#it ain’t easy being green

[fifiophobia]

Green Arch Enemies 💚

It ain’t easy being green…

[edgeofthegibbuniverse]

Happy St Patrick’s Day! 🍀

[notgeorgelucas]

I swear, after seeing those NYCC clips of season 3, I would give anything to see @moringmark do a strip where the kids surround Belos, at which point he grabs a cane and top hat and starts singing “Hello My Baby”.

Because God’s truth that is the first thing that came to mind when I saw him squishing across the panel.

[telltaleanatomicalheart]

why did i just learn that elfie’s cootacat is canonically purple..i need to get of the internet.

[vintageshanny]

Don’t Go Changing

I wrote this for an anonymous request that Big Daddy Elvis walk in on reader while she’s changing and smut and fluff ensue. 18+ I hope you enjoy! 😘

I envisioned this taking place in 1976-77, but there’s no real date references, so you can imagine it however you wish! ❤️

You drummed your fingers anxiously against the inside of the door frame as the car pulled up the driveway and around to the carport. George glanced over at you with a little smile. “Nervous?”

“What? No,” you scoffed. “I get set up on dates with superstars all the time.” George had been friends with your older brother and sister for years, and apparently had decided that you’d be perfect for his other long-time friend, Elvis Presley. You knew plenty of girls would still jump at the chance to meet him, but you had hemmed and hawed over the decision. Sure, he’d always been easy on the eyes when your sister had dragged you along to some of his movies, and you enjoyed his music, but the posters on your wall growing up had been of David Ruffin and Stevie Wonder. Although you were a little embarrassed to admit it, your latest celebrity crush was Jackie Jackson, who was honestly much more age appropriate for you than Elvis. But George had pleaded with you to just meet Elvis and see how it went.

“I really think you’ll hit it off,” George was saying as he jumped out of the car and came around to open your door. “Just be yourself. Elvis is usually very warm and friendly, nothing to be scared about.” You just nodded wordlessly as you stepped out of the car and smoothed down your pale pink eyelet sundress.

George led the way through the back door into what appeared to be a very gaudy den area where a handful of people were sitting around, talking and laughing. Every surface seemed to be covered with green carpeting, and the furniture was all elaborately carved. Your heart skipped a beat when you spotted Elvis sitting in a high-backed chair. As you locked eyes with him, you could feel a magnetic attraction that seemed to pull all of the reservations right out of you. He rose from his chair and strode over to you. His face was definitely fuller than what you remembered from the movies, but the trademark crooked grin that spread across it as he approached you sent a flutter through your body that caught you completely off guard. Elvis beamed as George introduced the two of you.

“Nice ta meet ya honey,” he drawled as he pulled you into a big hug, the swell of his belly pressing into you. The affection was making you weak in the knees. Elvis smiled as he pulled back and noticed the flush spreading over your cheeks. “Ya okay, doll?” he teased. “Ya ain’t scared of me, are ya?”

“No, no, um, it’s just, uh, kind of warm in here,” you whispered, knowing full well that everyone in the room could see that your face was on fire.

Elvis just chuckled and nodded. “It is a little warm in here. But now that you’re here, we can go swimmin’. Ya brought a bathing suit, right?” You nodded and motioned to the tote bag that you were clutching. George had warned you to bring a swimsuit and change of clothes because you never knew what Elvis might suddenly be in the mood for. Elvis grabbed your free hand and pulled you down a little hallway toward the bathroom. “You can change in here, honey, then jus’ go outside that way toward the pool,” he pointed. “I’ll be waitin’ for ya out there.”

You pulled on your swimsuit and examined yourself in the bathroom mirror, certain you had worn the wrong thing. Your royal blue one-piece had a halter neck that showed off your cleavage a little bit, but the bottom had a skirt that covered your thighs. You figured that Elvis was used to being around actresses and models, and you felt insecure showing too much of yourself. Now you worried that you looked too frumpy though. Just be yourself, you repeated George’s advice in your head. If he likes you, great. If not, his loss. With one last glance in the mirror, you turned and headed for the pool.

The others were already splashing around and playing a game of keep-away with a beach ball, but Elvis was relaxing on a lounge chair, his head tilted toward the sun, still wearing the powder blue tracksuit he’d had on when you arrived. You approached his chair and cleared your throat. “Are you, um, not going in the water?” you asked, clinging shyly to the pale pink beach towel you had brought.

“I was jus’ waitin’ for you, honey,” Elvis smiled, turning your insides right back to jelly. “Y’know,” he continued as he stood to remove his tracksuit, revealing a navy blue T-shirt and swim trunks underneath, “I do have towels here sweetheart. I wouldn’t have made ya stand out in the sun ta dry off.”

“I didn’t think you would,” you laughed, trying not to let your gaze linger too long on his sturdy thighs, “but George said to come prepared, so I didn’t want to take any chances.”

“And did ya?” Elvis asked with a little smirk.

“Did I what?” you responded, confused.

“Come prepared,” Elvis smiled, his blue eyes twinkling behind his tinted glasses.

“Oh,” you giggled nervously. “I don’t think so, actually. I wasn’t really prepared to like you so much.” The awkward words tumbled out before you could stop them. Elvis tilted his head back and let out a big laugh as you blushed profusely. “I mean,” you continued on, “it’s not like I’m some groupie and you’re, y’know, a bit older than me and, I mean, oh my gosh, I’m sorry, that was so rude, I didn’t mean, it’s just that you’re so nice and funny and cute and I wasn’t expecting…” your voice trailed off as Elvis’ laughter grew louder.

“Wow, ya really had high hopes for me, huh?” he teased, trying to recover from his amusement.

At that, you started giggling a bit too. “I’m sorry, I guess I just kept digging myself in deeper and deeper.”

“That’s okay, honey, it’s nice ta know I can still take people by surprise,” he joked with a wink. “Now let’s cool off. I can’t tell if that’s a blush or a sunburn covering you.” Elvis grabbed your hand and led you down into the water. As you passed through the game everyone was playing, Elvis suddenly dove for the ball. He came up sputtering and laughing, tossing the ball to you to keep the game going. As one of the other guys, whose name you couldn’t recall from George’s introductions earlier, lunged toward you to get it back, Elvis quickly grabbed it and tossed it to the other end of the pool. “Y’all stay down there with that,” he snapped as he shot the guy a glare for daring to get close to you, seemingly forgetting his own role in joining the game. He pulled you over to the side of the pool and smiled again. “Tell me more about yourself, honey.”

As you chatted with Elvis about your recent graduation from UT Memphis and what you were thinking of doing next, you couldn’t help but notice how his T-shirt, now soaking wet, clung to him like a second skin. You could see very clearly the bumps of his nipples and the raised pattern where a trail of hair led down from his chest to his stomach and beyond. It was like a very sexy topographical map. It was taking everything in you not to reach out and touch him.

“Honey, wh-wh-what do ya keep lookin’ down at?” Elvis asked with a frown. “Do I got somethin’ on myself?”

“No, I’m sorry, it’s nothing like that,” you blushed, caught red-handed checking him out.

“W-w-well what is it? T-t-tell me what you’re thinkin’ ‘bout.” Elvis sounded almost nervous, and for the first time you realized he might have insecurities too. You’d been so focused on your own nerves that you hadn’t even questioned why he would wear a shirt in the pool in the first place.

You leaned in closer, your breasts brushing up against his chest as you whispered nervously, “It’s just that I think you’re so sexy. It’s hard for me to stop looking at your body.” You pulled back in time to see Elvis’ eyes widen and his face turn a brilliant shade of red.

“I feel the same way about you, honey,” he murmured as he leaned in and softly pressed his lips against yours, apparently unconcerned about anyone else witnessing this display of affection. A little shiver ran through your body, and you could feel your nipples harden against his soft chest. Elvis pulled back, a blissful smile spread across his face. “Ya cold, baby? Ya wanna go inside with me?” You nodded, feeling a compulsive urge to follow him absolutely anywhere. “We’re gonna go in and have a little tour,” Elvis announced to his friends as the two of you got out and dried off. “Y’all can stay out here.” You slipped your hand into Elvis’ as you headed back inside. “Where ya goin’, baby?” Elvis asked as you walked back toward the bathroom.

“I was just going to change back into my clothes,” you responded, a little confused.

“Bring ‘em upstairs, honey, you can change in my bathroom. It’s a lot more spacious, and then we can keep gettin’ ta know each other.” You grabbed your bag of clothes and followed him, wondering just how well you’d get to know each other. As soon as you entered the dark, cool bedroom, you could feel the nerves set in. As if completely attuned to your emotions, Elvis squeezed your hand reassuringly. “Honey, we ain’t gonna do anything you don’t wanna do. I-I-I really like ya and jus’ wanna keep talkin’, okay?” You smiled and nodded. “Look, you can go right in the bathroom and change. I’ll be out here.”

“Thanks, Elvis. I really like you too,” you whispered, feeling suddenly very shy again now that the two of you were alone together. You slipped into the bathroom and closed the door behind you. As you reached back to untie the halter neck of your suit, you realized that in your nervous state while putting it on, you had knotted it way too tightly. The water had tightened the knot even more, and now it was completely stuck. “Shoot,” you muttered as you kept picking at the knot. There was a soft rap at the door.

“Honey, ya okay?” Elvis called out.

“Yes, I’m almost done!” you lied, starting to feel panicked. You were too embarrassed to ask him for help getting undressed. Out of sheer determination, you finally loosened the knot and untied it. Right as you rolled your still-damp swimsuit all the way down your body and stepped out of it, there was another soft knock. Before you could answer, Elvis opened the door gingerly.

“Honey, are you sure you’re okay?” he started to ask before his voice trailed off to nothing, his jaw dropped a little bit at the sight of you standing there completely naked.

“Elvis!” you shrieked, trying to cover yourself with your hands. “Don’t look! I’m naked!”

“Well I can see that honey,” Elvis couldn’t help teasing. “What’d ya say before? Somethin’ about bein’ so sexy it’s hard not to look?”

“Elvis, it’s not funny! I’m embarrassed,” you whimpered, still trying to cover your top half with one hand and your bottom half with the other.

“Honey, you ain’t got a thing to be embarrassed about. You were hidin’ all that under that swimsuit? Goddamn,” he let out a low whistle as he gently moved your hands out of the way and pulled you in close to him, looking you up and down. He let one of his hands trace slowly down your side, over the curve of your hip, while the other reached around and gave your butt a squeeze.

“Elvis, I-” you started to protest but the words didn’t seem to want to come out after all.

“I’m sorry, honey, I didn’t mean ta embarrass ya. I really thought ya were changed already. Do ya want me ta stop?” he whispered into your ear, the warmth of his breath tickling you.

“Don’t stop, Elvis,” you whispered as you leaned up and kissed him passionately, your tongues dancing together.

“Mmm,” Elvis moaned as he walked you back toward the counter and hoisted you on top of it. “I won’t stop until ya say so.”

“Wait, Elvis, before you do anything, can you, um, let me see you?” you whispered.

Elvis blushed and shrugged. “I guess fair is fair,” he said as he pulled off the dry shirt he had changed into. You could feel yourself growing slick at the sight of his broad hairy chest and soft belly.

“What about those?” you asked, nodding toward his pants.

“Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves, baby,” Elvis teased. “You jus’ relax and let me make ya feel good.” He spread your legs apart and groaned at the sight of your arousal. He slipped two of his fingers through your folds and slid them inside of you.

“Oh, god,” you moaned as you reached out and ran your hands over his chest, down his stomach, and gently palmed what was growing hard inside his pants. Elvis let his tongue travel down your neck and over your chest as he continued pumping his fingers, crooking them just right to hit a spot that drove you wild. You explored his body as much as you could with your hands, and when you pulled him in for another deep kiss, you noticed he was panting just as much as you were. The simultaneous action of his hands and tongue finally took you right over the edge, your moans filling the room.

“I’m sorry, I usually don’t move so quickly with anyone,” you whispered as you came down from your state of euphoria, wondering what he must think of you.

“Neither do I,” he grinned. “But I can tell you’re somethin’ special that deserves to be taken care of.”

“Can I, um, take care of you?” you asked, looking down at where you had felt his chubby length through his pants.

Elvis grinned that sweet crooked grin again. “We should probably save somethin’ for next time, huh?” You smiled back, but you had noticed that there was a suspicious wet spot on his pants, and the noises he’d been making started to make a lot of sense. “Here honey, jus’ put this on and come lay by me,” Elvis said, handing you a silky robe from a hook by the door. “I jus’ wanna hold ya.”

Tag List (let me know if you want to be added or removed): @whositmcwhatsit @missmaywemeetagain @lookingforrainbows @thatbanditqueen @be-my-ally @ellie-24 @from-memphis-with-love @arrolyn1114

[riality-check]

a continuation of this post. tw substance abuse. next part here. part 4 here. part 5 here. part 6 here. part 7 here.

ao3

The only person to whom Eddie breaks his promises is himself.

If he says he'll help someone, he'll help them. If he says he'll call someone, he'll call them. If he says he'll be there, he'll be there.

If he tells himself he won't be stupid on tour, he’ll try cocaine for the first time right after the second show.

He's always been like that. Always found it easy to lie and cheat and bend when it comes to himself. It's easier still when it's his self control, ever-fragile. And it's not like this is his first time with anything. He's been drinking beer to help him fall asleep since he was sixteen.

But the tour and the coke and the people and all the other stuff they have make it so easy to get so much worse.

He tells himself he keeps it together for work. He always gets back on the bus (Archie carries him) and gets up on time (Jeff wakes him up) and keeps it together onstage (Gareth yells at him because he comes in late for one song, every show).

He tells himself that so long as he's fine onstage, he can do whatever offstage. He tells himself that so long as he keeps only taking the dexies and the coke and other uppers, that it's not a problem. He tells himself that so long as he avoids the downers - except for alcohol because refusing drinks is a dick move - that he's not his parents.

Coke isn't a problem. Heroin is.

Eddie thinks back to track marks and sores and unseeing eyes every time someone offers him heroin. It's enough to keep him from taking it.

