs, moving his boot away from the table. “Y’know, the fact that you care more about your little table than the guns is concerning.”

“Well, I refinished that all by myself. I care about my little table, the same way you care about your stupid guns. If I went stomping on them, you wouldn’t like that either, would you?”

“Fair enough. Won’t happen again.” He pauses his task and takes a good look at the table, “it ended up pretty good.”

“I know,” you really took pride in learning how to restore used furniture to make it look new, and that piece in particular is one of your favorites.

The doorbell rings while you’re changing into comfortable clothes, and it’s Frank who answers the door to collect your dinner from the deliverer.

After placing the two boxes on the breakfast bar, he opens the one on top, and as expected, you hear him grumbling and cursing from the bedroom when he discovers your chosen toppings for that one in particular. You had a craving for pineapple, and you ordered a second one specially for him, cause you’re pretty aware that your dear Frank doesn’t do pineapple on pizza.

He’s as simple as he’s stubborn.

“Would you relax and open the other one, grouchy smurf?” you pinch his butt as you walk behind him, “I got you one with sausage and mushroom.”

His face contorts in utter disgust as he slides that one to your side, “I don’t know how you can eat that.”

“To each their own, I guess.”

“I’d rather get shot in the head again,” he states, picking up a slice of his own pizza, folding it, and shoving half of it into his mouth.

“You know… you could just say thank you, for a change,” your eyes roll, grabbing a couple of refreshments from the fridge before sitting at the bar, “there’s no need to bash my taste in food.”

“Baby, you got a terrible taste in pizza, what can I say?”

“Said the one with an asbestos mouth,” you remark, side-eying him, “do I complain about your coffee breath? No, cause I don’t care. Guess I have a terrible taste in men, too.”

“I have coffee breath?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Say what you will, but coffee breath is normal. Pineapple on pizza? That’s an atrocity that shouldn’t even exist.”

“You’re insane, Frank. It’s just pineapple,” you let out a chuckle, digging into your delicious Hawaiian pizza, “have you even tried it?”

“Don’t need to.”

Grinning, you move the slice in your hand towards his mouth, “come on, have a little taste, baby. No one's gonna know the big bad punisher got an itty-bitty bite of pineapple pizza.”

He promptly swats your hand away, scowling, “keep that thing off my face.”

Amused, you shake your head and stop teasing him, no matter how entertaining it is to see him passionately hating something as harmless as pineapple on pizza.

There are some leftovers at the end and the next day, out of your sight, he takes a bite of your so-called atrocity to discover it is not as bad as he thought, but not in a million years he would ever admit that to you or anyone else for that matter.

[bearsbeetsbeskar]

Restoring the Roots (Joel Miller x Therapist! reader)

Chapter 2: Contemplation

Chapter 1 | Chapter 3

Pairing: Joel Miller x therapist! reader, post outbreak

Rating: none, will be changed to explicit in future chapters (slow burn, eventual smut, age gap), swearing in this chapter

Summary: Life after moving to Jackson looks drastically different for Joel. Survival mode is over and now he and Ellie can finally put down new roots. Ellie adapts easily but Joel finds himself struggling to settle into this new life, in more ways than some. At Ellie and Tommy’s insistence, Joel begrudgingly finds himself in therapy to try and work through his struggles but what he encounters is more than just painful memories and deeply rooted trauma.

A/N: Thank you for the feedback on chapter 1! I am so excited that everyone is excited to see Joel and reader finally interact! Our poor sweet grumpy old man, he just needs some loving and healing!

Joel squinted slightly as he glanced up at the broad, slightly faded letters that read ‘Restorative Reins,’ as he stood in front of the office. He had been standing in front of the building for a good couple minutes, chewing on the inside of his cheek as people strolled past him while he contemplated his fate.

Therapy. 

Even as he mulled over the word in his mind his spine stiffened and he clenched his jaw, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Therapy was only for folks with legitimate mental problems, that’s the way he saw it. You spoke to a shrink for your problems, cried into a box of tissues while laying on a couch, and were given some highfalutin advice along with a prescription slip. Either that or you ended up in the cookie bin.

Joel never thought long and hard enough about his mental health. Back in the day, before the outbreak, he could lose himself in a six pack of Lone Star, hit up a few of his buddies for a poker game, or rub one out in the shower to get rid of the tension, if all else failed. If he really wanted to, he could talk to Sarah about certain things on his mind. Needing to speak to someone who was a professional, to open up about your vulnerabilities, let alone seek advice, was a bewildering thought to Joel. Why talk to someone when he is usually able to deal with things on his own?

He hears Tommy’s pleas in his head, his desperation. And Ellie’s words too. The conviction with which they spoke about him getting help and actually taking care of himself. You never know unless you try it.

