#there’s the bones of something in here though??

[simonzmama]

just ‘magining pretty plushed up plus!size reader takin a seat on her handsum manz

you hover, simon’s warm breath warming up the insides of your pretty thighs, knees digging dents into the cloud of his pillow that sits on either side of his head.

you can see the shine of his eyes peeking from between your legs when you recline back slightly. he raises his eyebrows, apples of his cheeks popped wide with the hidden grin that laces his lips.

“you gon’ sit or what, hun’?” simon quirks, eyes filled with nothing but lust. his pupils are blown wide, almost nothing but a black void that mirrors your reflection across ‘em.

your cheeks flush in a the deepest of pinks, n your eyes flicker nervously. “si… w-what if i’m too heavy?”

he almost misses your words, your soft, hot skin cupped around his ears. n although, simon’s tryna be patient, sweet, there’s a line thinning, his mouth watering as he almost forces you down.

yet, he just lets his thick fingers glide up the back of your thighs, fingers curling inward when they reach the wide of your hips. “too heavy?” it’s almost a snarl of disbelief, of complete n utter madness that you could believe something like that. “ya’ ain’t gonna crush me, baby, you’re funny for even thinking that.” he laughs, n the rush of air against your wet, sticky folds has your back perking n nipples hardening. “we both know i can take it, now sit.”

your mind wanders, he picks you up, tosses you, lets you sit on his dick till you are practically killin’ him… yeah, wtv he can def take it.

n so you comply, letting your knees slide slightly as you sit yourself down on his awaiting mouth. not fully though, mind still at doubt, yet you can definitely feel the way his tongue curls around your clit n the way he sucks the pretty pearl between his lips, rolling it every so softly between the whites of his teeth to have you gasping and thighs in a desperate hurry to close.

his arms snake around your thighs and with a harsh pressure, you’re forced down, till you can the angry press of his nose against your pubic bone. “i said sit, i can take it. i want it, baby, lemme have you.”

wanted sum pretty plushy belly action in here 😔

[ellecdc]

A Man with a Plan.7

prologue // p1 // p2 // p3 // p4 // p5 // p6 // p7

Remus Lupin x whimsical!reader - Hogwarts Era (no Voldemort) - Soulmate AU

CW: angst, discussion of Black and Crouch shitty parenting, accidental attempted drowning/belief of drowning -> please note: there are always happy endings here on ellecdc

Amelia Bones didn’t like to think of herself as a particularly stupid girl, but she couldn’t deny she probably looked pretty foolish right now.

She was just about as pathetic as any school-aged girl got over their first crush – which was to say was very pathetic. The worst part of all of it was that she really sort of did this to herself.

She couldn’t deny that Remus had always been very clear that he was interested in nothing more than casual sex; he never invited her to breakfast, he never asked her out on dates, he never even invited her to parties. But that never stopped her from wanting those things.

And for a while, she was able to pretend it was fine.

She was able to pretend that when he didn’t kick her out of bed right away and allowed her to stay the night, that it meant he actually wanted her there. She was able to pretend that when he approached her at a party, it was because she had always been his first choice. She was able to pretend that when he grabbed her and rushed into a broom closet, it was because he just couldn’t stop thinking about her and needed her just as desperately as she needed him.

But she was only fooling herself.

And to add insult to injury, it appeared that Remus wasn’t completely averse to feelings, relationships, or dating; he just didn’t want that with her.

“And have you noticed how sweet he’s been on that freak L/N?” Shirley sneered from Amelia’s left as they all watched Remus smile sweetly at you and pass you a cup of something at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall.

“You should start offering palm readings, Amelia. Maybe then he’ll find you odd enough to keep around.” Added Silas, earning snickers from the entire friend group.

“Ha ha.” Amelia deadpanned, tossing her half-eaten toast onto the plate in front of her.

The bitter taste followed her around all day after that. She swore she could hear the sounds of Remus and his friends snickering all day, and if she happened to hear your serene voice echoing in the hallways, she knew that chances were that Remus wasn’t too far behind.

Remus was everywhere; and wherever she was able to avoid him – you seemed to show up. As you walked into the library in which Amelia was currently holed up in, she swore she was a thestrals hair away from using her quill to put herself out of her misery.

Amelia was able to see her friends from her current table but had opted to sit on her own in order to focus on the difficult Care of Magical Creatures essay, knowing that sitting with Silas would result in a rowdy game of gobstones in no time – library or not.

“Oi! L/N! What kind of voodoo spell did you cast on Lupin, huh?” Shirley called to the girl, earning her a round of snickers from the friend group. Amelia cringed, noting that you were currently alone and very clearly minding your own business.

“Hello Shirley.” You offered, albeit much less jovially than your usual sunny disposition.

“She asked you a question, freak.” Silas barked aggressively.

“Oh, leave her be.” Coraline chided in faux sympathy. “We all know she doesn’t have the attention span for voodoo practices; she’d need a brain larger than a goldfish for that.”

You looked away from the group who were now all belly laughing at your expense when your eyes met Amelia’s; her gaze already trained on you.

“Hello Amelia.” You said softly with a gentle smile gracing your lips as you approached her table. Amelia regarded you cautiously, though she hated to admit that she found it extremely difficult to feel defensive in your presence.

“Hi Y/N.” Amelia sighed, looking back down to her textbook.

“Have you gotten far on the essay?” You asked kindly, peering over Amelia’s textbook. She really wanted to be vexed at your intrusion in her studies, at her table, in her life, but she found she really couldn’t muster the effort.

“No... I, uhm. I’m finding this quite difficult, honestly. I’ve still got a foot of parchment to go.” She admitted begrudgingly. You hummed in agreement.

“It likely doesn’t help that it requires an understanding of the mating habits of the frost snails, which we haven’t covered in class.”

Amelia’s head snapped up to consider you. “Really?”

You nodded.

“Helga...I thought I had lost the plot! I was certain I had missed something in class to feel this lost.” Amelia admitted looking back down at her parchment feeling slightly elated to know that she at least wasn’t a complete fool in this area of her life.

“You can find everything you need to know on page 246; the rest of your paper should come along nicely.” You offered, smiling kindly at her. Amelia was sort of annoyed at the pleasant feeling that you elicited from her, but again she couldn’t muster up the energy to be particularly vexed.

“Thank you, Y/N. I would have been quite lost without your help.” She relented.

Your smile grew at that as you stood taller, preparing to walk away. “Oh, I’m sure you would have managed just fine Amelia. You’re quite the witch, you know.”

And with that, you floated away.

Amelia supposed that if there was anyone in this school who would be able to convince Remus Lupin to break all of his rules, you’d be a shoo-in.

Amelia decided then that it was actually quite an honour to have ‘lost’ to a witch like you.

Remus felt silly wandering the grounds in search of you. If he was a man of more restraint, he would try harder to control himself; but he decided there was no use in denying Moony, or himself, of you.

Thankfully for your part, you didn’t seem to mind all that much.

Remus’ life had been flipped upside down twice recently: once when he found out about his soulmate bond, and again when he came clean to you about his lycanthropy. He found he felt... freer, safer, grounded if that made any sense at all.

And though his regular anxiety surrounding the full moons seemed to lessen, his anxiety surrounding you seemed to grow each day the closer he got to the full. It was almost as if Moony was convinced he could feel every beat of your heart – it sped up momentarily, something upset you, you’re catching your breath, you’ve fallen asleep – and though Remus felt incredibly disturbed and admittedly creepy to be capable of assessing all of these things from Merlin knows how far away, it brought Moony immense comfort to be able to sense you safe.

He tried not to overwhelm you with his constant presence as Moony (and begrudgingly, himself) would much prefer, but with the full moon approaching, Remus decided it was better for everyone not to fight the urge to be close.

Remus had (quite embarrassingly) searched the entire castle for you to no avail and had even resorted to asking Regulus (who was accompanied by Barty) if he knew where you were.

Barty had scoffed at him. “Figures you wouldn’t be privy to her schedule yet, Lupin.” He sneered, emphasising his last name as if it were a dirty word.

Regulus rolled his eyes at his friend and let out a sigh. “She goes down to the Black Lake every afternoon to bring a gift to the mermaids, Lupin. Now if you don’t mind, I find Barty to be far more pleasant company when he’s not whining about people dressed in red and gold.”

Well, Remus didn’t have to be told twice. Moony was very excited to leave his present company to find ‘MINE!’.

Remus was admittedly not a huge fan of the moniker Moony had chosen for you, but he was very tired of arguing with The Wolf.

As Regulus had promised, Remus finally found you crouched down at the edge of the dock on the Black Lake, tracing shapes into the water’s surface with your hands.

Perfect. Good. Mine. Mine. Mine.

Remus couldn’t exactly disagree with the sentiment.

You were alerted to Remus’ presence by the wooden planks shifting below his feet.

“Hello Remus!” You cheered in that gentle and serene way of yours; Remus couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face.

“Hello Y/N, what are you up to?” He asked as he stood above you. You began to squint up at him and Remus quickly shifted over in order to shield your eyes from the sun.

“I’ve been trying to befriend the mermaids.” You explained, returning your gaze down to the water. “Each day I try to bring them trinkets.”

Remus hummed in acknowledgement and crouched down beside you ignoring the burning sensation in his knees. “What kind of trinkets?”

You hummed in thought before you answered. “I think anything shiny works well. Sometimes if I’ve lost the pair to an earring, I’ll bring it to them. Or crystals and gems are nice too.”

“And what do you get for your efforts?”

You turned to consider Remus bemusedly; your brows were furrowed but you were still smiling, nonetheless. “Do you only ever do things for the sake of a potential outcome, Remus?”

Remus figured he ought to feel properly chastised, but he was just too happy to be talking to you in order to do much about it. “I guess so.”

You hummed and assessed his face before turning back to the water. “Do you often feel disappointed?”

“I feel like we’ve already determined that my planning skills are not conducive to success, no?”

You smiled to yourself at that as you continued playing with the water. “It’s true that I’ve set out with a goal to befriend the mermaids. But whether or not they return that friendship, I will have succeeded.”

“Wouldn’t you think that you’d have better luck from in the water?” He queried, causing your lips to purse as you let out a disappointed sound.

“Perhaps; if I knew how to swim, I’d certainly try.”

Moony reared his big old head again at that, and Remus quickly stood and gently helped you stand and pulled you closer to the middle of the dock, away from the edge you’d been inhabiting.

You giggled at him; the first real spontaneous emotion he thinks he had ever heard from you, and it caused Remus’ heart rate to speed up double time.

“You needn’t worry, Remus.” You expressed solemnly. “I’m very careful.”

And for that, he and Moony were glad.