It's not a problem that he usually stays up for two days before he crashes. It's not a problem that most times, someone has to wake him up a half hour before soundcheck. It's not a problem that he needs a bump before he goes out onstage, and even then, he'll still crash right after the show.

It feels good. Being up all the time, talking and playing and moving, always moving, feels good. It’s what he’s supposed to do, isn’t it? This is what rock stars do. He’s doing it right. He’s doing everything right.

It's not a problem. He's fine.

Until he gets backstage when they finish up in Indianapolis and Wayne is there in the green room, sitting on the couch that Eddie wants nothing more than to flop onto and pass out.

He doesn't, though. He walks over, grips the armrest with both of his shaking hands, and leans forward to take some of the weight off his feet.

God, he's tired.

"Wayne!" he grins. "How are you? Did you like the show? I wish I knew you were coming, I would've got you a good seat. Did you-"

As he talks, he watches as Wayne's face falls from a smile to something neutral to something angry.

And when he finally shuts up, Wayne says, "You're a mess."

"Excuse me?"

"Eddie, you're a mess," Wayne says. "I don't think you can stand right now without holding onto the couch."

Eddie wants to prove him wrong, but he doesn't think he'll be able to.

"So what?" he says instead.

"So what?" Wayne repeats. "What are you taking?"

"Nothing that'll kill me."

"Everything can kill you, boy, even sugar. What are you on?"

Eddie sniffs, wiping his nose on the back of his hand.

"Coke, then," Wayne says, like it’s obvious, like it’s something nasty.

"What do you care?" Eddie says. He starts pacing, hands flying wildly. If he keeps moving, he doesn't seem unsteady, right? "I'm happy. I'm living my dream. I'm doing what I love. Who cares if I'm having a little fun while I'm doing it?"

"This ain’t fun."

"Yes, it is."

Wayne sighs. "You're gonna hurt yourself or someone else if you don't stop. What if you were driving, and-"

"I have people who do that for me," Eddie says, finally feeling like he's starting to win.

"Do you let them?"

Eddie stops moving, almost toppling over when he does so. "What?"

"Do you let them drive you?" Wayne asks. "Because I don't think you do. You've never let anyone do anything for you when you could do it yourself, and I don't think that's changed."

Eddie bites the inside of his cheek to stay quiet.

"I think you're scared. I think this all happened too fast, and you're scared because you don't think you deserve it. So you're trying to make that true."

"That's bullshit."

"If you keep it up," Wayne says slowly, like he's talking to a child, "this is gonna kill you, and it is gonna be ugly."

"I'll have a closed casket funeral," Eddie snaps.

"You won't be around to have any say!" Wayne barks.

Eddie jumps back. Wayne has never raised his voice at him, not even when Eddie was a total brat of a teenager.

"It's rehab," he continues softly. "When this tour ends."

"Or what?"

"There is no or," Wayne says. "I buried my mama, your mama, two of my cousins, and my uncle because of this. I'm not losing you to the same stupidity."

Eddie takes a breath.

"I know you're grown, but I'm not losing you," Wayne says, standing up and wrapping him in a hug.

Eddie clings to him. He has about fifty different protests on the tip of his tongue about how he's a grown adult, how he's fine, how Wayne has no right to tell him what to do.

They all lose credibility as he stands, holding on to his uncle and sobbing like he's nine years old again.

He goes to rehab the morning after the last show. He gets clean, quits everything except the cigarettes because Eddie needs to break every promise to himself, just a little, if he wants them to stick a lot.

[traveler-at-heart]

Finding Home

Summary: This is a series imagining what it was life for Natasha after joining S.H.I.E.L.D. - First few chapters feature a platonic relationship but maybe it will develop. Who knows! Let's enjoy the ride :)

Warnings: Mentions of trauma, past violence.

Part 1

“You can’t be serious”

“I am always serious, Barton”

Clint pinched the bridge of his nose. He didn’t know what else to do, how to make this situation any better. Take down an enemy, that’s easy. You just shoot an arrow.

This required more than an arrow.

“She helped us kill Dreykov. What more proof do you want, Fury?”

“I want training. And regular sessions with a S.H.I.E.L.D. shrink. And constant surveillance”

“So I’m a babysitter now?” Clint looked out the window.

“You made a decision, Barton, and now it’s time to stick by it” Fury said in a tone that made it clear the conversation was over.

“Yeah, but I was expecting a little more help from your side” the man grumbled. They both stared out the window.

“I already did. Secretary Ross wanted to prosecute you”

—

Clint left Fury’s office, aware that Natasha was following him. He was used to it by now. Without speaking to her, he walked to one of the tables in the cafeteria, resting his head on his hands.

The redhead stood by the wall, looking around as if she was ready to escape.

Maybe she would, and then he’d be so screwed not even Fury could help him.

“What’s wrong?” he heard a voice say. Clint lifted his head and saw you, smiling at him.

“I have a headache”

“And a shadow” you nodded to Natasha. As one of Fury’s apprentices, you’d heard about her already. The young woman before you was stunning in a way that was hard to ignore.

Her green eyes examined you as you leaned forward, offering your hand to introduce yourself. She kept staring and Clint chuckled.

“Scary” you said, not taking offense in her guarded demeanor. “So, what now?”

“I don’t know. I need to clear my head” the man stood up. “Wanna come to the gym with us?”

“After you”

—

Natasha was beautiful, yes. But now you understood the Black Widow monicker completely.

In a matter of minutes, she left Clint completely defeated.

Good thing she was on your side, right?

“Agent Y/L/N” Fury walked up to you as you left the gym, still thinking about Natasha’s incredible technique.

“Sir?”

“What do you make of Romanoff?”

“Well… she’s... I don’t think I have the words. She doesn’t need training, that’s for sure. In fact, she should be training our people”

“I need to know if I can trust her first. The way I trust you, and Barton, and Hills”

You crossed your arms, because Fury already knew what the plan was gonna be. And all you could do was listen and accept it.

“The secret Penthouse. I already told Maria to give you access and everything you need. Natasha stays there with you. Earn her trust”

“I can’t lie to her, Fury, and neither can you. A golden prison is still a prison” he rolled his eyes and you tried to hide your smile. It was always fun to annoy Fury with your morals.

“This is what I imagine it would be like to work with Captain America. And it ain’t fun, Y/L/N”

“I’m not saying I won’t help”

“But you’ll do it your way. Fine. No one listens to me anymore”

“Maybe you’re going soft”

—

Fury requested daily reports, which was to be expected. Except you only saw Natasha once and she barely spoke to you.

You cooked all three meals, trying to guess what she’d liked, knocked on her door to let her know it was time to eat, and then she’d wait for you to finish to come out.

Same with training. She hit the gym at break of dawn. You only saw her whenever you drove her to Doctor Taylor’s office, who was assigned to her case and then later, before dinner when she’d answer your questions about her work as a Black Widow and gave you all the information she could remember about Dreykov’s operations.

A week after moving to the penthouse, Fury and Maria showed up.

“We’re just checking”

“I sent you everything she’s told me. She’s being cooperative”

“That’s not enough” Fury said. Natasha came out of her room in that moment and you looked over your shoulder. “Let’s see what you’re made of”

“I already told you she doesn’t need training”

“Of course. I meant you, Agent” he pointed at you. “You said Romanoff should be training us. I know she can kick Barton’s ass. What about yours?”

Natasha did. You were thrown around in ten different ways, always discovering a new weak spot that you’d never thought about before.

S.H.I.E.L.D.'s young promise, panting and sweating on the gym’s floor. Begging for your life.

The last time Natasha knocked you down, you stayed there. You couldn’t take another round.

“Train together. Every day” Fury requested and you nodded.

To your surprise, Natasha offered her hand to help you up.

You smiled and took it. Fury was gone before you could say anything to him.

“Make sure you ice that punch” Maria pointed at your split lip and you sighed.

“Thanks, Hill”

As the warm water of the shower soothed your muscles, you kept going back to Natasha’s flawless movements. Of course you had read her file. The Red Room training included all kinds of physical demands and oddly enough, ballet.

To reach that level of perfection and control, Natasha must have worked out endlessly, without rest, without room for error.

Without a life. Or a childhood.

Knowing you’d be sore the next day, you took painkillers and went to the kitchen to start with dinner.

To your surprise, Natasha was already there.

“I’m sorry” she said as soon as your eyes locked. Before you could ask, the redhead clarified. “I didn’t mean to hurt you”

“Oh. It’s not your fault that I’m out of shape”

“You’re not… I’m just…”

“Better” you said, laughing. There was the glimpse of a smile on her lips.

“I can help with dinner if you want to. That pasta you made the other day was good. You’ll just have to tell me how to prepare some stuff”

“Sure. We’ll make it together” you offered, standing behind the kitchen counter. “Just don’t tell my mom I gave you the secret ingredients for the sauce. I’m supposed to share it only with the girl I marry”

When you were met with silence, you thought your attempt at a joke had gone unnoticed. Instead, you found Natasha looking at the knife you were offering so she could chop the tomatoes.

“Are you sure you want to give me a weapon?”

“What? You’re gonna chop these with your ninja moves? Come on, Nat. If you wanted me dead, you could do it with a pencil. That much is clear”

“Ok” Natasha nodded, taking it and following your instructions. You cooked in silence, until she spoke again. “No one’s ever called me Nat before”

“Sorry. Is that ok?”

“I think so”

“Alright” you nodded, smiling at her.

—

For a week, Natasha put her entire focus on your training and a new, pleasant routine developed.

Training, prepping meals, doctor Taylor, more training, dinner. Small talk here and there. Natasha never asked you personal questions, but you volunteered information about your family.

Clint stopped by and you could tell that Natasha trusted him more than anyone, including you. It was only logical, considering he was the one who put his ass on the line for her.

Maybe things would move along if he was the one here, instead of you. But Fury trusted you with this, and you had to follow his lead.

He always had a reason for eveything.

—

The autumn rain hit the penthouse windows. Natasha looked out, her head resting against her knees.

“Here” you offered a cup of hot cocoa. It was a lazy day, and you’d rather spend it making cookies than getting your ass kicked.

Sitting next to Natasha, she looked over at you as you took a sip of your own cup.

“What?” you asked when she smiled.

“You have whipped cream on your nose”

“Oh, you think that’s funny? Here” you leaned forward, getting some cream on her cheek.

“сука” she said playfully.

“I love it, let��s learn Russian curse words instead. That will please Fury”

“So, we don’t have to train today?” Natasha asked in a small voice. It almost sounded like… a child, asking if she could skip school.

“No, never if you don’t feel like it. Ok?”

“Ok” she nodded, looking out the window.

But your eyes, they remained on her. Hoping, wishing, you could help Natasha build a life worth living. Part 2

[allzelemonz]

Boys’ Night: The Van der Linde Boys X Male Reader

Dutch Van der Linde, Arthur Morgan, Charles Smith, Bill Williamson, Micah Bell, Sean MacGuire, Kieran Duffy, Javier Esquella

Fictober Prompt: Day 31, Orgy Pronouns: None Mentioned Physical Sex: AMAB Rating: E/Smut Warnings: Orgy, threesomes, kissing, anal fingering, anal sex, oral sex, blow jobs, rough sex, voyeurism, exhibitionism, Sean’s drunken mind, marking, viagra-esc tonics, almost everyone is passed around to everyone else, Reader takes both top and bottom roles Summary: Sean has an idea that leads most of the boys in the gang to a damn fun time.

Sean, in his mildly drunken wisdom, decided that a boys’ night needs more than just poker, five finger filet, and songs. With most of the older folks and women out of camp for a special con, Sean knows his only hindrance might be Dutch. So he enlists the best sycophant he’s ever met.

“Can’t tell me it won’t be fun.” Sean grins. “All a’ us-“

“I ain’t gonna be a part a’ some invert orgy.” Micah mutters.

Sean leans closer. “Oh, really? Even if a certain cowpoke’s involved?”

Micah glares up at Sean from his seat by the scout fire, then follows the Irishman’s eyes to the filet table. There you stand, arms crossed as you watch Morgan and Marston play. And Micah might be able to turn it down, let his senses say no again, but then Dutch leans a little closer and whispers something in your ear. Micah’s head swims with lewd images of the two men he finds himself pining for in his alone time despite his best efforts.

“Fine.” He snaps, holstering his gun and glaring at Sean. “But ain’t no one ta know ‘bout this, understand that?”

Sean grins with a little chuckle. “Ya mean ‘side from the boys fuckin’ ya?”

Micah’s fists clench at his sides, but he stops himself from punching Sean. He’s in too deep at this point, half hard in his pants and more frustrated than he’s ever been. “Shut yer damn mouth, cowboy, ‘for I decide ta leave ya with blue balls.”

Sean puts his hands up, giggling to himself. “Got it, big man.”

Micah stomps off and Sean watches him carefully. The blond makes his way over to Dutch, coaxing him away from the table and back to the fire. This might be easier than he thought.

Dutch is skeptical at first, concerned about how the gang might take such a proposition. But with Micah’s easy words, Sean watches the gang leader become so much more comfortable with the idea of the gang doing this for bonding and morale.

And the word spreads fast.

Folks are a little nervous at first, shuffling and unsure. Plenty of pining goes around camp on the average day, but being given the green light is a little daunting. So, Dutch being Dutch, he makes the first move. Shedding the hat from the blond’s head, Dutch pulls Micah into a kiss by the collar of his shirt. Most of the gang watches as he walks Micah back into the filet table and lets his hands wander. Sean gets the next burst of confidence, practically lunging to kiss Lenny. John bursts out laughing when they fall onto the ground together, but he’s silenced quickly by Javier. Then Bill sheepishly cups Kieran’s face before the former O’Driscoll puts his arms over Bill’s shoulders and kisses him as if he’s been waiting to for years. It’s only yourself, Charles, and Arthur left standing in the midst of the mess, looking around at the others of the gang in various states of intimacy and undress.

Arthur clears his throat, the red of his face only getting worse as he glances around. “Well… suppose…”

You look over at him, those pretty eyes staring back at you. “You…uh, you wanna…?”