“Nothin’ to lose,” he mutters to himself. 

Steeling himself, he took a deep breath and walked up to the door, stepping into the small office. It was pretty cozy, almost too cozy, as if he stepped into someone’s living room. There’s a worn leather couch up against the front window and a loveseat against the wall adjacent to it, with a few blankets and cushions arranged on top, a small coffee table in between them. The walls are a soft sky blue and potted plants cover almost every surface imaginable. Surprisingly there aren’t any motivational posters on the walls, feigning false positivity and encouragement, somewhat reminding him of the ‘Live, Laugh, Love’ signs that Sarah used to have in her bedroom. 

One thing Joel does appreciate is the photos speckled across the office walls in various frames and sizes, most of them of animals such horses, dogs, sheep, and landscapes of different scenery. What looks to be an empty receptionist desk is tucked away in the back corner, besides a closed door that presumably leads to other rooms.

He steps further into the office, moving closer to a particular picture of a striking chestnut horse with a white blaze that runs from his forelock down to his nose. Huh. He looks familiar. Taking a step back and appraising all the other shots, Joel realizes these are all animals within the settlement. The horse he recognizes is Callum, one of the horses Joel has actually ridden while out on patrol. The realization softens his gaze, and he relaxes his body a bit, warming up to the fact that this therapist is an animal lover. Maybe not a totally crazy shrink after all, he concludes. 

He nearly jumps out of his skin when he hears the knob to the back door of the office turning, as it swings open and a young woman strides through into the office. 

“Hi there! Sorry to keep you waiting, are you here for a session?” The woman asks with a warm smile.

Any sense of false confidence he thought he had built up, dissipates immediately from Joel’s system as he takes you in.

You’re young. Much younger than what he expected.

Weren’t shrinks older? Middle aged? Like doctors? You couldn’t be more than thirty-five. You also did not look like a professional therapist, what with your flannel button up, jeans that hugged your curves, and combat boots, your hair pulled into a braid. It shouldn’t matter really, business casual was dead and gone, but Joel would be lying if he said he wasn’t very appreciative that you leaned towards the casual side. Either way you definitely didn’t look like a shrink, as his gaze swept up and down your body.  

His brain might as well be covered in molasses as he barely recalls the question you asked him.

“Uh, a session?” he repeats, drawing his eyebrows together.

“Yes, a therapy session?” You look at him expectantly, tilting your head slightly at his confusion. 

Joel felt his heart stutter as he met your bright eyes. What did you say?

Shit. Right. He cursed himself internally as he shook his head, attempting to clear his throat. 

“Uhm, I- no sorry. I uh, I’m not a client. I was told to come by to see uh, what kind of services you offered and get a consultation of sorts. My brother referred me to your office… he thinks I need some uhm, some kinda help.” Joel stammers, as he digs his nails into his palms and looks at the ground.

Fuck, this is stupid. Damn Tommy. He should just apologize, turn around and walk out the door, everything in his body telling him to run.

You raised your eyebrows as a look of recognition spreads across your face and you flash a huge smile at him, introducing yourself.

“Oh yes! You must be Joel right? I spoke to your brother Tommy yesterday. He mentioned that you might be looking for some support?” 

Joel was shook. He expected you to give him a disapproving or hesitant look of recognition. Despite only being in Jackson for about a month, news had traveled fast through the commune. Joel knew that many of the residents already knew about him, they had heard the stories. Tommy Miller’s ruthless, cold big brother, who had trekked across the country, while killing more people with his bare hands than he could count. Infected or not infected. He had a reputation. Another one of the reasons he saw no point in sharing his concerns with a total stranger, regardless of whether or not you were a professional. But you still had this warm, attentive expression on your face.

“Yeah. I’m not sure how much he told you, or what exactly he said, my brother likes to put his nose in other peoples’ business sometimes,” he rambled on, running a hand through his hair, “but I guess I wanted to know how it all works. How the therapy works, y’know.” He makes a dismissive gesture with his hand.

“No problem at all.” You gestured to the couch for him to sit and you sat in the loveseat to the side.

“I suppose I should lay down while I’m pouring my heart out to you huh?” he asked as he hesitantly sunk down into the beat up leather, eyes darting to you nervously.

“Well, if you prefer to, then you certainly can, but it’s not necessary,’ you chuckled. "Sessions look a bit different here at the practice”.

You lean back in the seat and cross your legs, resting your hands in your lap, while appraising his tense figure. After a minute you break the silence, “can I ask, what do you know about therapy?”

Joel exhaled shakily, his heart pounding in his ears. Maybe this was a bad idea. He didn’t want to insult you by sharing what he really thought about therapy (that it was baloney), but he also didn’t want to be judged for having an abysmal perspective of mental health. He sat hunched over on the couch and bounced his right leg, anxiety consuming him.