“Where are you headed now?” He asked instead, hoping to begin steering you away from the Lakes edge and towards solid ground.

He could tell by the subtle lift at the corners of your lips that you had caught onto him, but were gracious enough not to call him on it.

“I believe I’m to meet Bartemus and Regulus in the Slytherin dungeons for a bit.” You admitted, causing Remus to wrinkle his nose and Moony to growl in protest.

So many of the words you had used in that sentence were displeasing to Remus, but you were willingly stepping off the dock and walking towards the castle with him, so he didn’t feel he had any right to complain. 

“What are you headed to now?” You asked in turn, catching Remus off guard.

What was he going to do now? The only thing he’d planned on doing was finding you, and he’d done that.

“You know; I’m not sure.” He admitted.

You chuckled at him and began telling him about Barty and Regulus’ plans for the afternoon; and although he was displeased at the content, he was very pleased listening to the sound of your voice.

He hadn’t realised he’d been subconsciously leaning into you or brushing your hand with his until you confidently yet gently took his hand in yours and continued to lament about Barty’s poor study habits without missing a beat.

Remus found himself feeling very lucky to have you as his soulmate.

Remus’ feeling of luck ran out quickly when he found himself stepping down the last stair into the Slytherin dungeon to figuratively hand you off to your friends. 

You must have noticed Remus’ hesitation to let you go when you gave his hand a gentle squeeze and smiled kindly at him. “Perhaps we can meet in the library after supper? I have a Care of Magical Creatures essay to edit.”

And Remus was certain that was a lie; he was quite sure you were long done that essay, but he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“That’d be very nice.” He agreed.

“Alright, alright, Lupin. Move along, would you?” Barty grumbled as he made his way over; Regulus rolled his eyes at his friend and actually offered Remus a somewhat apologetic expression.

“Barty.” You chided lightly with a smile. “Be nice, yeah?”

Barty grumbled petulantly, muttering “that was me being nice.” But he acquiesced to your request in the form of keeping his mouth shut until Remus had ascended the stairs.

True to your word, you approached the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall when you were finished eating with a kind smile on your face.

Unfortunately for poor Moony (Remus), your presence led to questions from James, who, upon hearing you were working on edits for the essay in Care of Magical Creatures, insisted he join (seeing as he hadn’t even started it yet). Of course, not one to ever be left out, Sirius was quick to offer to join.

And since Remus, James, and Sirius were all going to be in the library, Peter figured he may as well tag along. 

Though Remus was feeling rather petulant about the final attendance of your study date, Moony was feeling very chuffed about his whole pack being together.

He forced Moony to lie down and be quiet as he listened to you try to help James with his essay (read: pretty much write it for him). 

Remus was surprised how well you seemed to settle into his group of friends, and in turn, how his friends seemed to settle around you. 

James seemed to be able to sit still for a longer period of time if it was you he was conversing with, Sirius seemed less inclined to argue with everyone about everything, and Peter seemed far more comfortable in asking you follow up questions than he was with anyone else the group had spoken with before.

Unfortunately, things didn’t seem to want to go smoothly for Remus today. 

The sound of your name being called over and over and over again in a hushed tone interrupted your sentence on why the mating cycle of frost snails was dependent on the growth pattern of shrivelfig fruit as Barty came rushing over.

“I’m sorry,” he started breathlessly, surprising the absolute fuck out of Remus. “I forgot to tell you earlier; I got a letter.”

Remus watched as your face turned grave; your expression far more severe than he’d ever seen it before.

“Did you burn it?” You asked darkly.

“Not yet.” Barty admitted.

“Bartemus.” You chided quietly, looking like your heart was breaking a little bit.

“Merlin; do you really need Y/N to check your mail for you, Junior? Couldn’t this wait until later?” Sirius grumbled, never looking up from his own Runes translations he was currently working on.

Remus was surprised he didn’t hear your neck snap with the speed at which you turned your attention away from Barty and back to the table where you glared severely at Sirius.

“Sorry Treasure.” Barty commented quietly, patting your shoulder. “I’ll catch up with you later.” Before he left the library.

Remus felt his heart drop…no…he felt your heart drop as you turned to watch Barty disappear behind the stacks in the library. 

“Sirius Black.” You began quietly, causing all the boys to cringe at the use of his full name. “Tell me; how do you usually feel after receiving a letter from your father?”

You had once again returned your attention back to the black-haired boy, but any of the softness and serenity that the boys were used to seeing when it came to you was nowhere to be found. 

Sirius didn’t seem to have an answer for you as his eyes darted nervously between his friends. 

“Is your father kind? Loving? Understanding? Does he tell you he’s proud of you? That he’s glad to have you as his son? That it’s an honour to share his name with you?”

“No.” Sirius finally said quietly. 

“And who helps you with that?” You asked. “When you had nowhere to go, and no one to turn to; who helped you with that?”

Remus heard Sirius swallow around what was likely a growing lump in his throat. “James.”

“Then call me James, Sirius.” You said emphatically, standing and beginning to pack your things.

“Wait, dove. Where are you going?” Remus started reaching out a tentative hand to rest on your wrist.

You slowed your movements but didn’t stop. “I have a Sirius to comfort, and a fire ritual to perform.” You explained simply. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

And with that, you turned and disappeared into the rows of books.

“Way to go, Pads.” James grumbled as he began organising his half-written parchment. “You managed to upset a perpetually happy person, and now I’ll never finish this essay.” 

“Well how am I supposed to know everything about that crazy bastard?” Sirius finally blurted out defensively. 

“Don’t you think you’ve done enough damage, brother?” The voice of Regulus Black drawled as he stepped out from behind the stacks. 

“Make it a habit of spying, brother?” Sirius sneered back. “Tell me; was it my conversations you were concerned with, or Juniors?”

Remus watched as Regulus’ jaw tightened minutely as he seemed to consider his next words.

“I’m not telling you this for your own sake, nor for Barty’s. But, if Y/N is important to any of you, there are some things you ought to know.” He started.

Yes. Important. Mine. Important. Moony chanted, sitting at attention.

“You know the fire that was caused by a magical experiment that went wrong a few years ago in Ottery St. Catchpole? That was Y/N’s house. Both her parents died in that fire.”

James’ head reared back as Sirius sucked in an uncomfortable breath. 

“She lives there with an elderly house elf as her only family. The house elf and Barty.”

“Junior lives with Y/N?” Remus asked quickly; too quickly. He was immediately embarrassed.

“Junior lives with Y/N.” Regulus parrotted. “You know, Sirius, the Black’s aren’t the only family who practice Unforgiveables on their children.”

Regulus seemed to allow that to sit in the air for a moment before he continued.

“And you aren’t the only one who needed a friend to run to.”

“I’m sorry, alright?” Sirius admitted, though he couldn’t bring himself to make eye contact with his brother.

“I don’t think you are, Sirius. I think you’re feeling properly chastised, and have no qualms painting Barty as the villain in every story all because of the school colours he happens to wear. You were so upset when our family accused you of being sorted into the wrong house, but you are the one who continues to view houses as wrong.”

Sirius looked up at his brother at that. “I am sorry, Reg. I didn’t know.” He admitted earnestly. 

“I’d thought that maybe…maybe out of everyone, you’d understand him the best… he reminds me a lot of you, you know. Stop - don’t look at me like that.”

“Reggie, I am trying, but you’re pushing your luck here.” Sirius groaned.

“I just wanted to let you know.” Regulus continued, though he seemed to be saying that to Remus. “Y/N is wonderful. And accepting, and understanding, and wholesome, and open minded. But she will protect her own. If Evans has to learn to put up with the lot of you for the sake of Potter, you’re going to have to figure out how to put up with me and Barty, because I can assure you that Barty isn’t going anywhere.”

Hearing Regulus’ message for what it truly was, Remus made a mental note:

Do not come between you and Barty.

You found the weather to be quite refreshing today as you made your way to the edge of the Black Lake. 

You felt poorly for Bartemus; you didn’t understand what the point of Crouch Senior continuing to write to his estranged son was, or what  he sought to accomplish.

Perhaps it was just to upset Barty, which upset you even more.

But, you’d performed the “fire sacrifice” as Barty often called it, and burned some white sage to cleanse the energy after disposing of the horrid letter.

And today was a new day. 

There were hardly any clouds in the sky, the grounds were quiet as most students were still in class whilst you had a free period, and Barty had offered you a family heirloom to offer the mermaids today.

You had no sooner lost sight of the Crouch signet ring as it sank to the depths of the Black Lake when the sun in the sky was blocked from behind you. 

You turned to see the figures of Silas, Shirley, and Coraline from Hufflepuff standing over you.

“I know you said she had a brian the size of a goldfish, Coraline, but it seems she rather wants to be a goldfish.” Shirley commented with a malicious smile.

“Returning home to the Grindylow’s, L/N?” Silas jeered. 

Your mother always told you to ignore the mean words; to smile and stay kind when people got mean. 

“What?” Coraline cooed in faux sympathy. “Kneazle got your tongue?”

“You better start talking, witch, because the way I see it; you’ve hurt one of ours.” Silas barked.

“Hurt?” You asked as you stood up, trying to sift through memories of your recent interactions with Hufflepuffs only to come up empty.

“Don’t play dumb; you totally stole Lupin right out from under Amelia.” Coraline explained.

Your heart fell; you certainly hadn’t meant to do that, you hadn’t even realised they were together. You never meant to hurt Amelia, and you were sure Remus must just hate you for this if it was true. 

“Amelia is twice the witch you are; Lupin deserves better than some ditzy airhead.” Shirley spat at you.

Amelia certainly was a nice witch; she was competent, powerful, and quite pretty. She was normal too, not like you; you were odd, a freak. 

“Why do you think he was spending all that time with Amelia when you two first started talking? He didn’t want you, L/N.” Coraline stressed.

He didn’t want you.

That was perhaps true. He didn’t choose this soulmate bond; and he didn’t choose you.

He had seemed more than disturbed in the beginning.

Perhaps he was only being nice to you now because he was simply no longer resisting the bond.

No one should have to live like that; to live their life out of force and obligation. Not Sirius, not Regulus, not Barty, and certainly not Remus.

“I don’t think you heard me.” Silas said as he took a menacing step towards you, and he punctuated every word with a sharp jab of his finger into your shoulder. “Stay. Away. From Lupin.”