There’s a weight on your shoulder and you turn to see Charles, his other hand held out towards Arthur. The workhorse dips his head, his hat hiding his face as he steps forward and takes Charles’s hand.

“We could go somewhere a little private.” Charles suggests, nodding towards Arthur’s tent.

The thought is comforting, making your pounding heart calm a bit. Most others have simply started at their partners where they happened to fall. Only Bill and Kieran have moved behind the chuck wagon. Sean nearly has Lenny out of his pants on the ground, Javier is shamelessly grinding into John against the tree, Dutch has Micah surprisingly whimpering at the attention he gets, Charles simply leads you and a bashful Arthur away from the others.

Arthur sits on his cot, rubbing a hand down his face as he takes a breath. You don’t blame him given the circumstances.

“We don’t have to.” Charles says, sitting next to him with a kind hand on his shoulder. “Just because Dutch said it would be a good idea, doesn’t make it true.”

Arthur shakes his head. “No… I been…” He sighs. “Been wantin’ somethin; fer a while.” His hand reaches up to hold Charles’s on his shoulder, his eyes finding yours as they scrunch from a smile. “Guess I got a dirty mind.”

You chuckle lightly at the joke, happily taking Charles’s hand again as he pulls you into his lap. Charles kisses you softly, one of his hands on your waist. You gasp, pulling back slightly, when he starts to rut against you with a half-hard dick. Arthur has moved behind Charles, kissing at his neck while his hands lift up his shirt. Charles’s chest is broad and built, firm to the touch when you rest your hands on him. You watch Arthur’s hand move, twisting into your shirt to pull you forward. You’re pressed flush against Charles as Arthur kisses you over the other man’s shoulder. It’s Charles’s turn to give neck kisses now, his hands firmly holding your hips so you grind down into him.

“I want ya.” Arthur mutters against your lips. “Ya wanna fuck me, partner?”

You nod, kissing him again.

“What do you want from me?” Charles asks, his hand tilting Arthurs head so they can look at each other over his shoulder.

Arthur’s breath hitches as he looks at the man. “I… I wanna suck ya off, Charles.”

Charles smiles and that in itself is a slight. “Of course you do.”

The three of you move, hands guiding and wandering as clothes are shed. In the distance, Sean can be heard begging and groaning, there’s some curse shouted in Spanish, and the camp echos with skin slapping skin and the slurping, popping, and smacking of spit. It’s all overwhelming and you try to focus on what’s in front of you.

Arthur’s on his back, Charles nearly sitting on his chest as his dick is sucked. You’ve already spread Arthur’s legs, the tube of gun oil feeling heavy in your hand. You open it quickly, spilling half of it before getting your fingers covered and entering Arthur. In front of you, Charles throws his head back with a deep groan as his hips begin to stutter and fuck into Arthur’s mouth. You can’t help your free hand pumping yourself as you watch, your other scissoring Arthur open. It’s premature, you know it is, but you can’t take it anymore. You should stretch him more, but your dick aches in your hand and you retract your hands to grip Arthur’s hips instead.

You press into him and hear a muffled moan as Charles shivers from the vibrations it brings. Both of you still, giving Arthur time. You watch his hand grip at Charles’s hip, pulling him forward. Charles sits up, propping himself on the box behind Arthur’s cot so he can get the proper angle to fuck down into Arthur’s mouth. You start your pace, rough and fast like Charles. Arthur’s legs shake as he wraps them around your waist, his hand squeezing at Charles’s ass. You wish you could see their faces, but you can imagine. Charles’s is likely twisted in pleasure and concentration, Arthur’s might be slobbery and tear stained.

It’s Arthur that comes first, his dick untouched as it releases a flood of cum onto his stomach, a few spurts hitting Charles’s ass. Arthur’s body goes still as he whines, being used as a set of holes by now. Charles is next and you watch the bounce of his ass lose its nice rhythm as he shoots his release down Arthur’s throat. Charles seems to bury himself deep and Arthur grips his hips as he swallows what he’s given. You double your efforts, wanting to fill Arthur from both ends. You gaze falls downwards to watch yourself fuck into Arthur’s tight hole. Charles catches you off guard, tilting your head up for a kiss as he straddles Arthur’s stomach. His hand reaches down, passing your furious thrusting to fondle at your balls as they bounce off of Arthur. The heat builds fast and you release just as Charles bites at your lip.

When you let go of Arthur’s hips, he falls back down to his cot completely. Charles continues to kiss you as you pull out, smiling into it. You can hear Arthur’s labored breaths beneath you and you’re so in your own head that you don’t register the footsteps.

“Mind if I try somethin’, fellas?”

You turn from Charles to see Micah leaning against Arthur’s shaving stand. He only has his red shirt on, half buttoned, and a smirk rests on his face. Charles’s hand has yet to leave your balls and you feel him squeezing slightly as his other turns your head back to him for another kiss, silently telling you to ignore Micah.

“Aw, come on, Smith.” Micah drawls. “Lemme have a turn.”

Charles pulls back, his lips wetted and dark from all the kissing. “A turn?”

You hear Micah take a step forward and Charles moves fast. He leaves you and you nearly fall onto Arthur, only just catching yourself before collision. You look over your shoulder to watch Charles push Micah down to bend over Arthur’s weapon’s chest. A new pool of heat starts when Charles sucks on his fingers before shoving them into Micah, eliciting a moan from the older man.

“Shit…” Arthur mutters under you.

You turn to look down at him, chuckling. “Don’t think it’s what he had in mind.”

Arthur smirks. “Yeah, I doubt it.”

His hand finds the back of your neck and pulls you down for a kiss. Micah’s whimpers and curses fill the tent and you feel yourself getting hard again. Arthur grunts against you, pressing up until he brushes his dick to yours.

“‘m gettin’ too old fer this.” He mutters, blushing at his still soft dick.

Behind you, Micah gasps and you look back to watch him bury his face in his arm as Charles enters him roughly. Charles thrusts like a beast, fucking every last pathetic noise he can out of Micah. Kind of serves him right.

“C-Charlie…” Micah gasps, his voice light and breathless. “Ah! Fuck…”

Arthur hisses, his hand wrapping around his dick and trying to get himself going again. You trail your hand down, helping him stroke himself, but to no avail. After a few seconds a bottle lands beside Arthur on the cot, a tonic bottle. You look up as Arthur cranes his neck in the same direction. Standing to the side is Bill, a timid looking Kieran right behind him. Both of them are bare besides a blanket draped over Kieran’s shoulders.

“It helps.” Bill mutters, his eyes trailing over to watch Charles and Micah for a moment. “Works fer whiskey dick at least.”

Arthur looks the other outlaw up and down strangely. “Thanks.”

Bill clears his throat. “Ya wanna trade, Morgan?”

You look down at Arthur who glances between you and Kieran. He catches your nod before looking at Bill. “Sure.”

Kieran steps forward, a sheepish grin on his face. You give Arthur a final kiss before standing. As you pass him, you chance giving Kieran a kiss and he accepts it, melting into you for the few seconds it lasts. When you pull away and turn to Bill, the large man has taken himself in his hand at the sight. Your eyes catch on that motion, swallowing thickly at the size, nearly as big as Charles. You find the sense to step closer to Bill and kiss him. Behind you, Kieran squeaks from something and Arthur mumbles an apology. Bill’s hands find your hips, pulling you against him well enough to smush your dicks together between your stomachs.

Charles practically growls behind you and you hear Micah gasp again. “How’s that for a darkie, Micah?”

There’s a thud and you imagine Charles let Micah go or maybe even threw him on the ground. A few beats later, Sean calls out to Charles with a drunken shake to his voice. Bill pulls you with him, keeping his lips busy on your neck until he turns you around to bend you over Staruss’s little table. Bill fumbles, finding a tonic on the ground and pouring it over his hand before he pushes his fingers inside. You spread your legs for him, raising your ass a bit now that you’ve lost whatever care for shame you had at the start of all of this.

“Gentlemen.” Dutch greets, settling himself against the tree behind the two of you. “Don’t mind me.”

Bill’s finger’s stall for a moment, likely nervous about fucking someone in front of his boss, but he continues after a few seconds. You try not to think about Dutch watching you, feeling that same set of performance nerves. Bill fumbles more as he moves, spreading your ass cheeks apart with one hand as he guides himself inside. Both of you groan as he enters and pushes himself in fully. Bill leans forward, pressing a kiss to your shoulder before he starts thrusting. You fix your feet steady on the ground when the table under you shakes from the combined weight. Bill’s thrusts are moderate and steady, hitting deep and brushing heavenly every time.

There’s a small groan, sounding like Kieran, that makes you shiver when you think about what Arthur is doing to him. A few more thrusts from Bill makes you grip the table tighter as your legs feel shaky. Then there’s a shout of Spanish with Charles’s name mixed in. Bill’s hands wander up your body a bit, caressing your sides as he keeps up his steady fucking. A low groan reminds you that Dutch is watching and you have half a mind to look back at him, but Bill picks up his speed and you bury your face into your arm instead. Bill’s climax pumps you full, the trickling feeling distinct as his dick already starts to push the excess out with a few final thrusts.

Only a moment after Bill has stepped back there are hands on your hips. Sean pulls you to him, falling to his knees in front of you and taking you in his mouth too fast for you to think. Your hands go to his soft hair and he relents immediately, letting you fuck his mouth without question.

“Arthur!” Kieran cries somewhere in the background.

Behind you, hands grip your hips as kisses are pressed to your neck. The tickle of a mustache tells you it’s likely Javier, but you’re too occupied with fucking Sean’s willing mouth to think further. You release for the second time, letting Sean take everything you have. In the midst of your high, Javier presses inside of you and starts fucking without inhabition. His hands on your waist hold you still, his lips beginning to suck in a mark to your neck. Sean stands, grinning at you before he runs over to Arthur and all but jumps on the older man’s dick. Javier wraps his arms around you, filling your ears with mumbled Spanish that is slurred by ecstasy.

Your eyes move around camp, finding several things to admire. Bill has Micah in his lap, stroking him with one hand and fingering him with another. John and Lenny each have each other in hand as they kiss, Charles watching them from the campfire. Dutch has Kieran on the ground, fucking him roughly as he mutters about O’Driscolls but Kieran moans all the same. Arthur stares from afar, Sean bouncing on his dick as he watches the sight of Javier finally burying himself deep and mixing his cum deep inside of you with Bill’s.

“You’re so warm, cariño.” Javier mutters in your ear before he chuckles. “Who’re you seeing next?”

“Not sure.” You take a few breaths. “Haven’t seen half of them yet.”

Javier pulls himself out, causing the mixed cum to leak out. “John’s a good hole, dirty mouth too.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

You turn in time for Javier to kiss you before he heads over to Arthur, teasing words spilling out as he climbs onto the older man’s lap to replace a spent Sean. When you turn back, Dutch is a few feet away. He beckons, gesturing to the ground and some part of wanting to please your boss makes you sink to your knees without question. Dutch guides his dick to your lips and, once again, you don’t hesitate. You only get a few bobs in before Dutch clutches at your head, beginning to use you without care.

“Shit!” Bill yells, not sounding pleased. “Wagons!”

Dutch pulls you off and you turn your head to peer through the trees. Glimpses of horses, a few colorful dresses… shit indeed. Everyone scrambles, hiding in tents, pulling clothes back on, trying to clean up cum from various surfaces. You all but fall into your tent, rummaging for at least a union suit or some kind of underwear. Pants, you find pants and pull them on.

“Dutch…” Hosea calls. “What’s gone on here?”

From your tent you can see Bill hiding behind a tree, not a thing covering him. Dutch comes out of his tent, somehow fully dressed, and greets Hosea as if he hasn’t fucked half of his men in the last hour. Miss Grimshaw looks around, sniffing with a crease in her brow for a moment. She’s distracted by Tilly asking a question and you take the opportunity to grab the union suit you know to be Bill’s on the ground in front of you before running over to him in the trees.

“Owe ya.” He mutters, pulling on the covering.

You nod, turning to leave, but Bill catches your arm and pulls you closer to kiss your cheek. You give him a smile before circling around the trees, acting like you’d gone out to piss. Passing Lenny and Sean hiding out by the lake with a single fishing pole as an excuse, you sneak as best you can to Arthur’s tent. As if expecting you, a half dressed Arthur with a bulge in his pants, hands you the clothes you’d shed earlier. You dress the rest of the way next to the munitions, eyes checking for onlookers on occasion.

The camp settles, the secret kept. Everything is well and most of the boys have elected not to bring it up, others whisper and snicker about it. It’s dark when Micah sits next to you and you look at him, finding flushed cheeks for only a moment before he kisses you. It’s surprisingly soft despite the chapped and bruised lips. He pulls back, glancing to see if anyone saw before looking back at you with a sparkle in his blue eyes.

“Didn’t get the chance, cowpoke.”

[dmwrites]

Martyn was yelling. Martyn was yelling and coming at Impulse with a desperation and fury that rooted him to the spot. It didn’t make sense, Martyn was… cheating. Scott was dead, gone in a flash of fire that Impulse couldn’t even begin to comprehend. And he was facing down a man who was all greens and yellows and reds and-

There was a slice through the air, a pain so brief it might have been imagined, and then-

“I’m so proud of you, homie buddy!”

“For goodness sake, Skizz, put on a shirt!”

Impulse tried to extract himself from Skizz’s chest, but his friend only pulled him closer.

“Let him breathe a little, Skizz, he just died, after all.” Tango’s voice floated up somewhere to the left of him, and he felt a pat on the back. “Nice work, man, second place ain’t too bad.”

Skizz let Impulse go, finally, and Impulse was instantly being congratulated by his other friends, Scott giving him a distracted smile, Pearl sticking out her tongue before hugging him tight.

“You’re a good guy, Impulse. Thanks for sticking by me.” Etho came over and clapped Impulse on the shoulder, a small smile in his voice and a twinkle in his eye. “You fought well.”

“Thanks, man.” Impulse beamed at him. “You did too. Not washed up at all.” He chuckled, and Etho grumbled good-naturedly before wandering back over to The Clockers.