Seeing him start to mentally backtrack you reassured him. “There’s absolutely no true right or wrong answer by the way. Just tell me what you think of when you picture therapy.” You gave him a soft smile and leaned to the side, resting on the arm of the chair. 

“Well uh,” he clears his throat.

Fuck, he just needed to get it out. Joel sighed deeply, running his hand over his face in an attempt to wipe away his embarrassment.  

“Honestly, I don’t know much about it, save for what I’ve seen on TV where you lay down on a couch, cry your eyes out to a shrink about your problems and then they hand you a prescription for pills. I’ve known a few people in the past who saw a therapist and they said it helped them ... but I just thought it was a bunch of bullshit truthfully.”

His eyes widen, and he looks at you immediately after realizing what he just admitted.

“Shit - I mean, I didn’t mean it like that, I just meant that it seems a bit pretentious. That sounds bad too.” He groans. “Shit. I’m sorry, I’m just not good at this,” he says, gesturing haphazardly between you both. 

Lord, can the ground open up and swallow him whole already? This is excruciating enough as it is. 

Joel looks at you pensively, waiting to see your reaction, waiting to see the shock or disappointment spread across your face at his words. But it doesn’t happen. Your gaze is fixed on him intently, as you watch his facial features, and nod along sympathetically. It’s surprising, and also off putting. He’s never had someone listen to him so attentively and maintain eye contact for so long, without showing any judgment. 

After a moment you shake your head and laugh softly.

“It’s okay Joel, everyone has their own definition of what therapy looks like, and what reaching out for support looks like. Like I said, there’s no right or wrong answer. Many people claim to not be good at this,” you respond, while mimicking his gesture between you two, “but if you can believe it, therapy is less about the talking, and more about doing. More about processing and taking the steps to heal.”

He nods as you explain more, sitting deeper and relaxing into the couch as the tension slowly leaves his body. 

“In a nutshell, I do provide talk therapy where I sit down with clients like this, and we discuss what they’re dealing with, talk through their concerns, and we come up with strategies together to help them navigate their situations. The sessions are an hour long. Some sessions are to vent and process emotions, others are to follow up on homework or strategies we devised, and others are to simply talk about whatever is on your mind.” 

You smirk as he raises his eyebrows when you mention homework, and you raise your hand in defense. “Again it looks different for everyone, there are no concrete rules or methods to follow.”

“The other type of therapy I do is equine assisted therapy,” you explain to him. “It’s an experiential type of therapy, which basically means the client experiences the effects of therapy by physically participating in activities with horses. You learn by doing and observing, not just talking,” you wink at him, reassuring his previous claims. 

“The horse acts as a therapy partner, and you complete different exercises with them, and we process the interactions that occur between you and the horse during the session,” you continue explaining.

Joel tilts his head slightly and considers it. “Huh, that sounds pretty cool actually.” 

He’s always loved animals, including horses. There’s just something innately calming about them. When you look them in the eyes, it makes you feel like they can see into your soul. He thought about it, realizing he actually did look forward to going out on patrol on his assigned nights and getting the horses tacked up. Nothing really compared to riding out onto the stretch of green plains, bordered by the massive mountains that painted Jackson's landscape, with the calming lull of their hoofbeats against the dirt. It was probably the only thing he really enjoyed about Jackson, as it gave his mind a break from the turmoil that consumed it most days. Other than scouting for infected or other threats, he could just ramble to his four legged partner about anything and everything, without needing a response.  

“It really is!” You grin emphatically at him, as you feel the passion buzzing through your body.

You sit up in your seat and lean forward, resting your elbows on your knees. “Horses are herd animals, and by nature they are very intuitive creatures, they act and live in the moment, not the past or the future. Consequently, they are very attuned to nonverbal communication, body language, and they can sense your emotions before you even realize it. They make great therapy partners, not just because of their gentle nature, but they also act as a mirror to our behaviors, and above all, they never judge you,” you babble excitedly, your eyes lit up.

Joel looks at you with wonderment, a fuzzy sort of warmth spreading through his body, as he sees your excitement and passion shine through. Normally it would be off putting to see someone so excited and energetic like this, but it was clear that you loved this job, and you cared deeply about supporting others. It made him fucking melt. 

“You make it sound pretty damn good, it doesn’t even sound like therapy,” he chuckled and you nodded in response. 

“It really doesn’t honestly. I’ve worked with individuals who have seen so many horrors and experienced unimaginable trauma, and in just a few sessions of working with the horses, they find healing, they find hope, and they look forward to coming in. They say it just feels like having fun with the horses,” you say fondly.