And then he used his whole body to shove you backwards, and you were plummeting into the cold dark water of the Black Lake.

taglist: @hanniejji , @y0urm0m12 , @c0nsc10usworld , @aphrcdites , @starsval , @thepunisherfrankcastle , @anuncalledbridge, @unstablereader , @klazina-couch-potato , @cancelledkaley , @ttulipwritezz , @boo8008 , @imobsessedwitholiviarodrigo , @frostooo , @myriadmoons , @aremuslupinsimp , @simars3 , @stargurl99 , @dreamingofts18 , @iwannabeinthesequalmrghostface , @agent-tempest , @xxrougefangxx , @serenadingtigers , @adhxmoony , @hufflepufffangirlqueen , @thebiggestnaturaldisaster , @urmomw4ntsme , @b4tm4nn , @jamieolivia27 , @stqrgirlies-blog , @loving-and-dreaming

[vivitheanimaxen]

Tango couldn't remember the last time he slept.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd worked on a redstone project either.

That was irrelevant! He was perfectly fine. There was a reason he was down by Gem's docks. Right?

"Tango?"

Speak of the devil and she shall appear! That was Gem herself, pulling Tango around. He didn't want to, there was something about the--

"Tango. Tango, hey." Gem forced him to meet her eyes, "Don't tell me you've been possessed again. After last time? C'mon man, you said you'd. . . do. . ."

Tango didn't know what Gem was talking about. He wasn't possessed. Tango knew what that felt like and that wasn't this.

Gem got an odd look in her eye, before latching her hand around his wrist and dragging him back up the path towards his house. But--

That wasn't home anymore.

Not when his place was down by the water-- in the water-- he was waiting for someone to come back--

"No-- Tango-! Ugh." Gem planted herself between Tango and the mists over the water-- the place where he had promised to be.

Tango found himself sitting at the edge of the dock. There was something tied around his wrist, but he didn't mind. The tips of his boots were dragging in the foam.

"Tango, homie-buddie. It's freezing out here, you should come inside." Skizz had rested a hand on Tango's shoulder.

"Can't you hear it?" Tango asked, breathless as it came back.

The song was promising him the answers to everything. He just had to be here to hear it. To decipher it's song.

"Hear what?"

Tango was fighting against the pull of hands, trying to take him away. His friends-- not friends anymore-- they wanted to take the music for themselves-- "I promised! I promised--"

His mouth was full of the taste of blood. Blood and cotton and he couldn't hear the rush of the waves anymore. He was too warm. There were voices nearby.

"How is he?" Oh, Tango recognized that voice, that was Xisuma.

"Still unresponsive. Is Ren-?" That sounded like Impulse.

"The same way."

Impulse sighed, "He's too quiet. Tango's never been this quiet."

"I'm listening." Tango had to listen otherwise he might miss the music.

He couldn't remember who the music went to, but-- It was someone he needed to be there for. How long had it been? He needed to get back to the water.

Tango was on his feet, trying to push past the arms holding him back. There was a snarl pooling on his tongue, frustration sparking deep in his bones. He needed to get back to the water.

He yelped as someone slammed into his back, knocking Tango off his feet and into the grass. He writhed, kicking, his tail lashing and sparking as he struggled to get free. There was nothing in his inventory. He had nothing but his hands and his fire and the grass around him and they were closing in--

Tango was floating in the bay, Gem's conduit letting him breathe like he should be able to. His heartbeat was pounding in his ears, his fire was sputtering, angry about being underwater.

Well too bad fire, cause Tango was right where he was supposed to be.

As evidenced by who was in front of him.

The someone, the who he'd promised to be there for when he returned.

The song wrapped around him like a blanket, smothering the chill from the sea and guiding Tango close. He didn't quite remember where he'd met them before but he knew that this was the right thing.

Until he was out of the conduit's range.

Until the water that was so welcoming before now choked at his air and bit at his warmth.

Until the song that'd promised him everything suddenly disappeared.

A hand hauled Tango out of the water by the back of his shirt, dumping him in a sopping heap on the sand. He spit up half the ocean by the time he was able to breathe again.

He was hearing words, but he couldn't figure out what Skizz was saying. Or Impulse for that matter. The music was gone though.

It had abandoned him and now?

Tango didn't know what to do next.

[suguwu]

MOON EATER I THREE

"But truly, Master Diluc—why am I here?"

"I would wed you," he says, flexing his hands in his lap. "If you are amenable to it."

minors and ageless blogs do not interact.

masterlist

pairing: diluc ragnvindr x f!reader

notes: i've been sitting on this chapter for a while, so i'm excited to send it out in the world!

content: marriage of convenience, politics, some manipulation, pining, jealousy, some jeanlisa if you squint.

wc: 4k

The winery is almost entirely empty when Diluc steps inside after you. Jean is corralling the few stragglers, giving quiet orders to the remaining knights, her blue eyes as gentle as the summer sky. She’s in ceremonial wear and it hones her; he thinks of a sheathed blade. 

“Jean,” he says. “You don’t need to do that.” 

She turns to face him, a soft smile curling up on her lips. There’s a faint blush on her cheeks, the color of the pearly dawn. It’s the one she gains when she’s caught doing something she knows she shouldn’t.

(“Father,” Diluc said, innocent as a newborn fawn as Jean and Kaeya shifted at his side.  “You wanted to see us?”

His father eyed them with a raised brow. “I don’t suppose the three of you know anything about the pie that went missing from the kitchen.” 

Kaeya fidgeted with his sleeve, his slender fingers working at the cuff of it. Diluc elbowed him in the ribs subtly. “No, Father,” he said.

His father studied each of them carefully. Out of the corner of his eye, Diluc saw the blush rising to Jean’s cheeks, a soft pink that was slowly darkening. 

“Jean?” his father asked.

“I’m sorry!” she cried out, and Diluc groaned.)

“I was just helping—”

“Jean. You don’t need to help.” 

She bites at her lip and Diluc softens. He’d forgotten how much she needed to feel useful. But this close, he can see the bags under her eyes, the deep blue-gray of a stormcloud. “My staff has it under control,” he says. “And you’re a guest.” 

“But—”

“Go home and rest.” 

“I can still—”

“Jean.” 

“Alright,” she says quietly. “I just need to give a few more orders, that’s all.”

He nods and starts to step away.

“Diluc?”

When he turns to face her, he takes a sharp breath. There’s something like sorrow shining through her expression, something bone-deep carved into the curve of her mouth.

“Is this really what you wanted?” she asks. Her voice is gentle, but she’s watching him carefully, her gaze a comet streaking through the sky, the blue of it cutting through the heavens’ tender underbelly. It cuts through him, too.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he says after a moment.  

Jean smiles, starshine at dawn, a slow fade of light. “I thought you might say that.”

Diluc stays quiet, meeting her gaze steadily. 

“You’re as stubborn as ever,” she says, shaking her head, but her voice is fond. 

“Master Diluc? Stubborn? Perish the thought,” Lisa says as she joins them, wrapping her shawl around her pale shoulders. 

Jean heaves out a beleaguered sigh, but she can’t quite hide the twitch of her lips.

Lisa laughs, light and tinkling, looping her arm through Jean’s. “Come on, darling,” she says. “Let’s let the newlyweds have their night, yes?” She throws Diluc a bold wink. 

Heat scorches across his cheeks, a supernova burn. He’s able to disguise his choke as a cough at the last second, though from the glimmer in Lisa’s jade eyes, he hasn’t hidden it well enough. 

“Lisa!” Jean scolds.

The mage laughs again. She’s every inch the cat who got the canary, her lips curling into a delighted little smile. 

“Goodnight, Diluc,” Jean says, all but dragging Lisa away. Lisa lets herself be led, snuggling in close to the blonde as they leave. It smushes some of the roses in her hair, but she doesn’t seem to care that she’s leaving a trail of petals behind. Diluc sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Sorry about her,” you say as you join him. “She’s a handful.”

“I’m aware.” 

You laugh, picking a cecilia out of your hair and rolling the short stem between your palms. The bloom whirls with it, a ballerina’s tulle skirt, a light dusting of pollen floating down from it to tint your fingers gold. It catches the light as you raise your hand to cover your yawn.

Diluc frowns. “You should go to bed,” he says. “It’s been a long day.” 

You hum. “It has been,” you say. “I don’t suppose you intend to sleep soon?”

“I need to speak with Adelinde.” 

“Alright,” you say. “Good night, then.”

“Good night.” 

He watches you go upstairs, the hem of your dress flowing behind you, a silken spill of moonlight. 

You don’t look back. 

He turns on his heel. Finding Adelinde is easy; she’s in the midst of giving orders to some of the staff. She hands off a mostly-empty platter of tiny, delicate golden-brown pastries to Hillie when she sees him.

“Master Diluc.”

“Adelinde,” he says. “How is the clean up going?”

“We’ll be done with the food soon. The rest can wait until morning, I believe.” 

“Good.”

Adelinde pauses. She looks at him for a moment; her jade eyes have a knife’s edge to them, her gaze an autopsy cut. Her lips draw tight, a wound of a mouth. “You mean to go out tonight.”

“Yes.”

“If I may, Master Diluc,” she says, “you now have a wife.”

“That has no bearing in this. The Knights will be lax tonight, lulled into complacency by the celebration. I heard a few mention continuing at Angel’s Share after they return to the city. I cannot leave Mond unprotected.” 

Adelinde does not frown. Instead, her face smooths out into an impenetrable mask, porcelain breathed to life. “Very well,” she says. “At least wait until she’s asleep.” 

“The sooner I leave—”

“At least wait until she’s asleep,” she says, voice sharp. “It is your wedding night.”

“When she’s asleep,” he allows.

Adelinde nods. “Goodnight, Master Diluc.”

“Goodnight, Adelinde.” 

He goes upstairs quietly. There’s a soft light filtering from under the door to your room. He sighs and heads into the master bedroom, settling at the small desk in front of the windows. He lights the candles with a flick of his wrist; the flames devour the wick, leaping high before settling into a low, sweet glow. He’s just beginning to shuffle through a few papers when one of the hallway floorboards groans, a warning song.

“Diluc,” you say from the doorway. The candlelight barely reaches you there; it casts you into shadows, a new moon’s outline against the velvet of the sky. “May I come in?”

He stands. “Yes,” he says. “What is it?”

You step inside. The cecilias are gone from your hair, but you’re still wearing your dress. Your smile is a bit sheepish, but there’s a secret tucked up in the corner of it. “My dress,” you say. “The maids are all so busy. Can you undo the top few buttons for me?”

“I—what?”

“It’s hard to undo them from this angle,” you say. “Please?”

He takes a breath. “Alright.” 

You turn as he steps closer, the delicate train of the dress swirling at your feet, a whirlpool of silk. It exposes the line of buttons marching down the back of your dress, rigid against the soft flow of the fabric. 

The buttons are tiny things, pearls that shine like little moons even in the low light. He bites back a curse as they slip against the leather of his gloves. He tries again, gently tugging on a button, but it refuses to come out of the loop holding it tight. He changes the angle, but it’s no use; he runs afoul of the slick surface again and again. He huffs in annoyance and bites at the tip of his index finger to peel off his glove, letting it drop to the ground.