Skizz was standing next to him still, almost vibrating with energy.

“You’re being ridiculous.” Impulse told Skizz. “You should be congratulating Martyn when he dies. Or Scott, for that matter- there was no way I would have won even if we’d all played fair.”

“Come, walk and talk with me, buddy.” Skizz said, floating in the direction of the TIES tower.

They passed by the small group around Grian, who were watching Martyn below, still alive and on the ground. He caught a bit of conversation as they passed.

“We should probably slash-kill, G. Game’s over.”

“No, let’s leave him for a moment.” Grian mumbled, watching Martyn with a troubled look on his face.

The tower was empty, and Skizz and Impulse perched on the edge of Skynet, watching the other dead players float around.

“Dude, I said it once, but I’ll say it again- I am so proud of you. You’re like a warrior, man!” Skizz crowed.

“But I didn’t win!” Impulse exclaimed, although he couldn’t help but smile at Skizz’s enthusiasm.

“What- are you kidding me, dude! I told you- all of you before I died- team TIES gets top three, and you got to second place!”

“Well, second is a poor replacement for first…” Impulse grumbled.

“You know what, dude?” Skizz said, snapping his fingers, “I never did get to your affirmation, did I?”

“No, but I’m not, like, offended.” Impulse replied.

Skizz cleared his throat. “Impulsesv, my bestest friend-”

“You don’t have to do this, I’ll be okay without my affirmation.” Impulse interrupted.

“Shut your face and let me say nice things!” Skizz waved his hand dramatically at Impulse to make him shut up. “Impulse, my friend. You know, when I was doing these affirmations, I had to study people, even the ones I knew before. But you… it was easy to come up with the words. Perseverance. Focus. God, man, look at what you did. You wanted to win, and the way you hunted, killed… it was incredible. You never stopped, and I could tell how badly you wanted to win. You put your mind to it and you just go, man. If death herself hasn’t stopped you, I’m sure you would have walked right through Martyn’s axe to get the win.”

Impulse laughed. “I think you’ve been hanging out in the afterlife for too long, man, you are making less sense with every sentence.”

“I’m just proud of you, man.” Skizz smiled.

“Careful, Skizz,” Impulse teased, “people are gonna start thinking you’re some kind of angel or something, with how nice you’re being.”

“Ha! Whatever, dude.”

Skizz and Impulse started trying to elbow each other off of Skynet, laughing and waiting for Martyn’s life to end. The sun was setting, and there was that bittersweet taste of second place that settled heavy on Impulse’s tongue. Not good, not bad, but at the end of the day, there were always people who loved him, so it didn’t really matter.

[xxsabitoxx]

Being Sanemi’s Tsugoku

Other pillar versions (coming soon?)

A/N: it’s been a hot mother fucking minute since I’ve posted Sanemi. With Demon Slayer Sundays just a week away it’s only right that I return to my roots of posting some demon slayer content

Pink text is You — Green text is Sanemi

(Cosmo and Wanda think they slick—)

You couldn’t lie, you were initially petrified when Kagaya appointed you as Sanemi’s tsugoku

It was typical for the Hashira themselves to pick someone, usually someone they knew and trusted. Someone they could put their full faith in to fulfill their duties if it just so happen the current pillar was to lose the fight

That wasn’t the case for you. Kagaya himself appointed you for your outstanding performance and understanding of wind breathing

Needless to say, Sanemi wasn’t thrilled

“Just keep your mouth shut and maybe I won’t kill you.”

You could feel your brow twitch, you didn’t let anyone talk to you in such a tone. Wind pillar or not, you’d sooner die than be walked all over.

“Watch your tone and maybe I won’t beat your ass.”

Thus began Sanemi’s never ending torture. Torture he had to tolerate solely because Kagaya appointed you.

Hell it was likely a test at this point, put some sort of humanity in him so he wouldn’t get himself killed.

Sanemi’s training was nothing short of su!cidal, honestly by the end of the first day you were convinced he was trying to k!ll you

It consisted of training from sunrise until sunset followed by accompanying him on his patrolling. It would be a full twenty four hours until you saw your bed again.

“No wonder you look so psychotic, you don’t fucking sleep.”

He, of course, didn’t answer you. It seems he had taken his own advice to heart and decided keeping his mouth shut would save him the headache.

This intense regimen would continue for a full month, only half a day break in between so you could get some sleep.

You’d quickly learn his goal was to break you. Get you to leave the corps with your head hung low.

“Ya know, it’s kinda odd you’re so determined to get me to leave. It’s almost as if you care about me.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. The corps is no place for weaklings, nothing more than demon bait at this point.”

“Ain’t that what you’d want then? People to lure the demons to you. Makes it easier than hunting them, pretending to be the prey I mean.”

Sanemi ended that conversation with a simple glare, something in his eyes that you’d never seen before. For once you let him drop it, not willing to uncover the man’s traumas against his will.

Sanemi’s behavior towards you mellowed slightly after three months of you being his tsugoku. You simply weren’t going anywhere any time soon so he didn’t think the hard ass attitude was quite necessary.

That’s not to say he started taking it easy on you… not by a long shot actually. If anything his schedule for you only got more intense. But it was different.

You could tell he was training you with the intent of keeping you alive, not scaring you out of the corps.

“I think we’ll be friends soon.” You laughed softly as you ate your lunch, sanemi was sitting a few feet away under the shade of a tree. “I don’t make friends.” It was gruff, food getting shoved into his mouth a moment later. “Okay tough guy, you’ll realize soon enough.” All you got was a nose scrunch in return.

The thing is, you were right. Sanemi should have known it would be impossible, even for him, to spend nearly every waking moment with someone and not enjoy their presence.

Around the six month mark of being his tsugoku, you found it easier to hold a conversation with him. Especially since he’d actually entertain it. Hell you’d even crack jokes with one another. It was safe to say he tolerated you now.

And not out of obligation

“I want you to leave the corps. I’m telling Master that you aren’t up to my satisfaction.” You froze, head whipping around to see if he was joking. The look on his face told you he wasn’t. “Aren’t we past this bull shit, Shinazugawa?”

Truth was, he’d gotten attached to you in some odd way. It fucking terrified him.

“You’ll do as I say, as your overseer. You have to obey my wishes.” You couldn’t quite understand why his attitude had switched, as if six months of work had suddenly never happened. “Bull shit. What the fuck happened?” He only shook his head, not able to maintain eye contact. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

It wasn’t long before it turned into a full blow yelling match.

“I’ll tell Master you’re full of shit. Chances are he’ll fucking believe me, Shinazugawa.” For the first time, he was losing a battle in more ways than one. “Oh fuck off.” Was all he could muster, brain moving a mile a minute as he tried to figure out a better way to reason with you.

What had you done to him? He wanted to reason with you? That thought terrified him even worse.

In the end, all of his logic flew out the window as he uttered the very words he didn’t want to say out loud. Not because he didn’t mean them, but because he didn’t want to make things worse. He was already struggling with these new emotions, never mind making them known to you.

“I care about you a little too much to let you throw your life away in this hellish profession.”

That got you to freeze, eyes wide as you tried to gauge what exactly he meant by that statement. Silence hung between the two of you, you weren’t sure how long you both stood there in the back yard of his estate. But by the time you had gotten the courage to even make a noise, he was turning his back to you.

“Woah hold the fuck on! Don’t run away from me after saying something like that? Hell, Shinazugawa you never run from anything never mind me!”

For a moment he really wished some divine force would come down and kill him on the spot.

Yet, he steadied himself, realizing that you were right. He’d never run away from a fight, never mind being a coward with his own feelings. So he stopped, turning around to stop you in your tracks.

“I fucking care about you, what’s there to not understand?”

“That’s not where I’m confused you moron.”

He knew what you were implying, he knew what you wanted to hear and yet he found himself struggling. Being a Hashira gave him no right to admit he had feelings for you. It would only be cruel to you, especially since you were to be his successor.

“Shina—no—Sanemi. Explain yourself.”

That was his breaking point, eyes shutting as he exhaled slowly. Hearing his first name fall from your lips, this wasn’t exactly the situation he wanted to hear it for the first time. Yet it was enough to give him courage.

“I care about you, more than a friend, more than a tsugoku. There, happy?”

The shit eating grin that crept up your face was more than enough to show him that you were.

“See… I was right. I told you we’d become friends.”

“I just said I liked you more than a friend.”

“Fair enough, I guess it’s safe to say I underestimated you, master.”

“I’m still making you leave the corps.”

“Maybe if you offer me your hand in marriage I’ll consider it.”

He was starting to question why he even grew to like you in the first place. Though, the smile on your face had him mentally reminding himself to thank Kagaya for giving you to him.

[turtle-babe83]

HIIII! I LOVE YOUR WORK. I have been following u from quite some time now and I wanted to ask if u could do a

89. Mating season 142. “Bite me.”

123. “Don’t hold back.” 58. Turtle bedroom

5. “MINE.”

And perhaps add a breeding kink and it's quite rough 😏😏 All this with the big red pleaseeeee .

I am absolutely all for this!!! I don’t think I’ve done an official mating fic for Raph yet so I’m looking forward to it! Thanks for your patience love!

Make Me Yours

Raph x F!Reader

Warning: Language and NSFW content 18+ only

You didn't know how bad you wanted this until he sheepishly brought it up. While he rubbed the back of his neck, uncomfortably explaining his biological urges, your mind drifted to hot, sweaty bodies thrusting together again and again, as he pumped you full of his seed and marked your body as his. Raphael had been waving his hand in front of your face for a long minute before you snapped out of it.

“Huh?”

“I said, ya don’t have ta do anything. Just stay away from da lair fer about a week or so,” he mumbled. “I ain’t gonna push ya fer any-“

You cut him off when you grabbed his bandana tails and pulled him down, crushing your lips to his. His arms wrapped around you tightly and you found yourself pressed against the nearest wall as he devoured your mouth.

“Don’t…fuckin’…tempt me…woman,” he bit out between kisses.

“Who’s…tempting?” you moaned, “I’m telling you…ah, fuck…”

Raphael realized that he had absolutely no self control at this point and you were making it too easy to give in. With a tortured groan, he lifted you into his arms and made a fast break for his bedroom. Once through the door, he slammed it shut with his heel and reached back blindly to fumble with the lock. For your part, you were kissing his throat and nipping at his chin with the cutest little sounds he’d ever heard from you.

“Devil woman,” he growled, “like a damn cat in heat!”

You threw your head back and laughed, “Exactly which one of us is in heat, turtle?”

His mouth snapped shut and he dumped you unceremoniously onto the bed as you giggled outrageously. The sexy smirk on his lips was enough to wet your panties. By the way his nostrils were flaring, chest heaving, you knew he was getting himself primed for what was to come. Devoid of his gear, it didn’t take much for him to get naked. You gazed openly in blatant lust at every curve of muscle on his delectable body. It still amazed you sometimes that this great green god was all yours. A wave of possessiveness swept over you and tonight was no longer just about incredible nonstop sex. It was about claiming and being claimed.

Sprawled across his bed, you sat up onto your knees and yanked your top over your head. At his darkened gaze, you lowered your voice to its sultriest tone and gave him an order.

“Raphael, don’t hold back,” you purred, “make me yours completely.”

A deep churr bellowed from his chest and that was all the warning you got before he shredded the rest of your clothing. His big beefy hands and engulfing mouth were everywhere, stoking the fire beneath your skin. The most ungodly moans and whimpers left your mouth as he licked a path from your neck to your tits, where he spent some time sucking and nuzzling, then down to your mound, plump with arousal. Pressing his snout to your slit, he breathed in deeply, and another rumbling churr vibrated his chest.

“Yer all I’m gonna eat fer the next week,” he promised. “Ya ain’t leaving this bed unless I decide ta fuck ya somewhere else.”

Your breath rushed out in a whoosh as he lapped a fat stripe up your slit. He held your gaze as he slipped his hands under your ass cheeks to hold you in place while he feasted. You were panting and squirming in seconds, his legendary tongue making quick work of drawing you close to the edge. His head shook back and forth and you couldn’t take your eyes off of him as indulged himself in your tender folds. Your hips rolled uncontrollably, caught between pushing closer and pulling away. He drew two orgasms from you back to back and your clit was starting to feel raw from the constant lapping.

“Raph, I-I can’t,” you whimpered, trying to push his head away.

You nearly blushed at the loud slurp you heard from between your thighs.

“Ya ready for my cock?” he growled, eyes flicking up and over your mound to narrow at you. His face shone from snout to chin in your creamy juices. Your walls clenched involuntarily at the sight. You nodded but he just shook his head.

“Words, baby, use yer words. Tell me what ya want from ol’ Raph,” he smirked.

“Fuck me!” you burst out.

He lifted a brow ridge. You huffed. So this was how he wanted to play it? Fine.

“Raphael, love of my life, king of my heart,” you purred, enjoying the way his eyes softened. “I want you to stuff me full of that big fat cock. I want you to fuck me until I can’t move my legs. I need you to make me your mate in every way, fill me up with your cum, cover me in it. Make sure everyone knows that I belong to you, and you alone.”

His mouth dropped open in surprise at your change in demeanor. Your mind had gone back to every shifter story you had ever read, every animal documentary you had ever watched, and you wanted the one thing that had always seemed incredibly hot to you: the mating mark. Getting into position on your hands and knees, which was your boyfriend’s preferred position anyway, you pulled your hair over to bare your shoulder and neck to him in submission. Then you pulled the trigger.

“Bite me.”

Raphael nearly choked at your breathy command. Turtles didn’t have to bite their mate during mounting like a lot of mammals did, but hot damn, did that sound like a great idea! His eyes misted a little at how you, this tiny perfect human, was trying to make this just as good for his animal side. That you not only didn’t flinch or recoil from the idea of mating with him, you embraced it fully. He didn’t deserve you.

You were surprised when he didn’t spear you right away. Instead, you felt the softest of kisses feathering up your spine. Deep, rumbling churrs left his chest as he knelt over you. He dragged his tongue across your offered shoulder all the way up to your jaw. Then he whispered in your ear.