“I didn’t know it could be that impactful, but that’s pretty incredible,” he says in awe. He pauses for a moment as he looks away, then back at you, as he fiddles with his hands, picking at the skin around his nails.

Fuck. Is he really gonna do this? It almost sounded too good to be true.

“So, what would the next step be in the process?” he queries. “Do I need to sign any forms or anything?” He asks, his nerves ramping up as he feels his palms get sweaty.

You give him another dazzling smile that lights up your whole face and Joel swears that he turns to mush on the spot.

“No forms needed for now. Why don’t you come out to the stables and we’ll start with meeting the herd. Does Thursday morning work for you?”

“Yeah that sounds good.” He smiled back.

“How are you feeling after everything we talked about?” You asked, looking at him with those wide bright eyes.

Again with that attentive focus on him. Fuck.

He didn’t know if he would ever get used to that, as he squirmed under your gaze. He paused again for a moment, as he reflected internally. He actually felt pretty fucking good, for once. Surprisingly relaxed. He appreciated your lack of judgment and professional demeanour, your warmth and calm nature putting him at ease. It didn’t help that you were damn gorgeous and compassionate, he really didn’t need that much convincing from you. And he was actually excited at the idea of equine therapy, which didn’t actually seem like therapy. 

Damn Tommy and Ellie for being fucking right.

“I actually feel pretty good,” he remarked in disbelief, as a small smile tugged at his lips. “What do I owe ya for this consultation then?”

You beamed at his response. “Consider it a meet and greet Joel,” you said. “Consultations are only usually about 20 to 30 minutes, but seeing as it is your first time seeking therapy, I don’t charge anything.”

He glanced at the clock on the back wall of the office, noticing that you had been talking for damn near an hour.

Shit. Was it really that long? 

He opened his mouth to protest but you quickly cut him off. “I’m serious Joel, I won’t let you pay,” with a stern look that slowly morphed into a smirk. “I’ll see you Thursday at the stables, let's say 10 am. Okay?”

“Alright,” he lamented with a boyish grin. You both got up as you walked him towards the door and he turned back to face you.

He looked down at you, taking a deep inhale as he bit his lip. “It was real nice meeting you, and thank you… for the meet and greet,” he smiled, his dimple peeking through his right cheek. “I’ll see you on Thursday.” 

Taglist:

@beskarandblasters, @pr0ximamidnight, @theewokingdead, @atinylittlepain, @prolix-yuy, @swiftispunk, @harriedandharassed, @amywritesthings, @atinylittlepain, @missgurrl, @silkiers, @jasminedragoon, @mayasopinions, @pedgeitopascal, @elegantduckturtle, @sarahhxx03, @Snow30285, @gracie7209, @stevieboyharrington, @kirsteng42, @pedrit0-pascalit0, @loquaciousferret, @axshadows, @a-sh-lyn, @dotcie, @tightjeansjavi, @dreamingofdaddydin, @pedritosdarling, @lhymer1995, @nerdreader, @suzmagine, @like-a-dirty-french-novel, @delicious-collection

[clxckwork-sun-n-moon]

hey hi i've had this old forest gods thought and i need to bounce it off you bc. so the gods are Big and they roam the woods and especially moon is, given his habitat, likely to leave tracks - muddy earth and all that. so i cant help but imagine our dear photographer going out, perhaps looking for some scenic shots of the landscape, and finding giant ass tracks that do not belong to any creature they can identify. and they just stare. and behind them their friendly company in doll form just starts sweating. sun or moon or both together just having a squabble under their breaths about not revealing things too soon and definitely not scaring their best shot at winning their bet like this, meanwhile y/n is just trying to process whats in front of them and "huh, maybe those old legends about forest gods had some base in reality, but how much" and when they turn around to ask they get suspiciously innocent dolls doing his/their best to not let on they left those tracks you've drawn candid shots y/n took of their true forms but im just so curious about the transitional phase between "why are wooden dolls alive in this forest" and "ah yes my besties, sun and moon the forest gods, aka gremlin 1 and 2" and what hints y/n encountered hfdjsk

yeeeeaaaaa like. Sun has the upper hand (or foot) here because he can just will the forest to remove any trace of him left behind. people aren't finding the giant hoof-prints of his wanderings any time soon, unless he so wills it, and tbh he hasn't been in contact with humanity since the 1500s so it's very unlikely that he's willing it anytime soon (unless way way on in their relationship Y/N gives him big puppy eyes and says it'd make for a really cool photo). Eclipse also has an upper hand in that he can't leave tracks on the mountainside, and he only ventures close to town in doll form, so he's safe