He tries again and finally, the button slips free of the little loop. The fabric separates. His fingertips—rough, heavy with scars from burns and blades alike—brush against the cool slope of your back, skin against skin. He goes still. 

You glance at him over your shoulder. You’re still shadow-kissed, but your eyes gleam in the dim.

(“Forgive my forwardness,” you said. “But there is the small matter of lovers.”

Diluc coughed. He glanced at you and saw no hint of a joke. “I beg your pardon?”

“Lovers,” you said, that rosebud smile rising to your lips, petals yet unfolded. “If you should take one, I only ask that you be discreet. I would do the same, of course.” 

Something in Diluc’s chest went cold. It was bone-deep, as if the Dragonspine winds were cutting through him. “You would take a lover?”

“I do not know the future,” you said. “But if I should, I would be discreet, as I said. Is that alright?” 

Diluc took a deep breath. “If you wish it, I would hardly stop you.”

You inclined your head to him with a little smile. You moved on to another topic like a river current, slow but inexorable. Diluc barely heard any of it, your voice muffled, as if you were speaking underwater. He only came back to himself as you gathered your things and bid him farewell. 

“Master Diluc,” you said at the door. He glanced up at you, your features softened in the light streaming in through the windows. “I should mention that I would not mind you in my bed instead of a lover.” 

Diluc choked.

By the time he recovered enough to speak, you were already gone.)

He undoes another button. Then a third, and a fourth, each little pearl slipping from its loop with ease. His thumb traces over the salt of your skin until it slips just beneath the fabric. He pulls just enough for the gap between the fabric to widen. He drags his thumb along the crescent moon sliver of revealed skin; a callus catches against you. You take in a sharp breath.

Diluc pulls back as if burned.

“There,” he says, clearing his throat, his cheeks hot. He knows they’ve gone scarlet, that there’s a deep flush painted over his whole face. “They’re undone.”

“Thanks,” you say, glancing over your shoulder once more. Your lashes catch the shadows like a spider’s web. It only serves to better illuminate your eyes. He swallows. 

“You’re welcome.”

You study him for a moment before you smile, as soft as the breaking dawn. “Goodnight,” you say.

“Goodnight.” 

The door clicks shut behind you. Diluc listens as your quiet footsteps fade away; there’s a distant thud as the door to your room closes too. He sighs, leaning down to pick his glove up off the floor. He slides it back on as he crosses to his closet. The night is still young and he knows what he must do.

When he’s dressed, he opens the secret compartment to his desk. He stares down at the owl mask that’s ensconced there. It gleams in the low light, the severe point of its beak a wicked hook. Diluc tucks it away under his cloak before he opens the window. 

With the lush vines clinging to the winery walls, it’s an easy climb down. He looks up when he reaches the bottom. There’s still a light glowing faintly in your window. His chest aches, as if a ribbon is tightening around it, but he ignores it and slips on the mask.

He has work to do.

—

Morning comes far too soon.

Diluc’s room is still steeped in blue, but the promise of morning is apparent on the horizon where golden fingers of light are reaching into the sky, scraping their way through the darkness. The birds are just beginning to stir, their chirps still subdued, a few plucked notes before the melody. 

It feels like Diluc has just only collapsed into bed, but the stars that had been watching over him when he stole back into his room have gone out, fading beneath the dawn. He sits up and scrubs a hand over his face, wincing as it pulls at the fresh set of lilac bruises blooming on his right side. He prods at them carefully. 

The ache sinks its teeth in as he brushes his fingertips along the biggest of them. It’s still darkening, a galaxy caught under his skin. It remains tender as he gets ready for the day; it takes effort to not compensate for it in his movement. 

By the time Diluc heads downstairs, the winery is already stirring to life. A few maids scurry past him; he can hear the vineyard workers starting to make their way through the vines, checking them after the harvest. But most of the activity is centered in the heart of the winery, where the remnants of your wedding reception are. He watches as two of the servants unhook a floral garland from the rafters, petals raining down beneath them. The petals whirl through the air like snowflakes, thick and white, and Diluc brushes one off when it lands on his shoulder. He’s in the middle of plucking another out of his mass of crimson hair when the floorboards whisper your arrival. 

“Oh,” you say. “They’re taking them down already? A shame.”

He glances at you. “I am sure Adelinde would be open to keeping them up, should you wish it.”

“It’s fine. I just thought they might keep them up a little longer while they’re fresh.” 

“I see.” 

You reach out and let a petal drift into your hand. It’s a little bruised at the edges from being shaken loose, but you don’t seem to mind. 

“Do you think I could have a few for my room?” you ask.

“A few—”

“Flowers,” you say. “I’m sure many of them are still intact even after the garlands are taken down.”

“Of course. Any that you would like.” 

“Thank you.”

“No thanks needed,” he says, adjusting his cuff. “It’s—this is your home too, now.” 

You pause. When you look at him, he can’t quite make sense of your expression. “Yes,” you say quietly. “I suppose it is.”

“I hope you will be comfortable here.”

You smile, the slow rise of a crescent moon. “I’m sure I will be. Though I intend to return to Liyue soon.”

“Of course. Do you know when?”

“I expect that I’ll return within the week.”

“Oh? That’s later than I expected.”

“So eager to be rid of me?”

Diluc flushes, the heat of it spreading from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. “No, I—”

“I’m only teasing,” you say. “I haven’t been back to Mond in a while. There are some things I should handle in person.” 

“I see.”

You examine him for a moment. Whatever you see must satisfy you, for you glance back at the workers, still diligently undoing the reception decor, autumn come indoors, the flowers stripped away to reveal bare wood. A petal flutters down into your hair; Diluc thinks of the gentle fall of snow. He starts to raise his hand to pluck it out but you shift and the petal drifts to the ground. He halts before tugging at his glove instead.

“Now,” you say, turning back to him, “I need something to eat. Will you be joining me for breakfast?”

Diluc shakes his head. “The vintners asked for me today,” he says. “The earlier I can speak with them the better.” 

You hum. “Okay. Have a good day.”

“You as well.” 

You flash a small smile before inclining your head to him. “Husband,” you say. You dart off before he can respond. He watches you disappear, the moon dipping below the horizon. 

Husband, he thinks. 

He’s not sure he’ll ever get used to that.

—

The days roll by. Diluc buckles down to work, caught up in the hubbub of the end of the harvest season. He oversees the grape crushing, the little fruits popping beneath the press until they’re must, all pulp and juice. A few small buckets of grapes are set aside for the children of the workers; they’ll stomp them to their hearts’ content, their chiming laughter drifting through the vines as they cling to each other for balance, their little feet dyed dark.

(“C’mon, Luc!” Kaeya cried, already scrambling towards the tub filled with ruby-red grapes. His eye was shining, starlight bright, a grin spread wide across his face, his usual reticence washed away. Diluc knew it was his favorite time of year; the other boy loved every moment of the harvest season and all that came with it.

 “Hurry up!” Kaeya called. He had already rolled up his pant legs and stepped into the tub, his face lit with joy, a summer sun in the autumn chill.

Diluc huffed but climbed in after him. The grapes popped beneath his weight, squishing up between his toes, a pulpy mess of skin and seeds. He stomped once, twice, and felt more of them burst. 

Kaeya reached for his hand; Diluc twined their fingers together and held on tight as the scrawny boy started to jump in place. Kaeya laughed wildly, the sound picked up by the wind and carried away like seeds. He jumped again and almost slipped. Diluc caught him at the last minute, hauling him up with a giggle. They joined hands again and began to twirl in a circle, stomping away as they went.

They laughed as they spun around together, holding on tight to each other as juice started to gather beneath their feet. Their skin went purple with it, a galaxy splashed up to their calves. The golden afternoon sun shone down on them; sweat gathered on their brows. But they kept going and going, unrelenting until the last of the grapes had burst beneath their feet.

They panted as they climbed to the side of the tub. Kaeya sat on the edge of it, swinging his feet as the maids went to gather towels for them. He was incandescent with delight, a shooting star streaking across the night sky, and Diluc grinned. 

“Good work, boys,” his father said, coming down the path. He’d clearly met the maids halfway; there were towels slung over his broad shoulder.

Diluc puffed up with pride; next to him, Kaeya smiled, shy but pleased. His father handed them the towels and watched as they wiped their feet clean.

“Ready for the next step?” his father asked. 

Kaeya nodded eagerly, but Diluc balked.

“Can’t we stomp more grapes?” he asked.

His father laughed, as warm as the sun. “Maybe later,” he said. “But now you need to learn what happens next.”

Diluc sighed.

“C’mon, Luc,” Kaeya said, bumping his shoulder against Diluc’s. “There’s always tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Diluc said. “There is.”)

Diluc sighs, nodding to Connor as he takes his leave. He heads back to the winery; a few of the workers call out greetings, but no one tries to stop him.

Adelinde appears as soon as he steps inside the winery. She inclines her head to him, her hands clasped in front of her. “Master Diluc,” she says.

“Adelinde,” he greets. 

“Is everything in order?”

“Yes,” he says. “Everything is ready for processing. It was a good harvest.” 

“That’s good to hear.”

“I’ll take some of Elzer’s work with the Wine Guild so he can concentrate on processing. If you see him, please let him know.”

Adelinde purses her lips. “Master Diluc, Elzer is perfectly capable of handling both. You have enough on your plate.”

“My decision is final, Adelinde.”

She examines him for a moment, her jade eyes sharp, a flaying gaze. “You don’t need to make amends for your absence,” she says. “That is the past.” 

Diluc flinches. Adeline watches him steadily, her face impassive, but her eyes have softened, have crinkled around the edges, sweetly fond. He flexes his hand, searching for words, but his tongue is leaden in his mouth.

Adelinde takes pity on him. “The vineyard workers are starting the fertilization process today and tomorrow,” she says. “Is there anything you wish to let them know?”

“No. I trust them.”

“Good.”

Diluc adjusts his cuff. “Is that all?”

She smooths her hands over her uniform skirt, as if erasing wrinkles that aren’t there. “Your wife’s travel arrangements are complete. She means to leave tomorrow.” 

He nods. “Where is she now?”

“She went to the Dandelion Sea, I believe.”

“By herself?”

“She has an escort. One of the knights. Though it is my understanding that the knight would not be able to return with her due to a patrol.” 

Diluc rolls his shoulders, trying to loosen the broad line of them. “When did they leave?”

The corners of Adelinde’s lips creep upwards, an ivy tendril curve, barely noticeable. “A few hours ago.”