“I don’ know if I can even knock ya up but I sure as hell plan ta try. Ya ready fer me? Want me ta breed ya? Ya gonna get all round and beautiful with my babies?”

You shuddered.

“Hold on, mama,” he muttered, “yer gettin’ all of it.”

With that, he slammed his cock balls deep in your swollen pussy, causing you to cry out and grip the sheets tightly in your fists. There was no reprieve from his savage thrusts. The bed slammed against the wall again and again and you vaguely wondered how it could hold up to this kind of abuse. He held your hips at an angle that helped him go deeeeep. You moaned and clawed at the mattress, feeling your third orgasm rising fast with every pump of his hips. His name dripped like honey from your lips just as your juices dripped down your legs, all for him, all of it, just for him.

“No one else, babe, no one can do this ta ya like me! Nobody fucks like I do,” he crowed, his own release on the edge.

“No one!” you cried, “I love you! I lo-fuuuuck!”

Your words melted into moans of pleasure as you tipped over the top. Your walls clamped down hard on his thickness as it slid smoothly through your canal. Raph slowed down but each thrust was more powerful than the last as it felt like he tried to shove his cock into your cervix.

“MINE!” he shouted as he emptied his load deep inside your womb. You screamed as his teeth latched on where your neck and shoulder met, hard enough to mark but not breaking the skin. Tingles spread through you at the possessive action. You gasped for breath as he finally relented, stilling his hips and licking the mark he made. His fingers trailed lightly up and down your back.

“Ya okay?” he asked hoarsely.

You swallowed to try and moisten your dry throat before muttering, “Yeah, I’m good. More than good.”

He nuzzled your cheek as he wrapped you up in his arms. He rolled so you were both laying on your sides, you as the little spoon, with his length still hard and still lodged inside. Gently, he slipped a hand under your leg and lifted it to give himself a better angle, as he began to thrust again at a tamer pace.

“Raph,” you giggled, as he sucked a hickey onto your shoulder next to the mark.

“Don’t Raph me, little lady,” he chuckled. “I warned ya that ya aren’t gettin’ out of this bed anytime soon.”

♥️

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[waynes-multiverse]

Plastic Hearts – Part 22

Pairing: Director!Dean Winchester x Actress!Reader

Series Summary: Los Angeles, 1985. Y/N’s a young actress without any success, hopping from one failed audition to the next until one desperate mistake brings her to her breaking point. Dean Winchester, on the other hand, is a grade A asshole and washed-up director at the end of his career, known for his godawful slasher movies in the 70s and his love for blow, booze, and women. Lost in the toxic Hollywood life, their paths cross when one hopeless little wrestling show changes their trajectory.

Chapter Warnings: +18, language, injuries, hospitals, jealousy, drug use, angst, smoking everywhere 'cause it's the 80s, girl fights, a whole lot of FLUFF

Word Count: 6.9k

A/N: Thank you guys so much for all your comments last week! So happy to bring these two idiots back to your screens of choice and give them an ending they deserve! Now, buckle up! We have some bitchy moments in this one 👀😇

<< 21 || Spotify Playlist || Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

22. Girls, Girls, Girls

The gym smells of blood, sweat, and tears tonight. More so than ever before. The tensions run high.

It’s the first live taping since the show’s official cancellation. The first three matches have already run their course, the rest of the women joining Dean in his office, using the platform as the perfect viewing room. It’s like an NFL suite at Super Bowl. Everyone’s drinking, celebrating, and has gathered here to watch the biggest match of the night:

Red Sparrow vs. Liberty Bell

Usually, the green-eyed director would be bothered by the constant chatting, shrieking, and yapping. But tonight, he could care less as he passed the director’s crown on to his spawn, leaving Claire to man the booth and direct the show on her own, putting her AV skills to the test.

After all, the show’s already canceled. What’s the worst that could happen? Might as well let a rebellious teenager call the shots. Who gives a shit! Isn’t it awesome to be this carefree?

“Can you guys keep it down?” Claire hisses with an annoyed roll of her eyes, her shoulders tense with stress as she tries to concentrate on the monitors. “I’m trying to direct a show here! I can’t fucking hear anything!”

Amused, Dean chuckles. Now, his daughter finally knows what it’s like to be in his shoes. He’s tried telling everyone for ages that these women are fucking annoying and that being a director ain’t easy.

While the women are busy talking up a storm and pay attention to the match, Dean sneaks to his desk and opens the first drawer. He pulls out his pack of cigarettes, but it’s not a smoke he’s in the mood for. To his surprise and shock, however, the little bag of white powder he hides in there is gone.

Did he put it somewhere else?

Frantically, he starts opening every drawer, moving stuff in and out of them. He rummages through his folders on his desk, sees if he placed it there somewhere, but it’s nowhere to be found. His green eyes then dart to his kid and an eerie feeling settles in his stomach. Surely, Claire didn’t take it, right?

Like father, like daughter, it echoes through his mind.

He always loved the fact that his kid was so much like him – the love for good movies, the humor, the sass, the sheer unabashed talent. But not in that regard. God, does he hope she didn’t inherit his drug addiction, too.

“Claire?” Dean knows he has to be careful in his questioning, not wanting to alert the other women in the room to the pressing issue. But his daughter skillfully ignores him, too focused on her current task. “CLAIRE?!” he barks loud enough to rattle the entire office.

Yeah, okay, that wasn’t as smooth and inconspicuous as he had hoped, but he’s fucking panicking on the inside, alright? He has entered worried dad mode.

Don’t act so fucking surprised, okay? He has evolved like man is supposed to do.

In all honesty, Dean wanted to get completely clean two weeks ago. As soon as Y/N waltzed into his office and slept with him, he swore he’d never touch the toxic and nasty stuff again. He was done, and this time, it’d be final. No going backsies. But he had one teeny-tiny baggy left, and well, he hates to be wasteful. So, his plan was to slowly stop and keep the withdrawals at a minimum. And it worked great so far. It hasn’t snowed in four fucking days.

“What?!” his kid grunts back, audaciously annoyed.

“Did you snoop through my drawers and take my smokes out?” Dean asks her in his best dad voice. He’s gotten quite good at it since he practiced it over the last few weeks.

Do your homework!

Eat your vegetables!

Tell that fucking boyfriend of yours to stop sneaking in through the window, or I’ll get my gun!

“No, I don’t smoke!” Claire huffs without missing a beat and doesn’t take her eyes off the monitors even once.

Dean believes her. Usually, when she lies, there are a few seconds of thinking that pass by before she comes up with a reasonable excuse. Not that he buys any of them, but whatever. This time, though, she answered right away, and he knows she has no idea what he’s even talking about.

So, did he misplace it? You’d think he’d be more careful with drug storage, but sometimes it’s a glass of whiskey too many, and stuff gets lost. Did he leave it in the car? Is it at home?

But then it dawns on him. Joanna.

The blonde storms into his office, forcing the director to look up. Her mascara is smeared across her cheeks, her hair disheveled and overall she seems upset and out of breath.

“I need my own goddamn dressing room,” Barbie demands. “I can’t get ready and in the right head space with all of these women down there. I’m the star of the show. Some of us need peace and quiet to wash the shit of the world from us before they have to fucking perform!”

“Whoa, whoa, easy, alright? Sit down,” Dean tells her calmly and gestures to the seat in front of him, where the blonde immediately plops down with an exhausted huff. “You can get ready in my office tonight, okay? You want a drink? You look like you need one.”

Jo nods with a sniffle and accepts the flask he’s offering her, almost downing the whole thing.

“What’s going on? You good?” Dean checks. Usually, he wouldn’t care about the blonde’s feelings, but since she’s up against Y/N tonight, he wants to assure himself nothing goes wrong.

“Yeah, it’s just… Sam.” She scoffs and takes another swig. “He’s got a new girlfriend. His secretary, Jessica.” The blonde rolls her eyes at the name. “Who knows how long he’s been fucking her. Our divorce isn’t even final.”

Dean nods understandingly as he rises from his chair and pats the blonde’s shoulder. “I know. Divorce is shitty. You’ll get through this. Trust me.”

“Shit…” Dean mumbles.

He left an emotionally vulnerable woman alone in his office with a bunch of booze and drugs. How could he be this stupid and reckless? He doesn’t even suspect Jo took the coke on purpose. She was probably looking for a smoke and stumbled upon it, thinking, “What the hell? My day is already shit, maybe this makes it better.”

Dean knows because it’s usually what he thinks as well when he’s at his lowest. How do you think he got addicted to drugs in the first place, huh?

Here’s how: two divorces and a failing career.

“Boss?”

“Dean?!”

“Dad!”

The green-eyed director snaps out of his thoughts and turns to the room full of women upon their calling, all of them looking quite panicked and worried. It’s like a fox got loose in the coop.

His brow furrows as he approaches the booth and big windows, trying to see where the concern is coming from. “What? What’s going on?”

“I think there’s something wrong, boss,” Donna informs him. “That’s not the fight they’ve practiced during training. They’re going off script.”

Fucking shit…

“Dean, what the hell is going on?” Billie cocks an eyebrow at the director, but he can’t get himself to focus or reply as his green eyes are glued to the match downstairs.

Dean’s too cynical to believe in a God and has certainly never prayed before, but tonight he can’t help it and utter a quiet prayer, hoping for a goddamn miracle.

His heart is racing as he watches the match unfold. There’s nothing he can do about it. Nothing can stop it. It’s like watching a fucking car crash as a bystander on the sidewalk.

Looking at Y/N’s face, he can see that she’s panicking as well and getting scared. It breaks his goddamn heart. The actress tries to talk to the blonde and get through to her but to no avail. Killer Barbie is on a mission, and her target is clearly Y/N.

And then, it all happens fast. Jo throws Y/N onto the mat and grabs her leg, raising it up by the ankle. There are tears in Y/N’s eyes before an audible crack echoes through the gym. Y/N screams out in pain. Jo drops her foot and backs away in shock, hands high in the air. The entire gym becomes mum, only a few quiet gasps uttered by the audience bounce off the tall walls.

Dean’s heart is about to explode as he bolts down the stairs and almost takes a fall. He hasn’t even reached the ring yet and assessed the damage, but he already blames himself. This is all his fucking fault. Donna warned him, and he didn’t listen. Y/N was obviously not fine, and neither was Jo. How many goddamn warning signs did he choose to ignore? And for what? For fucking ratings no one even cares about?

Y/N’s agonizing scream rings in his ears as the director makes his way to her. Rufus is already there in his referee costume, trying to help her as best as he can. Dean’s so close he can practically count the steps to the ring. Has this gym always been this huge? It feels like he’s been running a mile.

But then, he’s abruptly stopped by Cas’ announcer voice and what his green eyes find unfolding in front of him.

“And here comes a camera guy to save our Russian warrior!”

Oh hell, no!

Dean should probably be glad that someone is helping her and not let his jealousy win. But does that someone really have to be fucking Benny of all people? The green-eyed director truly thought he was done worrying about that guy. Now, however, he has to watch that douchebag heroically carry Y/N out of the ring while the audience cheers and claps.

It’s his worst goddamn nightmare. Well, that and Y/N getting hurt in the first place.

“Put her down,” Dean demands fiercely as he faces Benny, his blood boiling as he watches the actress hold on to the guy’s neck and wince in pain. A bit of guilt mixes with his jealousy at that.

Don’t be an asshole. Focus, he reminds himself. Y/N’s more important than your fucking ego.

“What? No,” Benny denies his request with a confused and irritated frown.

“That’s an order,” Dean grits boldly.

“I don’t care. She’s hurt,” Benny snaps back with emphasis and acts like Dean doesn’t know what that means. “Fucking fire me if you have a problem with that. The show’s done anyways.”

That fucking little prick…

Dean purses his lips in frustration. What is he supposed to do now? Rip her from the guy’s arms? Start a fist fight?

“I can take her. I’ll drive her to a hospital,” the director insists with a little more reasoning.

“Let’s take my limo! There’s enough space for her,” Ruby chimes in as the whole pack of women flock to the rescue and worryingly gather around Y/N.

Great. More helping hands is what Dean needs right now.

“No, we’re taking my car,” Dean maintains, trying to remain calm amongst the concerned chatter. “Baby’s backseat got plenty of space, alright?”

“True,” Bela agrees with a dirty smirk.

Dean sighs, Billie rolls her eyes, and Y/N frowns at that. Dear God, these fucking women…

“How about we ask Y/N what she wants, huh?” Dean proposes, knowing the actress will surely pick him. God knows she’s picked him yesterday all night long…

Benny smiles as if he could win this battle. “Fine.”

“Y/N, sweetheart, what d’you want? Who do you wanna go with, huh?” Dean asks, lowering himself down to her with a gentle look in his eyes and a warm, caring smile.

“I don’t care!” Y/N whines with pained features and a high level of annoyance. “I just wanna go to a hospital! Any hospital in any car.”

Fair enough, Dean thinks dejectedly. Still, she could’ve done him a favor and picked him. He hates losing to a fucking camera operator.

“My limo it is!” Ruby exclaims and bolts ahead to the parking lot, keys jiggling in the air.

With a triumphant smirk, Benny turns and follows Valley girl outside, Dean swallowing down the urge to punch the guy as Y/N throws him an apologetic look over camera guy’s shoulder.

These fucking women…

Dean has floored the gas pedal of the Impala, but it’s fucking LA, so an hour was spent standing in traffic on the freeway. Moreover, he had to gather Claire and Cas as well and check on Jo, while Benny and the girls were already at the hospital with Y/N.

When Dean finally arrives, he rushes through the glass doors into the waiting area of the emergency room, Cas and Claire on his heels. His group is easy to spot, considering they’re all still in their fucking wrestling costumes.

His hands ball into fists when he sees Benny holding an ice pack to her injured ankle as she sits in a wheelchair, the girls scattered around Y/N on creaky hospital seats as they keep her company. He hates that camera guy is taking care of his girl. It should be him by her side, not some fucking footnote in this story.

“Hey, what the fuck is going on? Why is she still waiting?” Dean asks furiously, charging in full-throttle. His heart is burning for Y/N, and nothing can extinguish it.