Moon is permanently fucked, because even if he does put the effort into clearing his tracks, it's pretty clear something BIG just smeared a riverbank smooth (his tail). so it's probably not going to be uncommon for Y/N to be seeing a nice bank to take a photo of, only to see a reptilian hand print that's easily the size of their face in the mud. cue the "what the actual fuck is that" reaction

ironically, Sun is more likely than Moon to be frustrated/sweating over Y/N discovering the pair's nature too early. Moon is over on the edge of the forest with the smuggest aura behind his carved wooden grin as his brother is desperately trying to convince Y/N that it was probably a prank left behind by local kids to spook the newcomer in town.

the local townsfolk have long since gotten used to 'didn't see it' reactions to uncommon events, and will sometimes hide signs of the gods' presence themselves. stories take a long, long time to die off, and stories of the three gods still maintain enough respect to be acted on (and no-one wants too many out-of-towners coming in and making a fuss so if you saw something big in the river no the fuck you did not).

there are absolutely hidden-under-nonexistent breath squabbles that occur between Sun and Moon over Y/N finding out about their presence too fast - Sun doesn't want to scare them off too quickly, Moon thinks if they find out sooner rather than later then good for them, but more importantly Sun knows Moon doesn't care for hiding his trails so it's far more likely Y/N will connect the dots over Moon, at which point he's going to gain a lead in the 'game'. but Sun also thinks it's not good sport to reveal himself early just so he gets in before Moon, while Moon thinks it's stupid of Sun to go to so much effort in hiding himself when Y/N is clearly piecing things together about their 0 effort flower garden and perfect woodland walks whenever they go out with Sun.

at the end of the day, Y/N ends up discovering Sun first. the transition from 'weird funky dolls in the woods' to 'large gremlin besties' is a bit hazy, mostly because Y/N starts putting dots together with more research into the stories about the three gods without revealing the extent of their understanding to Sun and Moon (because those two get a bit strangely flustered whenever the three gods are mentioned). during all this research, they find a little ritual called 'Forgiveness of the Sun', and when they accidentally crush a flowering plant in their garden, they decide to go through with it. it's pretty much just bringing the dead plant into the woods and asking for the forest to forgive them for the accident, that it wasn't meant with bad intentions. and poor Sun gets so overwhelmed and excited that someone is doing one of his rituals for the first time in centuries, he comes rushing over and startles Y/N out of their shoes.

Moon cannot allow himself to be outshone so of course he takes the next available opportunity to reveal himself in the most dramatic and awe-inspiring way possible in his eyes (leaping over a bridge from the river to snap down on a thief and drag him back into the river).

Y/N is over here going through so many levels of "that was extremely intimidating to witness but I still feel safe in your company because I know you're my friend and wouldn't hurt me" leaving Sun and Moon both relieved that this didn't scare them away, but confused because surely it has to have done something to bring them closer. but they aren't feeling the romance blossoming.

they're gods, they're not smart.

[selineram3421]

Song Rec: Aerodynamic by Daft Punk

Isekai'd

Part 7: Bullets Whizzing By

Part 6

~

Vash (Tristamp) X Reader

Warning! ⚠

⚠ cussing, all caps for screeching dialog, weapons and guns(pew pew),reader has an idea(its not a great one), gullet graze, blood ⚠

You woke up before the sun rose, going out to buy what you could find that was on your list.

Vash should be at the diner soon, so I have to hurry. You think and rush over to the first shop. Let's hope they sell in bulk.

"Fuck."

The suns had risen and when you arrived to the shops they were all closed.

I should have done this yesterday! You scowl and hear guns start firing off.

Now you were running to go on one of the rooftops to try and spot the blonde haired man while he was on the run.

"ITS TOO FUCKING EARLY FOR THIS!!", you shout.

.

Vash ran along building rooftops and pipes, bullets whizzing by, just barely missing him.

"AAAAH!", he yelped and then shouted as he jumped through a narrow space between buildings, spinning through the air as more people shot at him before landing on a roof.

He rolled and jumped off of it seconds after, making panicked sounds before yelling out again.

"Don't let him get away!", he heard Rosa yell.

Turning around after sprinting down some stairs, he sees someone and jumps over the hand rail as they start shooting. Running through a small hallway made by the buildings, he feels a short moment of peace before skidding to a stop when another person shows up at the end of it.

"Found him!", a man says and starts shooting.

"AAAH!", the humanoid typhoon jumps, dodging the bullets and starts running again.

He runs down an alleyway, jumping when at the ledge and screams when he realizes its pretty high. His foot hits an oil barrel when getting closer to the ground, effectively making him slip and fall back.

As he sits up, more people show to the right and start shooting, not even giving him a second to groan out in pain.

"WHAAHAHA!", he yelps jumping up as the bullets miss him, making his way over to hop off another ledge.

Landing on the space between stairs, he quickly runs down, turning at the corner to continue the descent.

"There he is!", a man says and aims at him.