He nods curtly. “Thank you, Adelinde.”

“Of course, Master Diluc.” She disappears, light on her feet despite her heels, barely a whisper of sound to accompany her.

Diluc leaves the winery to head to the stables.

—

The Dandelion Sea stretches vast, the flowers rippling in the breeze like waves lap at the shore. The sun is high in the sapphire sky, a halo burning bright, the dandelions stark white under its kiss. There are seeds floating through the air, faintly glowing, scattered like falling stars. 

Diluc ties his horse to a tree, leaving her to graze on some long grass, and begins to make his way into the Sea. More seeds come loose, dancing around him like snowflakes; they settle into his mane of hair, the crimson of it bleeding to something darker against the soft white of them. They catch on his jacket, too, dotting the ebony cloth until it’s a glittering night sky. 

It doesn’t take him long to find you. He can see faint figures at the edge of the Sea, where the trees cast shadows, a sweet pool of shade. He heads towards you as the breeze picks up. It carries a peal of laughter to him, bright as the sun, swirling around him. 

“Oh,” you say as he draws close, standing up before he can stop you.

The knight you’re with comes to attention—far too late. “M—Master Diluc,” he stammers. 

Diluc clicks his tongue. The knight goes shame-faced, glancing away from his thunderous visage. 

You smile, a glaze lily unfolding under the moon’s tender touch. You touch the knight’s vambrace lightly before turning to Diluc. His gaze stays on where you’re touching the knight still, your fingertips lingering against the metal of his armor.

“I wasn’t expecting you,” you say. “Is something wrong?”

Diluc blinks, vermilion eyes flickering back to you. “No.”

You pause, as if waiting for something. Diluc blinks again. Your smile flickers, a guttering candle. The knight shifts in place.

Diluc turns his attention to him. “You can go,” he says curtly. 

“But—”

“You have patrol soon, don’t you, Anselm?” you ask. “You should head out.” 

Anselm glances at you. “Oh. Of course.”

“Thank you for accompanying me today,” you say. “It’s appreciated.”

The knight nods, a slight flush rising to his cheeks. He gives you the Ordo’s salute. “Let the wind lead,” he says before turning to leave.

Diluc doesn’t bother to watch him go; he keeps his gaze on you. That rosebud smile blooms on your lips again, as inevitable as the sun’s rise. “Poor Anselm,” you say. “You have quite the scowl, Master Diluc.”

He doesn’t rise to the bait. “Was he going to leave you here alone?”

You sigh. “It’s perfectly safe here.”

“So he was.”

“You’re here now,” you say. “So it hardly matters.”

Diluc bristles. “It matters to me. The Knights have their duties—”

“They cannot attend to every single civilian. The roads to the Sea have been clear for weeks, anyway. Or did you see something on your way?”

He furrows his brow and sets his jaw. “No.”

“The Knights aren’t as incapable as you think,” you say softly. You peer at him through the fan of your eyelashes, the shadow cast by them soft against your cheeks. “And besides, as I said, you’re here now. I know you’ll keep me safe.” 

Diluc takes in a sharp breath. He tugs at his glove and glances away.

You don’t seem to notice. Your attention has returned to the Dandelion Sea. The meadow sways gently in the wind, a honey-slow shiver. You trace a finger over a dandelion; it stays whole despite your touch, the Anemo energy holding it together brightening for a breath before it fades again, a firefly glow.

But when you flop into them, the dandelions puff up, the seeds scattering like starfall. They yield to you like a blessing, giving you everything they have. The seeds catch in your hair, your clothing, your eyelashes. You turn your face up to the sky, the sun bathing you golden.

It strikes Diluc that you are pretty. 

(Burnished by the light, you were lost amid the golden leaves of the sandbearer tree. You climbed and climbed until you were shining bright in the cerulean sky, a sun all your own. Diluc watched from the ground, mouth agape.

When you glanced down, the shadows crossed your face in bold strokes. It softened you, blurred the edges of you. Except for your smile. Your smile cut through the shadows like a single stark slash of a sun-bright knife.

Diluc looked up at you, at that smile, and suddenly, he knew what pretty meant.

It meant you.)

It’s not the first time he’s realized it, but it feels new. It’s in the curve of your back, a cathedral nave of muscle and bone; it’s in the way the sun filters through the leaves to touch you like a lover, a stained-glass kiss. The dandelion seeds catch on your eyelashes like moonlight, and it hits him again: you’re pretty. 

And you’re his.

He pushes the thought away. You might be his, but it’s in name only. He knows better than to assign meaning to it. There’s nothing between the two of you aside from a certificate with your signatures upon it. 

But that’s fine.

That’s all he needs it to be.

[unholyhelbig]

I for one would not mind more werewolf kate

Title: Once Bitten, Twice the Idiot [6/?]

Summary: After reader is attacked by a strange animal in the woods, her world is flipped upside down. Now she must navigate a new life filled with strangers and myths.

Trigger warnings: Hunting, the actual werewolf transformation, restraints (hands, legs, neck), bloody & Gore, pet names, let me know if I've forgotten anything pls.

[Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six]

[A/n: I was really fucking sad when I wrote this, and for that, I apoloigize. This isn't a gentle chapter, so please read with caution. And as always, I did not proof read].

Main Masterlist | Ao3 | Request Prompts

A rot of leaves coated the forest floor, filling your lungs with an unsettling pungent scent. The world had blurred edges, somehow caving in on itself with each passing second. The trees whizzed past you, an ache that once covered your entire being had ebbed away the faster you ran.

There was such an intoxicating scent that led you blindly. It was floral and sweet and screamed above all the deteriorating vegetation. You’d run so far, so fast and without hesitation. What was that? You needed to sink your teeth into it, to taste it. You would simply die if you didn’t.

It was a girl. Yes. A girl.

She was running too, but not nearly with enough speed as you. She stumbled over fallen logs and branches dug into her skin. They created gashes of dripping red that made you salivate. She was cornered against a fence, fingers curling around the chain link.

You regarded her, taking a moment to register the hot pain in your chest. How far had you followed her? It was ways from home, you knew that much, but none of that seemed to matter. No- because she was right in front of you, and she was captivating.

In your excitement, you took a careful step forward and a small noise escaped her throat. Her eyes were frantic as she took in your hulking and animalistic stature. She was afraid, and part of you was too. Something had led you to her, to this sadistic chase that had cornered you both.

Her blood tasted sweet just like her scent. Your teeth crushed bone, tore through tendons with such a simple ease.

She was yours.

Sweat had soaked through your sheets and clung to your bare legs, even as you shot up and pulled in a helping of air. Your skin buzzed as if it were set ablaze with fever.  The waning moon cast a sickly pale light against the room. Your heart pounded ruthlessly against your chest.

That dream had left you antsy, and horrified. You never remembered your dreams but this one was vivid, almost like it was a memory. The coppery taste made your mouth dry. You were restless, wide awake despite the red numbers on the clock indicating that it was just past 3:00am.

You couldn’t hear anything through the walls that had been doubled down in strength despite your enhanced senses. The house was as good as silent, though you figured it statistically impossible for everyone to be asleep.

The hallway was dark compared to your room, filled with moonlight. You padded a few steps before you stopped in front of Kate’s door. It pained you to be here, begging for some type of comfort. The dream had left you rattled. Afraid.

It was getting closer to the full moon and your thoughts had been plagued with the pain that you’d read about so diligently. Scanning the inked words on a yellowing page was nothing compared to the experience of it all.

Swallowing your pride, you knocked twice, knowing that she could hear you. It took Kate a few moments to untangle herself from her blankets. You could pick up on her stumbling her way across her room until she swung the door open.

The girl tried to be suave, giving you a tired smile as she leaned against her doorframe. Her hair was sleep-worn and springing in various directions. She wore a pair of boxers with little purple arrows against the fabric and a tank top that was riding up enough to expose the smooth expanse of her stomach.

“Hi,” You swallowed the dryness in your throat, pulling your eyes from her muscular frame. Her cheeks were blooming with a fond pinkness. “I couldn’t sleep.”

You didn’t want to admit that you were freezing, that the sweat you’d produced during the odd dream had dried taught against your skin. A shiver worked its way through you, and you crossed your arms over your midsection, trying to preserve what warmth you had left.

Kate lilted her head and stepped to the side without a second thought. She beaconed you into her room. The curtains were drawn, blocking out the light of the moon. Her comforter was drawn back, pillows scattered against her bed. She must have been engulfed in a deep and comfortable sleep, one that you had broken.

It helped, not being able to see the looming structure of the moon. It made you squirm, but the scent that engulfed you, the pure warmth of Kate’s mere presence, calmed your nerves. When she shut the door softly you knew that you were safe with her.

The wolf, that’s what Wanda had called it, knew what it wanted. She said that there was a blind trust that would flow through you with the girl that you’d crawled to and that feeling was only multiplying as the full moon got closer and closer.

“Don’t… say a word.” You turned to her, crossing your arms over your chest.

Despite your warning, she smiled wolfishly at you, lifting both of her hands with an innocent shrug. She looked adorably miffed by exhaustion, and that thought annoyed you more than anything. God, you really should hate her. But she looked so warm, so accepting and every inch of your body was howling for her skin against yours.

Kate settled back into bed and peeled back the duvet with an expectant look on her face. Why were you fighting her so hard? Clearly, you were tired. You’d knocked on her door and you hadn’t done that without reason. If you wanted conversation, you would have found Peter and interrupted his late night gaming.

Or maybe even Natasha who couldn’t sleep, just like you. But you did value your life, just a little bit. So Kate it was, a magnet that drew you in. The more exhausted you got, the harder it was to pull away. And really- she had been trying. Right?

Almost as if on instinct, you took her up on her offer and slid into the encompassing warmth of the duvet. There was the scent of lavender, of freshly washed sheets and the metallic breath that she drew in, almost as if she was just as shocked as you were at the action.

Kate cautiously lowered the blanket and the two of you stared at the little glowing stars on her ceiling. You hadn’t seen them since the fifth grade. America didn’t’ have the deep green celestial patterns, but instead a garden of pulsing orange and purple, and yellow flowers.

You could feel the heat of Kate’s shoulder close to yours. You were so cold, even under the blankets and she seemed like the only source of comfort from the dream that lingered so heavily on your mind.

“Do you think…”

The words died in your throat. She turned her head to face you, and after a few moments of building up the courage you turned your cheek against the pillow too, staring into a cloudy grey stare that was marred with sleep, pockmarked with questions.

“Will I ever be able to see them again?” your voice was pinched with emotion. It was fear, the both of you recognized it. Her eyes glossed over, her bottom lip pulled between her teeth to stop it from trembling. You felt emotion well up in your own chest. “I know things will never be normal again, but do you think there’s a chance?”