Hell, if she isn’t getting help soon, he’ll burn this goddamn hospital down.

“Because she’s not a gunshot wound?” Ruby answers wryly, earning her glare.

But Dean supposes party girl has a point. It’s an LA hospital in a bad neighborhood.

“Want me to lick your wound? Saliva helps with blood clotting,” Meg offers as she holds Y/N’s hand tightly.

“She’s not even bleeding,” Cassie counters with a raised brow.

“She might be bleeding internally,” Meg argues and places her palm on Y/N’s forehead, taking her temperature.

“Stop it! You’re freaking her out,” Charlie scolds from the seat behind her.

“Why is this taking so long? My friend is in pain! Do you hear me?” Meg whines, calling to the nurses’ station.

Why are girls so exhausting? That question has been running around Dean’s mind for months now. He’s still lacking an answer.

Ignoring the female turmoil around him, Dean lowers himself down in front of Y/N and finds her eyes, smiling gently. “Hey, sweetheart. How are you doing, huh?”

“Dean!” Y/N smiles broadly when she recognizes him, her face lighting up and beaming brighter than the fluorescent lights above her. It warms his heart.

The director’s head then tilts slightly, inspecting her closer. She seems awfully chipper for someone in pain. Her pupils are gigantic, too.

Ruby leans in and whispers, “I gave her a Valium… and then half a Klonopin.”

Ah. There it is. She’s fucking high. That explains it.

Dean reaches out his hand and caresses her pink cheek, feeling her lean into his touch. “You feeling good, sweetheart?”

“I’m awesome,” she replies with a drowsy giggle.

He grins. “Yeah, I bet you are…”

Is it weird he’d like to fuck her in this state? Right, probably not a good time to ask those questions. (But he swears he wouldn’t take advantage of her. Just play with her and test her senses a little.)

“You’re so pretty,” Y/N tells him dreamily, making him blush hard as she touches a few strands of his hair and plays with them.

“And the first pill is kicking in,” Ruby notes, amused.

A nurse then finally walks into the waiting room with a tired gleam in her eyes and clears her throat to catch everyone’s attention. Dean can’t blame her. He knows it’s like a fucking circus in here.

“Good news. We have a bed ready, so I’ll take her back and all of you can leave?” the nurse explains and looks at the wolf pack hopefully.

Meg stares her dead in the eyes and replies flatly, “Not a chance.”

Yeah, Dean could’ve told that nurse those girls weren’t going anywhere.

Benny rises from his position and attempts to push Y/N’s wheelchair, following the nurse. But Dean will be damned if he lets him. Provocatively, he pushes the camera guy aside and scowls at him, making his territory and claim clear. The girls aren’t the only wolves in this waiting room.

“I got her. You can leave,” Dean growls with a deathly stare. “My show, my actress. I’m the director, and she’s my fucking responsibility, got it?”

Benny raises his palms in surrender and takes a step back. He already knew he lost when Y/N only had eyes for Dean as soon as the director showed up. A pill-high never lies.

The nurse helps Y/N into a bed in a small, quiet room. As they wait for a doctor, Dean impatiently paces the room, fuming away on his smoke. If you can’t tell, he’s far away from relaxed.

A man in a white coat with a friendly smile then finally strolls in and introduces himself. “Hello there, Y/N Y/L/N. I’m Dr. Gabriel Piccolo. Are you with the circus?”

Dr. Sexy, as Dean refers to the guy, lifts an eyebrow at Y/N’s unusual costume. You’d think as a doctor at a hospital in Hollywood, he’d see more people like this.

“I’m an actress on a wrestling TV show,” Y/N replies, not offended by his question in the slightest.

“Oh, uhm, I’ll have to watch it,” Dr. Sexy says politely and then gets straight down to business, cocking his head at her injured leg. “Okay, so left ankle. We’re gonna have to cut off this boot.”

“Oh! No, no, no. Sorry, these are important.” Y/N protectively throws herself over her knee-high army boot.

Dean sighs a little. Even high on pills and in unbearable pain, Y/N still prioritizes her silly job. “Alright, Doc. I got it,” the director relents and shoots the man a look.

Carefully, Dean unties her laces, loosening the shoe enough. “I’m gonna go slow, sweetheart. Just take it easy, alright?”

Dean flashes her a smirk and watches as she bites down on her lower lip, nodding. She inhales sharply and whimpers when he slips the boot off her foot. His fingers smooth over her leg, soothe the skin, and elicit a shudder from her. He can tell the action turned her on, can see the goosebumps rise on her arms as she presses her thighs together. He can practically hear her drip.

He smirks devilishly. Y/N sends him a knowing frown.

Dr. Sexy clears his throat and interrupts their heated moment, causing Y/N’s cheeks to flush furiously.

The doctor then assesses her ankle. It’s swollen and the skin a purplish-blue. Dean knows it doesn’t fucking look good. He guesses it’s not a simple sprain.

“Can you feel your toes? Can you wiggle them?” the doc checks. Y/N does as asked and moves her toes as best as she can. It’s not much though before she winces in pain. “How does that feel?”

Dr. Sexy touches the swell on her ankle, and Y/N squeezes her eyes shut and locks her jaw, a tear rolling down her cheek.

“Fucking hurts,” she grits through strained teeth.

“Okay, we’re gonna take some X-rays. See what we’ve got,” the doc finally says and disappears out of the room.

Y/N exhales an exhaustive breath and looks at the director. “Distract me,” she prompts with desperate eyes.

“Well, I’m not gonna be my regular chipper self,” Dean quips, making her laugh. He smiles, too, and leans in closer. “How about this?”

He wiggles his eyebrows and then dips his head, claiming her lips in a blistering kiss that makes her legs quiver. His tongue slips inside her mouth, swipes deep as teeth scrape her lower lip. Upon her first moan, he draws back with a smug smile.

He leans close to her ear, whispering against her shell, “You know if curling your toes didn’t hurt, I’d make you come so fast on my fingers right now, baby girl.”

Her eyes widen. She gasps and gently hits his arm in a scolding manner. “Dean!”

“What?” He chuckles and pecks her crown. “It’ll be alright. Don’t worry so much, okay?”

The girls then soon flood the room, one by one providing endless entertainment that surely no other patient at this hospital receives. Y/N’s a fucking star here, although she always is to Dean.

First, there was Claire, who practically emptied the vending machine, buying sweets and snacks for every taste (with Dean’s money). He’s nothing more than a wallet to that girl.

Meg, on the other hand, stole more pillows and blankets from other patients, making sure Y/N was as comfortable as possible. Ruby read Cosmopolitan to her and filled out the magazine’s sex quiz, intriguing Dean a lot.

Every girl pretty much brought their unique sense of entertainment, making Y/N laugh and smile so much she almost forgot why she was here. Only one woman was missing from the wolf pack – Joanna.

As Y/N is finally wheeled away to her X-rays, Dean decides to join the other women in the waiting room. He’s more than happy to discover that Benny actually left when he can’t catch sight of the guy anymore.

Guess the director is the true winner, after all.

Donna then approaches Cas, who’s nervously sucking on a cigarette in the corner by the vending machine, and hands him a clipboard with a hospital form.

“Y/N doesn’t have insurance, and we don’t know what to fill out,” the blonde tells him and meekly saunters back to her seat.

Cas frowns and looks at the women in disbelief. “How could she not have insurance? She’s a professional wrestler.”

Billie arches a sarcastic eyebrow at that and replies wryly, “Yeah, employed by Novak Productions, who doesn’t provide health care.”

Cas swallows guiltily and purses his lips. “How many of you don’t have insurance?”

Almost every woman in the room raises their hand, except for Jo, Billie, and party girl.

That tracks, Dean thinks and is not the least bit surprised. Judging by Cas’ shocked expression, though, this revelation clearly shatters the privileged rich boy’s world.

The producer nods earnestly. “This is my responsibility, and I will take care of it,” he promises. Dean gives him a pat on the back, letting Cas know he’s doing the right thing. If the producer hadn’t footed Y/N’s bill, Dean surely would have.

The director then glances around the waiting area, noticing the sad faces and depressed mood. “Alright, she’s not dying, okay?” he tells them and catches their attention. “You guys did a great show tonight. Why don’t you go back to the motel?”

“Great?” Donna cocks a brow at his word choice. “We were amazing.”

Charlie looks up at him, a hopeful look in her eyes as her red hair shimmers in the fluorescent light. “You think we get our old time slot back, Dean?”

Dean smacks his lips, scratching the scruff on his chin. He then shakes his head. He can’t lie to them. Knowing what he knows, he also knows it’s over. “No, I don’t. I think we’re gonna die at 2am… But we’ll die on our own terms, alright?”

Nodding, Ruby sighs loudly. “I’ll drive everybody home. And then, we get drunk while we ice our knees.”

As the girls start to gather their belongings and rise from their seats, Jo rushes through the glass doors. The women punish her with little glares on their way out. No one buys it was an innocent accident. In fact, Dean’s pretty sure the wolf pack believes the blonde tried to murder their beloved leader.

Dean, however, doesn’t.

“She’s in room 3,” he tells Jo without further comment.

The green-eyed director didn’t know what he had expected when he sent Joanna into Y/N’s room. Maybe that they’d talk like adults, get it all out in the open, and finally make amends. Be best friends again.

But maybe that was a little naive of him.

It all started out innocently. Dr. Sexy entered the room with a set of X-rays and left happily a few minutes later. Meanwhile, Dean and Cas smoked in the hospital’s corridor and drank the most awful-tasting coffee out of plastic cups.

Then, the mood started to shift. The guys could hear the girls arguing with slightly raised voices, just loud enough for it to drown out into the hallway.

“Eight to ten weeks? It’s not that long,” Jo could be heard saying.

“It’s the rest of the season. I won’t be on the show,” Y/N threw in through gritted teeth. Dean could hear the upset in her voice.

Jo scoffed, brushing it off. “Well, we’re getting canceled anyways, so… It’s just a job, you know.”

“No, it’s not!” Y/N’s voice went up a notch in volume. Dean knew she was close to reaching a boiling point. This wasn’t good.

“Okay, geez, you don’t have to lash out at me. I did not mean to break your ankle, okay?” Jo countered, pushing all blame off her.

“I don’t fucking believe you!”

And that was the turning point. That’s when the yelling started. The one that could be heard throughout the hospital, spilling into every room and probably several floors.

“No, no, no…. See, that was an accident, Y/N,” Jo says with a jittery voice. “Unlike the time you accidentally fucked my husband! TWICE!”

“You made out with my prom date on prom night!”

“That is not the same thing, and you know it!”

“Oh? Is it the same thing when you hooked up with your co-star at your stupid soap wrap party one week before you got married? And coincidentally, Sammy was born nine months later! Is he even Sam’s? ‘Cause he looks a whole lot like what‘s-his-face!”

“How dare you!”

“You didn’t even love Sam! You only married him for his money!”

“You don’t have the fucking right to say anything about my marriage!”

Cas swallows down a big gulp of coffee, sharing a nervously concerned look with Dean. “Should we, you know, go in there?”

Dean’s eyes widen as he vividly shakes his head. “Fuck no! Are you nuts? We stay right here. Look, men are simple. They throw a few punches and then share a drink. And women… Well, women do fucking this. Bottle everything up, even for years sometimes, till it fucking explodes. Trust me, they need this. Let ‘em get it outta their system.”

Fucking women…

“Oh, do I have the right to talk about your power complex?” Y/N yells. “Or do I have to schedule a meeting with all the producers?”

“I’ve earned my title!”

“Right, your fucking work ethic is legendary! I’m so sick and tired of apologizing about Sam! I don’t care anymore! I have eaten shit for months! I have done everything I can think of to make this right!”

“You can’t make it right!”

“Great! Then I’ll stop trying!”

“Fine!”

“Yeah, fine like you telling me I should get raped to save our show! The show you don’t give a shit about!”

“God, you’re so melodramatic! I just figured you’re already screwing our director for attention, what’s one more network executive!”

Cas blinks at Dean with wide eyes and a raised brow. “Are you-… Are you and Y/N dating?”

Dean averts his eyes to the blue wall opposite him and wordlessly sips his coffee. He has a feeling the girls’ fight is about to take a turn, going into a direction he doesn’t particularly care for. Why can’t they just leave him out of it?

Cas, however, takes Dean’s silence as what it is – an admission. The producer’s face lights up with joy. He excitedly rubs Dean’s shoulder and gasps giddily. “That’s so great! You haven’t dated anyone since Amara! I’m so happy for you! I love Y/N! Are you guys getting married? Did you buy a ring? Can I be best man? You know what they say, third time’s the charm!”

Dean scowls at the producer and heaves a deep sigh. “Calm the fuck down, would you? No one’s getting married.”

“Go to hell! I’m not fucking Dean, okay?” Y/N denies Jo’s accusation loudly.

Dean thinks she’s a hell of an actress. If he didn’t know for a fact that he was balls-deep inside her last night, he would’ve bought that little lie.

“Oh please! It’s so obvious!” Jo counters. Dean can practically hear the exhaustive eye roll that followed. “He’s following you around the gym like a lovesick puppy!”

That’s what Dean was afraid of. He does not like where this conversation is headed.

“He is not! Shut the fuck up!”

“Are you really trying to fucking lie to me, right now? I’ve known you since middle school!” Jo snaps. “And he certainly fits your glorious dating choices! Drug addiction? Check! Asshole? Check! Commitment issues? Check! He’s perfect for you. I’m surprised your slutty ass didn’t jump him the first day!”

“Oh, fuck you, you fucking bitch!”

“Slut!”

“Whore!”

Then, more yelling, more accusations, and more tears follow before Jo storms out of the room and bolts past the boys down the hallway.

Fucking girls…

“I’ve never felt so guilty about anything,” Cas mumbles next to him, completely distraught and shaken.

Dean scoffs. “Geez, you’ve lived a charmed life.”

“Thought I was gonna have a wrestling show, and no one was gonna get injured?” Cas shakes his head at his own nonsense. “What the fuck is wrong with me? I destroyed our little family! I mean, Y/N is a gimp.”