Vash makes a few more panicked noises when they release another round of bullets just behind him.

At some point he gets enough distance, running on a bridge like structure.

Looking back, he doesn't notice the three figures with guns until facing forward, making him stop in place.

"Uh oh.", he says with a nervous smile, raising his hands up.

"We've got him.", someone says from behind.

"Huh?", he turns his head, seeing three more armed people running up.

He stays in place.

How am I gonna get out of this?

"Heads up!"

Looking over, he sees a rope being tossed at him by the female reporter.

He rushes forward and grabs the rope at the end of the noose. "Oh!"

Before any bullets could hit him the rope yanks him towards a building, making him have to run along the wall of it so he doesn't crash into it. More people shoot at him as he does so.

The rope pulls him up really high.

"AAAAAAHHH!", he screams before feeling himself start to fall.

And then he screams again.

"Ah!", its short, because a second later he lands on the two reporters.

The three let out a collective grunt in pain.

.

You watched as the town ran wild trying to get Vash from one of the highest rooftops.

Seeing this episode and all its angles was fun, but actually seeing it from the sidelines was a different story.

All that jumping and running has to be difficult.

Then you heard the scream of him being yanked up by the rope and decided to do your part to help.

I can't believe I'm doing this. You grumble a few curses as you go down some stairs, taking off your coat. Rem better show up after all of this shit 'cuz I'm gonna need her to explain all of her cryptic ass shit!

The heat comes back to bother you for a moment.

As you make it to the last step, you flip your coat inside out, the red lining from the inside now vissible.

Putting it back on and fixing it, you think over your life choices.

"I'm gonna get shot.", you say in a whine and put the hood over your head.

Then you start running down the alley way.

"Hey! I think I saw him!", someone yells.

Its only been a fucking second! You cry internally and keep running. Let's hope that Tomas is out now!

Turning down a corner, you see a small group of armed people, and one of them spots you.

Oh shit.

"There!", they yell and start shooting.

"Ah!", you yelp and jump out of their lone of fire, running the opposite way.

"FOLLOW HIM!"

Bad idea bad idea bad idea bad idea bad idea-!

You let out another scream when a bullet whizzes by your head.

REALLY BAD IDEAAAAA!!

Going into an alley way, you run between the buildings.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck!

As you run out of the alley, a bullet grazes your arm.

MOTHER FUCKER!

You wince but keep running.

After a while you stop, gasping for breath while hiding in the shadows. Taking off the coat, you check your wounded arm and hiss. Blood going down your arm, some of it staining the white side of your coat.

"Never again.", you sigh and get up, making your way back to the Inn, placing the coat over your shoulder.

"I hope he made it to the entrance."

There's a loud crash coming from somewhere to the right side of town.

"POWER IS JUSTICE! POWER IS TRUTH!"

You hear a voice coming from a loud speaker.

"THERE IS NO FUTURE FOR THE SNIVELING SLUG WHO CAN'T FIGHT! COME OUT VASH THE STAMPEDE, THE FURIOUS FIST OF THE NEBRASKA FAMILY CHALLENGE YOU TO A DUEL!"

"He made it.", you sigh, not bothering to turn around, feeling your legs ache from all the running. "I'll sit this one out and come back with my medic pack."

"COME OUT, COME OUT WHEREVER YOU ARE!", the old man says.

"Ugh.", you groan and face palm. "And then the psycho shows up right after!"

Why are there so many crazy people!?

As you made it to the Inn and entered your room, you checked your ammo and picked up your bag. Before stepping out, you heard an explosion.

Fuck.

Please send over some songs that you think would be great for this fic!

~Seline, the person.

Next: Part 8

Taglist@

@summerdazed @lunar-archangel @+?

ML Vash | ChL Isekai'd

[bloodybobbysawyer]

Into the Lion’s Den

Commissioned by the lovely @nightofthesurfindead

Salt N Pepa. That was all Chop Top could hear as the Jeep pulled into the driveway. The bouncing rhythm and repetitive phrase of “pushing it” had always gotten on his nerves. It wasn’t real music, in his eyes. Just a clusterfuck of loud noises together over bumps of electronic beats. There was no guitar, no singing, and no drums. It seemed like nobody nowadays knew how to strum a damn guitar. The annoyance flowed through his veins like snake venom.

Something else that bothered him beyond belief were boys. More specifically, teenage boys. They were smelly, dirty, and riddled with hormones. Hormones, in question, that he didn’t want to corrupt his little girl. Most kids Tina’s age have already had two or three boyfriends, but not her. Robert would never allow her to date, especially not the boys of this generation. Mind you, Robert was a teenager in the sixties. He arguably had done worse than most kids in the eighties, and with that being said, he knew the depths to which teenage boys would sink to satiate their unrelenting hunger. As long as he was around, Tina would never fall prey to them.