Kate swallowed the thickness in her throat, voice barely a whisper. “I do.”

You nodded and dislodged the tears that were fighting for dominance. Kate didn’t’ hesitate to reach up and wipe them away with her gentle touch. Her thumb was calloused, but soft. A whimper escaped you as you leaned into her touch. Kate shivered at the contact herself.

“I get why I’m here and I’m grateful for it. The last thing I want to do…” you trained off, listening to the shuttered sound of her breathing. “I don’t want to hurt anyone, ever.”

“You won’t, y/n.”

The immediacy of her statement brought you comfort. It wasn’t necessarily a reflex, but a belief that she felt deep in her core. You clenched your eyes shut and scooted closer until you felt the full effect of Kate’s presence.

The movements were gentle as you slotted yourself against her, hand laying on her stomach and moving over the softness of her shirt. She held her breath for a moment, instinctively wrapping her arm around you. You pressed your nose against the naïve of her neck, slick with tears of her own.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” She quivered with guilt.

You were starting to understand, against your better judgement, why this had happened. Kate found you for a reason, and that tension, that discomfort, that was your wolf fighting for a way to get to her. And you had.

The tears that wet her shirt, the ones that coated your cheeks, they were those of relief. You curled into Kate, taking in her scent, the two of you gripping onto each other like a vice, eventually drifting towards a fitful sleep, shadowed by stars.

There was no such thing as privacy in a house with eleven people. Not when so many of them had a strict regimen of exercise, and healthy eating. There was a stark difference from life at the dorm where people rarely arose before twelve in the afternoon unless they had class, and even that was a gamble.

Instead, you stirred to the sound of a blender and the hushed voices of an indiscernible conversation. That was followed by a very discernible sound of a cell phone camera. Even without advanced hearing, you clocked it in moments.

A small groan escaped you. It was much too early to wake up. You had never been more comfortable in your life, your nose pressed flush against the crook of Kate’s neck. She shifted in her sleep, pulling you closer with an adorably tiny breath.

“Go away,” she grumbled, the words vibrating against your palm.

 You tightened your grip on the fabric of her shirt. God, it was so bright. They’d pulled the curtains back and the sun was in full force. Despite the comfort, there was no way you’d drift back into sleep. That fact alone was solidified when you bolted up at the clearing of someone’s throat.

An odd hurriedness shot through your spine, forehead knocking against Kate’s chin and leaving a throbbing spot in its wake. The girl that was under you let out another small noise at the back of her throat, rubbing her jaw while depriving the world of her stormy stare.

Natasha Romanoff leaned against the doorframe of Kate’s bedroom. Wanda had been very clear about the rank in the house, and it was of no shock to you that Natasha was pretty high up there. It was why her simple sound of alert had made your entire body tingle. You knew- your wolf knew- that she was in charge, and that she was there for you.

“I checked your room first,” She stated matter-of-factly. “Obviously, you weren’t there.”

Your cheeks reddened at the predicament you’d found yourself in, and the fact that you were sure you’d heard the click of a cell phone camera. It was almost like your parents walking in on a sleepover that got a little too cozy.

Kate sat up groggily, testing her jaw a few times, “Good morning, Nat. To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“You can go back to sleep. I’m here for y/n. We’re going on a run.”

The wary look you got from the girl in bed next to you wasn’t exactly easing your nerves. She must have gone through this before, and she would truly object if she thought it was something you couldn’t handle. Instead, her hand found yours under the safety of the duvet and gave your fingers an encouraging squeeze.

You knew better than to object to Natasha, so you followed her orders and changed into the closest thing to workout clothes that you’d packed; a pair of royal blue gym shorts and a t-shirt that was from your last trip to the west coast. Sun, fun, and Sand.

She waited by the edge of the front yard, lifting a perfectly sculpted brow at the shirt, but didn’t say anything in acknowledgment. “We’ll do six miles up, and six miles back.”

“Up?” You squeaked out, finally earning a genuine grin from her. She started to jog ahead of you, and it took you a few moments to register that you were meant to follow her. “Back?”

The two of you kept a steady pace under the heavy hand of the sun. You felt sweat slick the back of your neck, legs screaming out in protest. You weren’t much of a runner, and had admittedly eaten one too many boxes of instant mac and cheese. But your body seemed to mold to the pace with no problem. Your muscles strained for just a moment before relaxing into he burn.

“I’m sure you’ve heard from everyone in the house how they handle a full moon.”

“No, actually,” You panted out, “everyone seems to be keeping their distance.”

“We haven’t had anyone new join our pack for years. Certainly, never this violently. Can you blame them?”

No, you really couldn’t’. They had all been so welcoming and understanding. Even Kate to a certain degree. None of that eased the fear and you figured it wouldn’t’ until you actually lived it, until every single bone in your body rebroke and reshaped until you were this insatiable creature that would seek nothing but blood and carnage. It was inside of you now, you felt it just below the surface, and that terrified you.

Your chest was beginning to burn viciously, but Natasha was showing no intention of slowing down. There was an odd need within you to please her, to make sure that you kept up with her pace despite how hard it was getting as the slight incline became a little less slight.

The woods had thickened around you both and you let out a relieved breath when she trotted to a stop on the dirt trail. The collar of your shirt was damp, and you pulled your arms behind your head to fill your lungs with more sticky air. Natasha smiled fondly at you.

“Kate tapped out about three miles back.”

“This some sort of test?” You asked, working your hand through your hair.

“A test, a tactic. Whatever you want to call it. Some of us believe that if you wear yourself out before a transition, it’ll be less excruciating on the day.”

“I read about that the other day, though, they didn’t use the word excruciating.”

“That’s what it is. Don’t let anyone sugar coat it for you, kid. It’s going to hurt and you’re going to feel every second of it.”

You plopped down on a fallen log, pressing your fingertips to your temples. You clenched your eyes shut and felt your heartbeat pulse through your entire body. Never in a million years would you figure you’d be here. Natasha’s scent strengthened when she gave your shoulder a squeeze, prompting your eyes to open.

She was rimmed in the early morning sun, ringlets of russet hair fell over her shoulders. “Come on, I didn’t make you run all the way out here for the hell of it. I want to show you something.”

Before you could object, she started down the path again, this time in a brisk walk. You let out a groan and hauled yourself off the log. When you got to where she had been, you saw nothing but a thick wall of greenery and wood. Natasha was nowhere in sight.

You closed your eyes and tried to pick up the scent of her, the detergent and the lavender and the sandalwood. Upon your second inhale, you picked up in a general direction and frowned. This was all too surreal, you were physically sniffing out a near-stranger that had led you deep into the woods.

Still, you felt a blind trust as you went off the path and continued to track her down. She was about thirty feet into the woods, standing over a pile of leaves, arms crossed over her chest. You felt yourself warm at the proud half-smile she gave you.

When you reached her, Natasha knelt and pushed back the mix of muck and leaves. It revealed two metal doors that reminded you of a summer you spent with your aunt in Alabama. It was unbelievably hot and muggy, and they had a storm shelter that was carved from the earth, the walls damp and stocked with different canned food, though you had never seen a can opener. You didn’t think to bring it up as the two of you huddled close and listened to the howling wind and rain.

“This was a long-game murder plot all along, wasn’t it?”

“I’m not into the long-game.”

Her words weren’t exactly encouraging. The hinges of the doors screamed loudly from disuse and a musty scent washed cruelly over the both of you. Your nose scrunched and Natasha grimaced but didn’t say a word. An automatic light buzzed on, allowing you to see the opened space below.

It was exactly like the storm cellar, and it’s cool interior was a brief solace from the heat of the day. There was a divide a few steps into the space, a steel wall with a door in the center, sloppily welded but with enough strength to stop a beast the size of a mid-sized Sudan.

This door creaked too, and Natasha let it linger open for a moment, staring softly at you, and then back at the room. There was safety in her stance. You knew that she had the full ability to slam it shut and lock you in, but had a deep realization that she wouldn’t.

Another light was on the ceiling, casting a circle of deep yellow. There was a deep smell of dust and dirt, but there was something hard and metallic under that. Your eyes darted to the chains that were attached to the wall, large iron things that were screwed into extra support.

More than that, were the stretching claw marks that pockmarked the walls. They went deep, past the dirt and into the cement. The pads of your fingers ran over the one closest to you. Each mark stretched further than your touch. Chills shot up to your elbow, a breath lodging itself into your throat.

Your other hand clenched your stomach, digging into your ribs. Something significant had happened here. Several significant things. Tears started to form against your eyes and the worst part was, you had no idea why.

“Those are Steves,” she said quietly, joining you within the confines of the cell, lifting her chin to another set of marks. “And Tonys.”

There were dozens of markings, all different shapes and sizes. Some were digging into the clay walls, and the floors. There were distinct scent markings on each one and you found yourself able to identify ones that belonged to Yelena, and Peter, and even Bruce. They’d all changed here at least once.

Natasha crossed the room and shifted the door until it was only slightly ajar. You straightened up, heart pulling against your throat. The door was minced with deep slashes. You shoved your hands into your pockets to keep them from trembling. They almost ached.

“You feel something, don’t you?”

Words didn’t form, couldn’t. You couldn’t pinpoint the emotion that tore through you. It was akin to longing, but it was more than that. It was like the creature that was so restless within you wanted nothing more than to claw its way out and find the person who had made those marks. They were desperate and sad, and horrifying.

You closed the distance between them and pressed your touch against the deep gashes and fought back a pained cry. You dug your teeth into the back of your free hand to quell it, but a pathetic sound still escaped you.  

“Kate knew that something was wrong a few months before she escaped. She was experienced, knew as much as one could know about their wolf. But there was an unrest”

“She doesn’t like places like this.”

Your words were small. You remembered what she had told you, about how she had turned the first time alone and, in a room very similar to this one. You got the stark impression that she would never want to do something like that again. So, it begs the question of why these marks were so fresh. So fearful.

“No, she doesn’t. They scare her, make her panic before the moon has any effect. But she was conscious enough to know that if she wasn’t here, then she would end up hurting someone. It just proved not to be strong enough of a failsafe.”

Kate had felt an unrest weeks, maybe months, before she had escaped and sunk her teeth into your flesh. A wash of guilt pulled at you. You’d been giving her such a hard time, pestering her and fighting her every step of the way. She’d been in immense pain.

When the pads of your fingers touched the scratches, you felt only a fraction of the longing she must have. Grimacing, you turned away, crossing your arms over your stomach to shield you from the reality of your harshness.

You needed Kate.

“Is this where I’ll be tonight?” You asked, so softly Natasha almost didn’t’ hear it.