The director rolls his eyes and sighs. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. She’ll go on to have a full life, okay?”

Somehow that causes Cas to smile cheekily. He nudges the director’s shoulder. “With you?”

Dean sends him a thundering glare and dumps his burning cigarette bud into the producer’s coffee cup as he walks past him and returns to Y/N’s room.

Dean sat quietly next to Y/N as a nurse put a cast on her leg. The ankle, much like the women’s friendship, was broken, and the actress was out of commission for the foreseeable future. She hadn’t spoken a word yet, only sniffling and crying silently to herself. Dean left her alone and only handed her a tissue every now and then, figuring she needed some time to calm down and think. But he still wanted her to know he was there in case she needed him.

As the nurse finally leaves, Dean reaches out his hand and takes hers, drawing comforting circles on the back of it. Patiently, he waits till she’s ready to look at him.

“Well, I won’t be needing these anymore,” Y/N mutters with a pout and dumps her army boots on the little bedside table. “You should give them to Claire. She’d make a great replacement Red Sparrow.”

Dean purses his lips. It takes a lot out of him not to roll his eyes at her dramatization. He supposes that’s what he gets for falling in love with a goddamn actress – fucking theater no less. But he knows she’s really going through it right now, so he’s willing to cut her some slack.

“Relax, I’m not giving your part away,” he assures her with an easy smile.

“Well, you have to, if you want to keep the storyline moving forward,” she mumbles grumpily.

“Who cares? It’s just a TV show,” Dean argues.

However, that particular line seems to anger her. “Everyone keeps saying that. It’s not to me,” she contends and finds his eyes, her teary-eyed and desperate look boring into him. “I have people now. People who come with me to the ER. People who care if I’m hurt.”

Dean nods his head in understanding. He knows Cas and Y/N are essentially right, as much as it hurts him to admit it. They are a little family – a weird and incredibly dysfunctional one, but a family nonetheless.

“I know. I’m sorry. It’s just the easiest thing to say, you know?” he says and lets out a sigh. He rests his palm on her thigh and squeezes reassuringly. “How’s this? I don’t wanna make this show without you. I’m not gonna make this show without you.”

Y/N sucks in her lips, forming a tight line as she stares at her hands in her lap. “I thought we were all replaceable.”

Dean’s lips twitch with a smile. He lifts her chin, forcing her to look at him. “Well, you’re not, sweetheart.”

He leans closer and kisses her ardently till her toes curl. When she hisses slightly in pain, he pulls back, both of them chuckling.

Then, Dean swallows the heavy lump in his throat. He knows he has to come clean, literally and figuratively. He takes her hand in his again. This time for his own comfort.

“Listen, uhm, tonight was kinda my fault… on some level, at least,” the director starts.

Y/N’s brow creases, but she brushes it off with a disbelieving snort. “Why? Did you tell Jo to break my ankle?”

Dean chuckles lightly, although he doesn’t feel like laughing, considering he’s scared to death she’ll dump him in a few seconds once she hears the truth. “No, uhm, but she might’ve found something in my office that caused a lack of judgment on her part. I-, uhm, I might not have been as clean and drug-free as you believed me to be.”

“Oh. I see…” Y/N bites her lower lip and averts her gaze back to her hands, her fingers fumbling in a nonsensical pattern like a nervous tic. And then, she doesn’t say anything for serval minutes, while Dean slowly feels himself go crazy.

“So, uh, where do we stand? Are we mad? Disappointed? Disgusted? Sad?” Dean pries and pokes for an answer.

“I guess, uhm, disappointed,” she says finally. Dean sighs internally as his heart tightens. He had hoped it wouldn’t be that one. It’s the worst one. “And sad,” she adds.

Strike that. This is the worst one.

“Okay, uhm, good,” he replies before noticing her cocked brow at his answer. “I mean, not good-good, obviously. Just good to know where we are… So, where are we? Is this-, you know, is it over? Between us?”

Y/N glances at him slightly and takes a thoughtful breath. “No,” she says, and his heart rejoices with relief. “I kinda already knew you’re not perfect.”

Dean’s brow furrows momentarily before he smirks cockily. “Agree to disagree.”

Y/N tries to hide a smile at his joke. She’s unsuccessful in her endeavor. She squeezes his hand in reassurance. “It’s not your fault. It was still Jo’s choice,” she tells him. “Are you, you know, still…?”

Dean vehemently shakes his head. “No, no, I’m not. I haven’t for a couple of days, and I won’t anymore. I promise. Especially after tonight. I learned my lesson. I’m done with it. For good.”

“Okay,” she accepts.

Dean frowns a little because her forgiveness feels too easy, but he doesn’t get a chance to prod some more, her soft lips on his shutting him up for now. The kiss is fervent and sweet all the same. It makes his head spin and provides him with a completely different high – a much better one.

“Well, looks like we’re gonna have to get creative with this thing, huh?” Dean grins smugly and gently pats her cast.

Y/N throws him a raised look that borders on amusement. Of course, all he ever thinks about is sex. But she doesn’t mind a little sexy goofiness in her life right now and leans in for another kiss. He is a pretty fantastic kisser, after all.

“I got markers!” Cas hops cheerily into the room with a few pens held high in the air, watching the two of them quickly pull apart with red-tinted cheeks. The producer smiles adoringly at them. “You guys! Look at you! This is so exciting!”

“Oh, uh–”

Dean sees the panic spread on Y/N’s face and quickly swoops in, sending Cas a friendly but threatening look. “Hey, uh, buddy? Keep this between us, alright?”

“You got it! My lips are sealed.” Cas winks and locks his lips with his fingers, but his excitement isn’t even close to disappearing. “And I paid your bill, by the way!”

“Oh, Cas, you didn’t have to do that,” Y/N tells him sweetly and seems clearly flattered by his care.

“Yes, I did, ‘cause you couldn’t possibly afford it,” Cas says bluntly and uncaps a marker, signing his name on her cast. “And I felt so guilty.”

A knock on the door makes the three look up and watch Jo hesitantly amble inside, her head lowered in resignation and guilty admission. She holds up a duffel bag with a nervous smile.

“I thought you might wanna leave the hospital with pants on, so I brought you your favorite sweats from the motel,” she says and hands Y/N the peace offering. Y/N accepts it with a small smile. Jo then glances awkwardly at Dean and Cas. “As you may have heard, Y/N and I got into a big fight,” she explains the general tension in the room.

Dean nods curtly. “Oh, yeah, everybody heard.”

“Yeah, the cashier at the gift shop couldn’t stop talking about it.” Cas chuckles, causing Y/N and Jo to blush in embarrassment.

“So, what’s the plan, Dean?” Y/N looks expectantly up at him like he’s an oracle with all the answers.

Lucky for her, though, he’s cocky enough to provide them.

“You know what? We got four episodes left, right? Fuck it. No one’s watching. No one cares. Y/N can’t even walk. So I say we do whatever the hell we want,” the director suggests and grins broadly. “Let’s just set the weirdos free and see what the fuck happens.”

“I hope you guys have fun,” Y/N mutters with a hint of bitterness in her voice.

“Oh, you’re not getting out of it,” Dean interjects her pouting and self-pity. “You’re like a one-woman idea machine. I need you. Where we’re going, you don’t need legs.”

Jo smiles encouragingly at her and sits down on the edge of the bed as Cas hands her a marker. The two women then chat as if nothing ever happened, while the producer and the director share a confused look over the sudden ceasefire. But they take it as what it is – a gift from above.

Girls…

“Hey, uh, there’s something I need to do,” Dean says then. “Are you guys okay here to keep Y/N some company? I’ll pick you up right after.”

The three of them nod, and Dean feels confident enough to leave Y/N’s side. After all the emotional turmoil and chaos over the last week, the director direly needs an appropriate outlet.

The Impala pulls into the parking lot of H-ELLTV in Anaheim. It’s early in the morning, the sun barely up but still powerful enough that the beams sting his green eyes. Maybe it’s also the lack of sleep that causes it to hurt more.

Drugs aren’t an option. It’s too early to drink, even for him. And sex would’ve been possible, but he doesn’t want to be the ass that asks for it while his not-girlfriend is suffering in the hospital.

So, here he stands, next to Dicksuck Roman’s spot, where a beautiful dark blue Aston Martin V8 is parked.

Ever since Y/N told him what that creep tried to do, Dean’s been raking his brain with different revenge fantasies. Sure, he could cut off the guy’s dick and make him eat it, or cook his balls over a BBQ grill, or chop his head off and dunk it in acidic cleaning supplies. But Dean knows the only way to truly hurt a man is through his car.

The green-eyed director then pops open Baby’s trunk and hauls out a golf club. It was a gift from Cas that came with an invitation to hit the green in Pasadena for “networking purposes.” As if. Cas eventually accepted that Dean would rather kill himself before setting foot in that country club. (He might’ve also threatened to kill everyone else in it, which scared Cas enough to drop it.)

Dean’s heart soars high to the cloudless sky above as he administers the first few blows, shattering the front window and thoroughly denting the scratch-free and glistening hood.

Not anymore, Dean thinks with sinister joy.

He stops mid-swing, though, when Crowley walks by. The two men look at each other for a moment. Will the manager call the cops? Will Cas have to post bail on top of paying hospital bills?

But Crowley only bobs his head in acknowledgment. “He pisses off a lot of people,” he offers as an explanation and strolls ahead into the building, not paying Dean any more mind.

So, Dean continues hitting and swinging and batting until his lungs burn and his arms hurt. Only then does he drive back to the hospital across town to pick up his friends with a lightener heart.

23. Every Breath you Take

*sighs blissfully* Aah, some sweet fluff before all the drama starts... (And yes, I consider this chapter less drama and lots of fluff. That's how far we've come 😂)

Let me know how you've enjoyed this part! Are we rid of Benny for good? Is Y/N going to break Dean's plastic heart? 👀

TAGS:

Jensen: @alwaystiredandconfused @xlynnbbyx @lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @blackcherrywhiskey @deansbbyx @foxyjwls007 @ladysparkles78 @roseblue373 @zepskies @agalliasi @yvonneeeee @hobby27 @iamsapphine @globetrotter28 @mxltifxnd0m @lacilou @feyresqueen @suckitands33 @onlyangel-444 @syrma-sensei @perpetualabsurdity

[cheesus-doodles]

Could you do a headcanon or a short fic of Taiju falling for Takemichis sister. Taiju x reader tokyo Revengers. How would Taijus siblings react to it and the Black Dragons?

asdjnsjdnsj this is cute in a way, there isn't enough Taiju or Takemichi love - and there is no way either would ever win a poll so XD this is not irl time period accurate in the slightest, a very lighthearted piece that is a bit different from what I usually write!

Masterlist

‎‎‎‎‎‎

Wrestle-o-mania

Yandere Taiju with Takemichi's Older Sister Reader

It was obvious to the two pairs of eyes spying on you through the small open crack of the bedroom door that Taiju wasn’t trying to hurt you, not in the slightest. Moreso, their older brother was simply letting you live out your wrestling fantasy with him as your willing dummy; your excited rambling filling the normal tension that usually permeates the air of the Shiba household, the two siblings watching with bated breath as you put the blue-haired gang leader into a side headlock. 

“...and did you see that double chickenwing facebuster?! That was fucking awesome! And-” 

Breaths were held as the curse word slipped your lips, but against their better knowledge, Taiju didn’t even blink an eye, simply nodding indulgently and (as discreetly as possible) snuggling in against your chest; despite your bulky figure, your strength was still nothing next to his. But god only knew if either of them said such sinful words, the thrashing they would have received would be nothing short of legendary for fouling their tongues with such filth. So why you? What made you special to their notoriously foul-tempered brother?

You were an oddity in the Shiba household, to say the least. The precise type of person that Hakkai and Yuzuha would have never guessed could catch Taiju’s eye. Far from the quiet, submissive, and gentle Christian girl that they had always imagined the oldest Shiba would bring home, someone that would cook and care for him, you were loud, rambunctious and overly obsessed with all things wrestling. Yuzuha had even seen you wipe the floor with some air-headed rival delinquents who thought you were an easy mark to take down Taiju, and though you weren’t spared from being punished by your boyfriend for returning with more scapes and cuts than usual that night, he never went to the extent like he did with them, holding back his strength by a vast margin. Plus, the only thing you could cook consistently well was fried rice. 

So how on god’s green earth did someone like you end up with a person like Taiju? Or more so where did Taiju even find someone like you? Did you not fear the other?

Hakkai was barely able to conceal the turbulent feelings in his chest, shock and horror intertwining like wine and honey as he watched with wide eyes Taiju chuckling along with you as he switched positions with you with ease, smoothly putting you into a facelock, with one of your ankles caught between his thighs. “Shi-” The youngest of the Shibas started, only to be quickly stopped by Yuzuha slapping her hand over his mouth. “Shut. Up,” she hissed, before the girl chanced a glance back through the crack in the door. 

Fortunately for them, Taiju seemed too distracted by you to notice their presence as you shrieked in excitement at your current predicament. “The stepover toehold facelock??!!”

“You didn’t think I could learn it huh?” The Black Dragon leader crowed, lightly tugging your head backwards and stretching out your back and neck, ever so careful not to put you in any pain. “This shit ain’t that hard.”

“You absolutely have to come to my wrestling club!” You gushed, pretending to struggle in his hold, striking your hand down on the bed as if you were counting down in a boxing ring, all the while giggling. “The others would never believe me!”

But that was enough to dampen whatever cheer that the other had on his face, Taiju releasing you from his hold and pulling you back up to sit on his bed. Eyebrows pinching together, that telltale vein on his forehead started to throb once more as those yellow eyes bored down on you with his signature ferocity that had harden Black Dragon members quavering in their boots - the same hard gaze that Taiju leveled on his siblings right before pouncing on either. “I thought I already told you - I don’t want you going there to mess around with those filthy sinners.”

You, however, weren’t the slightest bit unnerved much to both Shiba siblings’ surprise. “Awww but Taiju! It’s wrestling!” You pouted. “And it’s only once a week!” 