At least, not until today.

All dolled up in her cheer uniform, she bounced out of the vehicle. He usually expected her and her crappy music around this time, as it was when practice ended, but what he didn’t expect was the boy who walked out after her. The sight through the window almost made him sick. Thank god he was in the middle of a good plate scratch - or else he would’ve lost it. The boy himself was rather tall, and punk-looking.

He looks like a total asshole, Chop thought to himself. If she were to bring home some kind of slime, couldn’t he at least look like he’d heard of Humble Pie? Nevertheless, he watched her adorable little bob rush itself into the gates of the Texas Battle Lands, the boy chasing her. He looked a little off put, but he followed Tina like a loyal puppy. His leather jacket was reflecting the gorgeous sunset, making Robert grimace.

“Hi Daddy!” He heard Tina squeal down the hallway, making him turn his head. He loved nothing more than hearing his baby girl excited, but today he wasn’t exactly thrilled with what she was excited about.

“Hey, honey-bunny! How was practice?” He asked, crossing his arms and avoiding eye contact with the other teenager.

“Good! I get to be at the top of the pyramid during the next game.” She smiled, giving Robert some jazz-hands that he unenthusiastically returned. Before he knew it, there were the words he’d dreaded hearing;

“Daddy, I want to introduce you to Gunnar - my boyfriend!”

A shiver went up his spine at the sentence. A long, disgusting, feral shiver.

“Oh really, now?” He asked, distastefully cocking a brow at poor little Gunnar.

“Yes, sir.” The boy finally spoke, holding his hand out for Bobby to shake. Mildly impressed, he shook it.

“L-Least you got manners, son.” He mumbled, looking back to Tina. “So, how did y’all meet?”

“It’s a super long story, but we’ve basically been in school together for forever!” She grinned, pulling Gunnar into her side by his forearm.

“School, huh? A-Are you sure?” Chop asked, gesturing to the punk getup. Embarrassed, Gunnar sunk in on himself.

“Daddy, yes! Don’t be rude!” She whined, stomping her foot. Chop Top sighed, shaking his head.

“Alright, Alright.” He said, putting his hands up defensively. “I believe ya.”

Tina shot him a knowing glare, and he shook it off like he usually did. Gunnar cleared his throat to break the simmering awkward silence.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Sawyer. Thank you for your service.” He stammered, his palms were coated in sweat from nerves.

“So she told you all about me, h-huh? I-I haven’t heard a thing about you before today.” Chop curled his upper lip toward his nose, furrowing his brow at his daughter.

“Yeah, yeah. I thought you liked surprises, Dad.” She shot back, just as witty as he was at her age. Tina certainly inherited her father’s temper, if anything.

“I’ll go pour some lemonade in the dining room, you two can chat for a bit.”

“Y-You do that.” Chop mumbled, watching Tina skip away before pinning Gunnar into the wall, his pale forearm trapping Gunnar’s pubescent neck.

“L-Listen, boy. If you so much as lay a finger on my baby, I’ll cut every one of them off and make you eat ‘em. Understood?” He barked, his tone a low whisper. Gunnar nodded hurriedly.

“Yes sir, I-I’ve got nothing but respect and admiration for your daughter”

“See to it that you do.” He spat, releasing the boy. Feeling satisfied with Gunnar’s answer, he put an arm around his shoulder and pulled him in close.

“L-Let me show ya to the dinin’ room, huh?” He smiled (finally). Gunnar smiled back, and followed Chop Top’s lead into the dining room.

[scathingsniper]

Interview

“Huh? Shouldn’t you be celebrating?”

”Yeah? What’s this look like to you?”

”Like you’re going to wind up in a ditch before the night’s through, is what.”

Shinon raised his head to look the barkeep in the eye, and to prove that the glass he’d knocked off the counter a second ago wasn’t because he was feeling the effects of the drinks yet. Indeed, his eyes were still as sharp and hard as emeralds, but a pink flush had spread across his narrow face. With a few more, maybe he wouldn’t make it back to his new accommodations, but Gatrie wasn’t here to foot the bill and he didn’t like the place that much. He batted one stray chunk of glass toward the barkeep’s broom with the toe of his boot.

“No wonder you never have any customers. How can anyone enjoy themselves when the barkeep’s a judgmental bastard!”

The other man laughed and knelt down to sweep the rest of the glass into a box.

”All I’m saying is that it looks like you got something heavier on your mind.”

”I don’t.”

He shrugged, rose back up to his feet, and circled around the counter to dispose of the glass.

”Congratulations on your new position then. The folks at Garreg Mach monastery treat their people right, so I’ve heard. No more running around looking for mercenary work now, huh?”