She nodded in response, the silence mulling between you both. A small breath escaped you, pained and held within your lungs for an abnormal amount of time. You crossed the room, picked up one of the leaden chains and weighed it against your own strength.

“I can be here with you, if you’d like.” Natasha said, filling the quiet “Or if you’d rather Steve… Wanda.”

You turned to face her, grip tightening on the chain. “Kate?”

“Kate.”

Her eyes were no longer shrouded in their silver, sullen beauty. As the sun began its descent, there was a strange tangerine glow that overtook them. It started at the center of her pupil, small whisps of neon color, and then started to ebb into the confines of her iris.  

You focused on them. If you thought too much about the days leading up to this transformation, then you would work yourself into a panic. You were taking things one at a time today, and that included jogging back to the compound and shyly admitting to Kate that she was the only one you wished to have in your vicinity tonight.

Though, you hadn’t thought much about the logistics. The two of you trapped in a single cell. Yelena had walked all the way out here, keeping a silent eye on the tension that lingered against both of your frames. It wore your stance down, mind racing with the ‘what if’s’.

“Once I close this door, neither of you will be released until daybreak.” Her thick accent carried a sharp edge to it that made this finite. “There is an emergency radio, Kate knows where it is.”

They’d thought of everything, really. Yelena had handed over a sheathe of needles and a small vile that you knew had to be tranquilizer. It smelled acidic and nitrate in nature. Even your rational, human side, cringed away from it.

With a final nod that conveyed good luck, and a strong, ‘I’m rooting for you,’ Yelena exited the cell and slammed the metal door behind her. From there, she retreated, and another lock was put into place after she’d slithered a coil of chain around the outside doors. Your heart picked-up it’s pace, never one for confined spaces.

Kate seemed to hear the uptake and closed the distance between the both of you. One hand found your waist and you allowed her to give it a reassuring squeeze. The other cupped your cheek, guiding your stare. “Hey, listen to me. I know this is scary, but I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

You believed her partially because you had no other choice. Her eyes were mostly orange now, glowing enough to cast a strange shadow against her face. You wondered dumbly if yours would do the same. Something was boiling inside of you, making your entire body sweat. It felt like you were in a sauna, breathing in the hot steam after water was poured listlessly over black coals.

“I’ll talk you through everything, until neither of us can talk. Then we won’t have to.”

“Okay, alright. That sounds good.”

She nodded at you and began to unzip her sweatshirt until the teeth of the zipper released their hold. She was wearing a black sports bra and matching bike shorts, stretchy material that hadn’t set her back too much financially. They would be torn to shreds by the end of the night, regardless.

Kate’s stomach was toned. It was tanned and showed all the stamina of a beast. You tried not to let your eyes linger for too long, tried to ignore the small trail of hair that dipped below her waistband. Despite herself, Kate smiled at you cockily, but moved her hands to your own jacket.

“Is this okay?”

“Yeah.” You swallowed the dry metal taste in your mouth. “I don’t think my fingers will cooperate right now.”

 She let out a small noise in response and pulled your jacket from your shoulders, leaving you in much of the same. She’d promised earlier that the two of you would go out and get clothes that you were more comfortable in, but this suited you just fine. Her pupils dilated, rushing them in more sherbet color. A stuttered breath escaping her and fanning against your bare collarbone.

“What? Oh my god, is it starting?”

You didn’t feel any different, still extremely hot to the touch and a little riled up after getting a look at Kate’s mostly-bare form. Color petaled her cheeks. She was actually blushing. Even in the dim lighting of the cell, that much was clear.

“No, no. You’re just…” She shook her head, trying to clear it “really beautiful, is all.”

“Oh,”

More blush, her eyes slipping down to the floor. “Yeah. I should probably get you secured, though. It’ll be more comfortable to sit.”

You understood exactly what she meant. Your heart was thrumming through your entire body at the compliment, though you both welcomed the distraction of a task. This task was securing locks around your wrists, and your ankles. Large iron things that could stop a lion. They were bolted into cement, digging into the foundation.

You kept your back against the damp wall, allowing Kate to fiddle with the mass of restraints. She fastened the first cuff on your wrist and looked at you expectantly. “Is this too tight? We want it to be a little loose. You’ll fill out when the transformation is done.”

“It’s alright,”

Kate diligently fastened the other three; one more around your opposite wrist, and two around your ankles. The only thing left was a chain that was intended to click smugly around your throat. She stared at it warily, eyes meeting yours.

“This one isn’t comfortable, and after tonight, you won’t need it.” She stated, using her hand to brush a stray hair from your eyes. Something was coiling in your stomach now, an unrest. A parasite that seemed to want to bubble out of your chest. “Your body will be in fight or flight mode. All of your senses will be heightened more than they are now and you’ll want to get out of these.”

“And if I do?”

“If you do, you’ll have to go through me.”

She fastened the chain around your neck, listening for the heady click. Just like the others, she adjusted and pulled on it until she was satisfied with your capture. A slight noise pushed past your lips. It felt like you had a stomachache, a cramping that would send you straight to a heating pad on any other day.

“I know, baby.” She soothed, the pet name slipping past her. She frowned, then lightened her stare. “I know it hurts. I’m right here. I’m with you.”

Her words soothed you. She backed up and sat cross-legged in front of you. There was an admiration of her control. Sweat prickled against her upper lip and at her hairline. It was an indication that you weren’t alone in this. Though, Kate Bishop had more practice, pain was eternal.

“You said I’d have to go through you,” your words were trembling. It took a few moments to force them into existence, but Kate was patient. Your legs and arms were starting to ache, just a dull thrum that reminded you of destroying your muscles to wick them back together again. “What… did you mean?”

Kate smiled and you swore her teeth were pointed at the end. Your vison was starting to blur, and you blinked away tears that dripped from your chin. “We’re not going to fight, or anything, if that’s what you’re thinking. I think our wolves- well, I think they’ll get along just fine.”

“Kate Bishop, are you insinuating something?”

“Me? No. Never.”

She let out a grunt, her hand going to her ribcage. There was a dull pop that jolted through her body and you clenched your eyes shut for a moment. Not wanting to see her in pain. Not wanting to see what was next for you.

You didn’t have to wait long. The pressure started to build in your forearm first, a tight pain that shot from your fingers all the way to your elbow. Almost as if your bone was straining against itself, and it was. The crack and splinter of it threw you off your balance with a dizzying amount of discomfort.

A scream tore through your throat, toes digging into the soft, damp floor. Kate let out another grunt of discomfort, dropping her elbow to the ground. Her chest was heaving, pulling air in greedily before releasing as if she never wanted it in the first place. Her efforts were punctuated by a deep and primal growl that took you back to the night in the forest.

All of your limbs were tightening now, two pops from your ribs and an extra one in your ankle. You were doubled over in a blind torment. Your cheek was pressed to the ground, the scent of dirt filling your senses. There was blood here too, so thick and potent that it was if it gurgled against your own tongue.

“I’m sorry,” you thought you heard her through your own strangled cries of pain. Her voice deep and words miffed by the growing teeth pressing against her gums. “I’m so sorry.”

“Fuck!” You cried out, the last bit of human semblance you could form. Your own words were minced with agonizing cries and a rumble from the center of your chest that sounded anything but human. It was feral. It was hungry.

Your vison pulsed around the edges, darkness creeping in. You shakily lifted your hand, watched as your flesh became shrouded with gore. It was shredded, dark gray fur sprouting over your knuckles as your skin fell away entirely. Once human nails had been replaced by claws, dripping with your own blood and muscle tissue.

They shined as if you had been baptized once more. Teeth- your own teeth, filled your mouth as they were pushed out to welcome new ones. You’d spit them to the ground, relished in the sweet taste of the blood that filled your mouth, only for you to spit again.

There was a howl, one distant that made your entire body stiffen under its command. You weren’t wailing anymore, and neither was Kate. The two of you had silenced, breathed hard and tried to find your bearings. Your collarbone widened, seemed to stretch like the rest of you. The restraints were tightening as you grew. As you changed.

Another howl cut through the air, this time you had the urge to answer with one of your own. At least, that was the last humane thought you had, before everything went black.

[tomblythismyhusband]

not an act [tomblyth x actress!reader]

[summary]: tomblyth x actress!reader|anon request| You and Tom revel true feelings for eachother one day on your movie set and months later you finally decide to hard launch your relationship.

[warnings]: 18+, MDNI, age gap [22+29], language,

[wc]: 2k

[note]: thank you for the request!! it was so fun writing something a bit different! It’s kinda short but wtv :)

You’d been filming this movie for weeks now. Scenes were pretty tame so far, what you’d expect from a romcom. Picnics, breakups, standing out in the rain with nothing but shivering bones and a love confession.

Your co-star wasn’t too bad either. You were working with Tom Blyth, an attractive Britis h actor who had been in a few movies before you. He was much more experienced with this whole thing. While every aspect of the movie making process excited you, Tom was much more accustomed.

You sat in your trailer, sipping hot tea while checking your schedule for the day. The warm liquid slid down and soothed your throat from the scene work of the day prior. Your quiet was soon interrupted by a sharp tapping at the door.

You lifted your head. “Come in.” You called.

The assistant director, Amy walked in, clipboard in hand, hair in a loose knot at the base of her neck. She looked frazzled- but to be fair she always did.

“Good morning, Amy.” You smiled, placing down your tea and coffee on the little kitchenette counter that took up a good portion of the trailer’s interior.

Amy gave you a brief smile, whipping out her clipboard so it was in front of her. She lifted one of the paper’s, reading something then met your gaze again.

“We’re doing the sex scene today.” She said, scribbling a note on one of her papers.

“What?” Your eyebrows furrowed as you turned to pick up your schedule again. Your eyes skimmed it quickly, not seeing any words alluding to a sex scene anywhere.

“Amy, I don’t have that on my schedule..” You said looking up from your paper in confusion.

When you looked up Amy was hurriedly typing away on her phone, preoccupied. She didn’t seem to hear you or your concerns.

You cleared your throat. “Amy.”

Amy’s eyes shot to you, wide and attentive. “Yes love?” She said, though you knew her mind was on something else.

You held up your schedule, displaying it for her. “I don’t see that a sex scene is scheduled to film anywhere on here.”

Amy gave you a bored look, almost like she was just remembering how new you were to the movie making process.

“Yes- well, plans change. So get your robe on and get to wardrobe and hair and makeup.” With that her phone rang, so she placed it up to her ear and walked out of your trailer without another word.

You were left speechless, schedule still held up. You put it down, anxiety starting to bubble in your gut. You’d never filmed an explicit scene before. You knew when you auditioned for the film there was a sex scene but you were so eager to have a big break that you agreed to anything.

Your mind then drifted to Tom.