Your pleas didn’t work on the notoriously stubborn boy, who simply huffed. “I said no.”

This was one issue that you couldn’t seem to give up. “I can’t miss wrestling!” You exclaimed, throwing your hands up.“You could just come with me, ya know? If you’re so worried.”

Yuzuha blinked. Were you…bargaining? With Taiju?

The vein almost popped, and both siblings flinched in unison. This was it. Having to tiptoe around their oldest brother for so many years and learning to read his moods from his body language to avoid any unavoidable outbursts, there was no doubt that Taiju was at his tipping point. Beast-like eyes narrowed, the larger boy looming over you like a tiger eyeing its prey, the shadow over his face growing as the foul mood manifested. As if on instinct, Yuzuha shoved her younger lanky brother behind her, though from the shallow and rapid breathing that could barely be heard even in the sudden stillness of the world around them, the orange-haired girl wasn’t exactly the most confident of the situation either.

As Taiju raised his hand, readying his strike, the spying Shibas couldn’t look away. It fell like the blade of a guillotine -

And landed right on your side as he dug his fingers into your ticklish spot, and you squealed, wriggling as you tried to get away to no avail, the still-stronger Taiju easily pinning you down on the mattress. “You’re going to listen to me, you hear?” He growled playfully as he dug into your other side as well, and your laughter erupted. “You’re going to quit wrestling club tomorrow.”

“Wai-it! N-no, stop that! I’m not quitting!” Your words fell on deaf ears as your boyfriend only renewed his tickling efforts, pouncing on you with vigor. “S-STOP!”

Pulling away from the cheery scene that shone through the small crack of the door, Hakkai and Yuzuha shot each other puzzled looks in the dark hallway, your giggles echoing through the otherwise silent house. Despite the relief of having gotten away scott-free after spying on such a personal situation (if Taiju caught them, there would possibly be no words to describe what would happen to the two of them), the questions remained.

What the fuck was that all about?

‎‎

‎‎

A week had passed since they had first stumbled upon that domestic scene by pure coincidence and three since you had burst into their life unannounced, and despite their life somewhat returning to normal, neither Hakkai nor Yuzuha could seem to get you out of their minds. It was clear there was a growing pattern between Taiju’s good mood - one where he completely ignores their presence - and his normal demand of absolute obedience from them, which turned out to be when the Black Dragon leader was home alone and you were nowhere in sight. 

“You sure that it’s alright I come over?” Takemichi hesitatingly asked, glancing between the two Shiba siblings. It wasn’t the first time the time leaper had met Hakkai, of course, just the first time he had really noticed and been noticed by the Second Division Vice Captain. “Don’t want to be a bother.”

Hakkai waved off his question reassuringly. “Our place is nearby. Won’t be an issue at all.”

But alas, it seemed that the Second Division Vice Captain spoke too fast, too soon, as the trio walked straight into a wall of Black Dragon members mulling outside their residence, pristine white uniforms gleaming under the harsh afternoon sunlight amidst the quiet Tokyo suburban neighborhood, the sound of their footsteps coming to an abrupt halt though not quick enough to prevent them from being noticed. “Hey, isn’t that the Tokyo Manji Gang uniform?”

“Toman? Here?”

Takemichi reared from the glares leveled his way, the uncertain atmosphere sliding straight into the  - this was not good at all.

Unbeknownst to you on the other side of the crowd, you hadn’t even heard the initial stirs of commotion, engrossed with fiddling with the ring of the new shark plush keychain you had just received in a bid to hang it on your school bag. There was no second thought at the sudden light that flooded your eyes as Taiju pulled away from attempting to help, both of your heads having been bowed over and squinting at the small golden ring as the blue-haired delinquent barked instructions at you - it wasn’t unusual for your boyfriend having to drop everything to take calls or what not, being the gang leader that he was.

He really should join your wrestling club was what you mused to yourself, as your well-calloused fingers failed time and time again to part the rings and slip them through each other. It would probably be mighty fun to get to practice with someone as strong as him.

A few more minutes, and then a triumphant shout left your lips. “I got it!” You announced proudly, pumping your school bag into the sky, your newest attachment clinking as it jingled around the rest of your collection. “I told you-”

You paused, looking up for the first time since you had started your valiant attempt. The ruckus and rising tension rushed back into your world like the pressure of a vacuum chamber being relieved, the cries of ‘Death to Toman’, whatever that was supposed to be, coming as a sudden surprise to you; the attention of the white-clad boys you had just met turned away from you towards an unseen threat and Taiju nowhere in sight. This called from an investigation, you decided, casually swinging the brown bag over your shoulder and squeezing through the restless mass. 

“Tai-Taiju!” With a final push, you popped out the other side of the crowd, though your words died off as quickly as they left your lips as your eyes landed on the unfurling scene. A blonde-haired boy wearing a middle school uniform, collar clutched in the grip of your boyfriend, what was supposed to be his face looking more like fruit pulp than an actual person. Splats of blood splattered across Taiju’s fist and down the barely-white shirt of the other’s school uniform, another blue-haired boy you vaguely recognised as Taiju’s younger brother left sprawled on the ground looking equally beaten. 

For any other ordinary person, the frankly gruesome state of affairs would have been enough to set them running as far and fast as their feet could take them, let alone set off the alarm bells in their head - after all, what kind of older brother would thrash his own siblings without a very good reason? But not you, no; for there were no thoughts in your head save one.

One smooth step forward, and you had tucked your head under his arm, grabbing his arm and thigh. In the next heartbeat, up his heavy figure went, his clutch on Takemichi loosened enough to free the boy. Arm muscles bulging, it didn’t look like you were the slightest breath off despite lifting someone larger than you. And then you fell backwards, and down Taiju went, his back landing on the asphalt road with a loud crash in what his temporarily stunned mind reminded him was called a belly-to-back suplex - you would be pissed if he named it wrongly later. 

“Don’t you scum dare touch her,” came his  cursing from the ground right as you leapt back to your feet, and the Black Dragon members froze at the command from their leader. But you minded none of them, your ferocious, blazing gaze turning on the crouched, pathetic form of Takemichi. Marching forward in their direction, Hakkai  gulped, though he still held his ground. The sense of dread knotted itself over and over in the blue-haired Toman member as your shadow came to a halt, towering over the quaking blond delinquent on the ground, his body and face already bruised from the early beating he took from Taiju. He didn’t like the look of this one bit - were you as crazy as his older brother? It would certainly explain a lot, given of all the people you could be dating, you picked Taiju.

And then you all but sang out your next words. “Take-chan!” Your eyes brightened, sparkling in the daylight as the menacing shadows lifted from your face in an instant.

Even though it didn’t seem possible at first, Hakkai swore that Takemichi paled even further, his ashen skin the color only reserved for the dead as he attempted to scramble back and away from your towering figure. “Wha-? Onee-san?” He stammered out. “It’s not what it looks like! I swear!”

The world seemed to pause as everyone present stuttered as if on cue, with the Black Dragon Tenth Generation President surprised enough to raise both eyebrows. Onee-san? The shithead of a Tokyo Manji Gang First Division Captain was your younger brother? 

“I can’t believe you’re wrestling without me!”

“No! It’s not what it looks like!!” Takemichi pleaded again, but it was too little, too late, his words falling on deaf ears. You had already scooped him up into a fireman’s carry across your shoulders, swinging him round to ride piggyback, and then throwing yourself backwards and slamming the poor boy back into the ground. 

“And don’t let this distract you from the fact that in 1988, the Undertaker threw Mankind off Hell in a Cell, and plummeted 16 feet through an announcer’s table,” you all but shouted at your completely disoriented younger brother, his blue eyes clearly swimming in his head as you shook him by his shoulders in front of a group of stunned Black Dragons and Toman members.

Taiju grabbed your arm, his eyes narrowing, the familiar vein on his forehead starting to throb once more. “Are you done?” He growled at you. If you had been anyone else, he would have all but pounded you into the ground, girl or not - no one treated him like this in front of his men and got away with it. But you were hardly intimidated, and of course you weren't. You were the only exception to his life, the only one whose antiques he entertained time and time again for some blasted reason. And even if he didn't share your love of wrestling, there was one thing for sure - he didn't want you sharing it with anyone else, especially not this piece of Toman shit, even if it was your younger brother. You were his.

You hummed, your thoughts moving on to your next highest priority. Picking up your discarded bag, you lightly swung it around one shoulder. “Oh Taiju! You’re up already!” You cheered, looping one arm through his and proceeding to drag him off, your mind already empty of your younger brother still lying dazed on the road. “Come on, wrestling club is starting soon, we're going to be late!”

"What did I tell you about wrestling club?" The notorious fickle gang leader flicked your forehead as the two of you disappeared round the corner, your laughs echoing down the still street. "I said to quit, didn't I?"

“Your sister is crazy,” Hakkai mumbled to the groaning Takemichi, whose only response was to hold his head in his hands.

[koumine]

😈😈 ~ make me ~ 😈😈 [omega!sub!Jason Todd x alpha!dom!GN!Reader] [A/B/O] [teaser]

teaser for an upcoming, still untitled smut fic! ngl the title will probably end up being Arctic Monkeys lyrics again

content tags: omega sub Jason Todd x alpha dom Reader, GN race neutral Reader, A/B/O dynamics!, bratty Jason, hair pulling, submission bite, in this house Jason Todd is multiracial, fight me ✨

---

[RATED M BELOW] [WIP ZONE] [-> masterlist!]

"I can see you overthinking right now," you say, amused.  You have him pinned to the bed by a hand twined into the soft curls at the back of his head and a knee pressed to the small of his back.

He cracks dark sea-green eyes open just enough to send you a shitty look back over his shoulder, the brat.  "Means you ain't doing your job, alpha," he snarls, "seeing as the whole point of this was to get me to stop —" 

He breaks off with a gasp when you fist your hand in his hair and tug hard enough to shift his head across the bed.  Another rub of his cheek against the bedsheet, and the twin sensations, that sinful softness beside the sharp pain of his hair being pulled, are enough to make him exhale in a whimper.

You straddle him, lean down to speak softly in his ear and to let him feel your warm weight pressing him into the bed.

"Stop thinking," you say softly, a command as well as a finish to his sentence that you interrupted.

He grumbles to cover the way he shivers a little, but nothing can hide the way his scent spikes with desire.  He needs this, needs you and what you can do for him.  What he trusts only you to do for him.

Still, he flashes his teeth in challenge, because letting you lay him out flat on the bed without protest is one thing, but letting your teeth anywhere near his neck that easy is another thing entirely.

"Fucking make me," he snarls.

So you bare your teeth right back at him, a near feral grin, and let loose a low alphan rumble from deep in your chest, aggressive and possessive enough to make him whine in quiescent response, eyes going half mast.

He's so fucking beautiful like this, you think as you tug the collar of his leather jacket down to expose his nape, as you tighten your grip on his hair to keep him still, as you bite down firmly on the nape of his neck.

He melts limply into the bed, moaning softly as the submission bite makes his whole body go lax and soft in a way that's so hard to achieve by any other means.

[van-eazy]

It ain’t easy being green 🌿

[moonmarooned]

The case for Worker Drone X Disassembly Drone. Mostly Enzi/Nuzi but these types of pairings in general within the fandom. Aaaand how it ain’t proshit.

I thought I’d make this thread *now* as I’ve still been unfortunate to be a witness to the same bullshit such as comparing N to a certain green masked asshole/Enzi shippers being criminals. Yeah I’m serious about these people are being incredibly unironic about this. Mainly on tiktok. I’m here to make a case to say that the pairing is genuinely fine.

Back in Murder Drone’s first episode Liam Vickers, our favorite dork, held a Reddit AMA many moons ago about the lore and worldbuilding. Here he talked about how drones reproduced, mentioning casually that Uzi’s generation were a thing thanks to Worker Drones like Khan messing with the original machines there. Something done *after* the core had exploded, killing all the humans.

Here’s where things get interesting, Episode 5 had us go through Elliot Manor, clearly something before modern day copper-9, With N, V, and J all being there. This would provide a bit of a dilemma age wise but it’s easy to get around. The show kind of backs itself up here with characters like Beau.

N, V, and J were never pill babies (alongside others at the major), back then they could’ve been easily fresh out of the factory, practically making them toddler young by robot standards. They never went through the same process as Uzi did, since that was a thing *after* the humans died out as confirmed by Liam himself.

Tessa, the actual Tessa, calls cyn 'robo-child' in her Australian tone. This makes sense as their age is probably best measured by how long they have been online, not their physical appearance. Characters like Beau and Khan exemplify this, mainly Beau since he’s rather intelligent. Given the Earth’s destruction happened, especially with what we now know with Episode 7, it’s uncertain if Disassembly Drones had been online for so many years. Especially between planet-to-planet. Cyn and her skinsuit of Tessa appear startlingly fresh, almost as if the manor’s events and modern day copper 9 aren’t super far from each other.

Uzi would have been awake and aging the whole time from her birth onwards, so her being around the same age as N and V (plus J) actually works.

Basically:

-N, V, and J were never pill babies (alongside other drones at the manor) since pill babies were a thing *after* copper-9’s core explosion. This was confirmed in the Reddit ama. Uzi’s apart of the post core explosion generation.

-The posters, duh. Episode 3.

- N, V, and J theoretically could’ve been 'fresh out of the factory'/really young. Like, Robo toddler young. Look at beau.

-Honestly with Cynsuit and how 'fresh' she looks the events of the manor and modern day C9 couldn’t be super far apart. Like the math is there. It works

We’ve only been given only a rare mention of N being an 'adult' and that was from Luke/SMG4 in a stream, and even he sounded uncertain. On the other hand, Liam’s old stuff from the Reddit AMA was practically repeated in GlitchX. And on some other occasions N’s voice actor considered him a young adult.

Is this a little convoluted? Yeah. It might fall under 'convenience' but too many things like up with what we’ve seen in the show itself. Even on the account of possible rewrites it still works. Feel free to add onto this if anyone sees this, I cooked this up in the middle of the night.