”Yeah, who knows. A stuffy monastery’s going to get boring quick.”

Shinon crossed his arms over the counter and traced the tributaries of color in the polished grain. It was hickory, and a beautiful plank of it - one solid strip from end to end and carved into a wave. It would have made a fine bow, too, in any skilled bowyer’s hands but especially his, nimble and calloused without the privilege of comfort. An economical life had taught him early on about the value of weapons that could last when money didn’t, and how to wring any resource dry.

All of a sudden, he remembered the pair of wannabe-archers he’d watched in the training hall that afternoon and let out a snort that turned the barkeep’s attention away from picking shards of glass out of an old rag. 

”None of those spoiled brats look like they’ve ever held a weapon before.”

For every five arrows, only one ever made its mark, and barely. They had to have been sixteen, maybe seventeen, but far too old to be fumbling like that with no one around to crack the whip. By that age, Shinon was already making a name for himself as a mercenary. It was the only choice he had. That, or death.

Agitated, he reached for his mug and finished off the rest of it, thudded it back down to the counter and challenged the barkeep with his eyes to judge him again for the drink.

“Either their families don’t know that the instructors are training them to get killed, or they’re hardly more than sheltered babies themselves! You’d think those self-important fops would be storming the place if they found out their money was buying these half-rate lessons.”

Or maybe that was just his upbringing talking now. People who had more than pennies in their pockets could burn it if they wanted and hardly be any worse off for it. Kids though? Who’d throw their own kid into the fire?

“I asked them what they thought they were doing, shooting duds like that, and they said they were better at it with real bows. Idiots…”

Practice like it’s the real thing, otherwise what’s the point? He’d picked that up from his commander. Those training bows were doing those kids a disservice, too, so he’d loosened the strings, and as it turned out, that was all they really needed. Three shots out of every five hit their mark after. The rest of it was up to them to figure out.

”Why’d you take the job?” the barkeep asked, sliding another froth-topped mug toward Shinon, but he pushed it aside, instead leaning forward a little to study the man’s grizzled face like he couldn’t understand what he was asking.

”Money! Why else? I’m still part of a mercenary band back in Crimea, but the picking’s slim when there’s not a war going on.”

No thanks to Ike. And no thanks to the sub-humans that’d been leaving their countries more frequently lately. The next time he had to see one of their ugly, whiskered faces, it would be too soon. It was better that he found work on a different continent entirely, and someone had to make sure the Greil Mercenaries got the money they needed to stay fed and keep their weapons in working order anyway. Little Ikie was too busy playing with his new half-breed buddies.

“You don’t look too happy about it.”

“Happy?” Shinon scoffed. “What’s bein’ happy have to do with it? Are you happy working day-in and day-out?”

The barkeep shrugged. “I don’t mind it.”

Shinon tasted the new beer, made a face at it - like all the rest had been, it was lukewarm and not that great, but he kept coming back to this tavern anyway, for the whole week or so that he’d been in Fódlan.

“We’re just doing what we gotta do to live. That’s all.”

The barkeep hummed noncommittally, but left it at that. Shinon eyed him over the rim of his mug, downing half of it in two incensed gulps, then slammed it down like he had something more to say. Like how the only people who could afford to be happy were the ones who got everything handed to them on a silver plate. Or that you had to be an immature, idealistic fool to think life was anything more than a day-to-day grind. But he realized, too, that circumstance had finally swung in his favor and he benefited from being in the right place at the right time. It had landed him this cushy position at the Officers Academy. And it chafed.

He was a top-rate marksman, of course. The best Tellius had to offer. But he’d taken a bribe from a desperate priestess and left his last contract instead of killing her. It could have been anyone.

“Pah…”

He sunk his head down onto the counter and shut his eyes against his swimming vision.

“... The ditches around here aren’t all that comfortable, just so you know,” the barkeep pointed out lightheartedly. Shinon grumbled something, turned his head to shoot a glare up at the other man who’d come back with a glass and a rag in hand, and then raised back up onto his arms.

“I’m never coming back here, just so you know.”

“It’s a trek from here to Garreg Mach.”

Shinon sneered. “What are you gonna do without your only customer to keep you in business?”

The barkeep shrugged. “Who knows. I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it.”

“Hmph.” Shinon was unconvinced, but he rocked to one side to pull a purse from his pocket, counted out one coin per drink, and an extra for the broken glass. “Just like a cog in a wheel.”

“That makes two of us.”

Shinon smirked. “From one cog to another, you better start selling something other than lukewarm piss.” He slapped his hand down on the counter hard enough to make the coins jump and then staggered off the stool. “Good night.”

The barkeep chuckled. “Thanks for the advice.” He swept the coin into one palm. “Oh, and good–” He glanced up to see the door swing shut. “--luck.”