A sex scene. With him.

You couldn’t deny the fact that he was absolutely gorgeous- the way most Hollywood actors were. The director had said you and Tom’s chemistry was impeccable, so working with him was always pretty lax. Sometimes you’d find yourself blushing or giggling with him and realize- you weren’t acting. Tom was the type of guy that could make anything a joke and you liked that about him.

You would totally hit on him more if it weren’t for- well- the age gap. That was the only factor that was constantly bringing you back to reality. While Tom was 29 you were a whopping 22. You didn't even start drinking legally till this year. You doubted that Tom would even want a relationship with someone so young anyways.

You sighed, grabbing the fluffy white robe that hung neatly on the door of the bathroom and slipped it on. This was your job.

You pulled on some shoes as well and opened the creaky door of your trailer, the summer air instantly warming your face.

The romcom took place at a beach house. Two people, Tom and you, find themselves to have had a booking mishap where they mistakenly have to share a beach cottage on vacation. They hate each other at first, but then obviously through sharing a long beach vacation they end up falling in love. You doubted a situation like that could ever occur, but hey- that’s the fun of movies right?

You made it to the wardrobe, where they gave you a nice light blue bikini and a sarong. Next you headed to hair and make up where they styled your hair in waves along with light minimal makeup.

Finally, you stepped down the steep steps of the makeup trailer and walked along the sand to the beach cottage. It was a cute little thing- nice and quaint, full of natural light, secluded. As you walked to the house you took a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves.

You knew the basic rundown of the scene. Tom’s character sees your character getting ready to go to the beach. Unable to reach her back to lather with sunscreen, she asks Tom’s character to help her. Tom’s character does so- (the tension unbearable at this point) and then boom, what do you know? Now he’s kissing the shit out of her, as she pulls him into bed.

Of course you’d kissed Tom so far throughout this movie but picturing him on top of you was a thought that could make you blush.

You arrived at the house and props were already setting the area. You walked in and made your way to the bedroom where you spotted Tom getting a rundown of the scene from an intimacy coordinator. When you walked in, Tom's eyes flicked to you.

He seemed to be surprised- or was that impressed? You couldn’t read his expression, but all you knew is that the bikini you had to wear definitely flattered you.

“Sorry I’m a bit late- I had no idea we were filming this scene today.” You said breathlessly. The intimacy coordinator waved a dismissive hand.

“You're okay, I just started to go over everything.”

You then stood next to Tom as the intimacy coordinator gave a whole spiel about how the scene would play out. It was simple enough, a lot like how most sex scenes would go.

Towards the end she directed her gaze to you. “Now, in this scene we were thinking of having your breasts exposed, is that alright? I know on your contract you said you were okay with it but I just would like to double check.”

You opened your mouth, thinking. Finally you nodded. “Yes that’s fine.”

“Great!” The coordinator smiled. “Now that you guys are all set I’ll go let the director know we’re ready.” She then walked off leaving Tom and I alone.

You glanced at him, nervous, but reassured at the fact you were both professional.

“Nice bikini.” Tom said, glancing at you. Your cheeks warmed at the compliment.

“Thanks.. nice shorts.” You nodded looking down at the Hawaiian print swim shorts he was sporting at the moment. Tom chuckled, running his hands through his brown hair.

“Do you… wanna practice the scene?” You asked, tilting your head to look up at him. You could’ve sworn you saw a hint of blush in his cheeks.

“Sure.” He gulped, nodding. “The scene starts up against the wall.” He said slowly, taking your hand and guiding you.

“..Like this?” You whispered, as Tom gently pinned your wrists above your head. You dipped your head staring up at him through your lashes, like you would’ve done if the cameras were rolling.

“Perfect.” He responded in a low voice.

“Now I arch… like this.” You said quietly, extending your back, so your torso was pressed against his, wrists still held securely above your head. Tom took a shuttered breath.

“Now what?” You asked innocently looking up at him. You knew damn well what came next, but you wanted to hear it coming from his perfect lips.

“This.” He murmured, pressing his lips against yours in a heated kiss. You couldn’t suppress the feelings of lust in your body as he kissed you. His lips were soft- so soft. Molded perfectly to yours as if they were always meant to be connected. Though the kiss was nice, you could tell he was holding back.

When you broke from the kiss you looked up at him. Feeling bold you slipped your hands out of the light hold he had on them and cupped his face.

“I’m not acting.” You murmured.

Tom’s eyes widened slightly, then softened. His lips pulled into a small smile.

“Thank god- me neither. Now let me do this for real.” He growled.

He pressed up against you, taking his lips onto his own again, kissing you rough and passionate. His tongue slipped into your mouth, meeting your own. Your body felt hot at the sensation. There were definitely sparks, and you knew this was only the beginning.

—— 6 months later ——

“Baby- I’m home.”

You heard the familiar voice of Tom, from your apartment’s front door.

“I’m on the couch!” You called back as you lounged on the plush white sofa that sat in your living room. You lifted your head to see a smiling Tom, his hair all tousled from the outside weather.

He immediately sat down next to you and practically tackled you as he took you into his arms. You laughed as you tried to push him off playfully.

“You're crushing me!” You squealed, trying to wriggle out from underneath him.

“Good.” He laughed. You felt Tom squeeze you again, kissing up your body. Finally he let go, leaning back, a love drunk smile on his face.

“So I’ve been thinking…..” Tom prompted, taking one of your hands.

“That’s not good.” You replied playfully. Tom chuckled and squeezed your hand, enjoying your little jokes.

“Seriously though- so you know how our movie premiere is in a few weeks?” He asked, eyes meeting yours.

You nodded. You’d finished filming almost 3 months ago. Finally the movie was close to its release day. You were both excited and nervous for it to come out. You really hoped that it was received well by the public.

Tom looked down at your hands that were wrapped in his own.

“I really want to be by your side on the carpet.”

You hesitated for a moment. “Tom- that’s very much in public.”

He looked up at you. “I know…”

You sighed. “You know how I feel about this… the media.. I mean- I can already picture the things they would say about you dating someone younger than you..”

“Hey.” Tom said calmly, taking your face in his hands, rubbing his thumbs over your cheeks in a calming manner. “I totally get what you're saying, and I’m fine if you don’t want to.. but I just want to let you know, I’m ready. I’m ready for the world to know about how much I adore you.”

Your heart thumped in your chest at his words as heat flooded your face. He always knew what to say.

“I want to Tom.. I do… I love you.” You whispered. You then let out a low sigh. “It’s just.. It seems so scary to drop this news in front of the whole world at the premiere..”

Tom gave you a reassuring smile. “We could post a selfie right now- drop the news.”

Your eyes brightened at the idea. It did seem safer to share the news of your relationship from the comfort of your own home. You nodded and nestled closer to Tom as he pulled out his phone, opening the camera app.

You turned your head to kiss his cheek and he snapped a picture. You looked at the smiling photo of Tom and your pose, feeling more confident about the idea.

“Post it.” You smiled, nestling closer into him.

With a quick click of a few buttons Tom posted the photo to his Instagram story. He then placed his phone down and kissed you.

“I don’t care what anyone says- I love you.” He whispered.

“I’ll love you forever.” You whispered back, kissing him again. You felt nervous of course about the fact that your relationship with Tom was now public, but also excited for all the new experiences to come.

[itsabouttimex2]

Taken Abroad is sooo good! And the accompanying memes are great too 💖

Bro imagine if demon reader went full hardcore one day and just keeps letting to circlets dig into their flesh and bone until their hands just fall off, using the second they separate to vanish. Like they are a forest demon, so what if they just regrow their hands? Or make prosthetic nature ones? Like I’m sure their freedom wouldn’t last long (thanks to Monkey King’s gold vision) but I’d love to see the group’s reaction to such gruesome determination!

Taken Aboard:

Amputation

I’m glad you like it! I really thought that the Journeyfam should have a mix of goofy and tragic, because the novel itself can get pretty damn funny.

Another ‘funny’ thing? This little stunt wouldn’t work at all. Given what we know about Wukong’s powers, he can rip his head off and regenerate it (His beheading contest with the Tiger Strength Immortal in the novel) and since he’s still got the circlet after that…

Y/N will still have theirs.

And obviously no one is happy to see that this child would do something so horribly gruesome and bloody to themself, leaving to a wide array of horrified reactions.

Ao Lie is devastated that you would hurt yourself for any reason at all. Once you’ve been dragged back to camp by the snickering Monkey King, the dragon prince rushes to your side and snatches you up, nuzzling you to his chest. “Oh, I’m glad you’re alright! You poor little thing, what were you thinking? Trying to slice those bands off! Sweetie, what if something had gone wrong during the regrowing process? Here, let Brother Lie wash the blood off of you!”

He dotes on you for a good hour or two, starting by thoroughly scrubbing you down in a shallow washbasin. (He heats the water in his draconic form.) There’s a mixture of very light scolding and extraordinary concern, scraping all across your body with a wooden bath brush. Once you’re nice and clean you get wrapped up in one of his spare robes to dry off, forced to sit and listen to one of the monk’s lectures as Lie brushes out and braids your hair.

“I think you need to start sleeping in Brother Lie’s tent from now on, sweetie. Maybe it’ll help to keep those little feet from wandering, hmm?”

His voice is gentle, even as you’re forcibly stuffed into a thick sleeping bag, the same one that Lie always uses. For a moment you think he’s simply going to watch you to prevent any further escapades, but then he squishes in beside you, wrapping you tight in his arms.

“Sleep well, sweetie. Big brother will keep you safe.”

———————————————————————-

Sun Wukong laughs at you first, having tried the same thing by: smashing his forehead inwards, shattering his skull entirely, ripping his head off, etc. “You could have just asked for some advice on the cuffs, bud. I would’ve told ya that they jump back to your real body, y’know!”

His hands work through the tangled locks of your hair, plucking out juicy bugs and crunchy twigs. “Shut up,” you huff, squirming around in his lap. “I hate them. And you wouldn’t have known whether or not it would’ve worked! You only have one of them!” “S’not fair,” he half-heartedly agrees, if only to set up his next few word. “You should’ve just had one- around your neck to shut you up!”

The Great Sage giggles as you lunge at him, dodging your attempt to bite his wrist. “Easy, easy! C’mon, I was just teasing you!” He grabs your waist and wrestles you to the ground, his fingers dragging lightly across your skin as he tries to force a few giggles or even just a smile out of you. Between angry laughs you manage to throw a punch, feeling his snout bend under your hand.

And though it doesn’t hurt worse than a mild sting, Wukong is still a little astounded that his ‘little sibling’ got outright violent with him. “…you know what, bud? Maybe you do need some ‘quiet time’. I’m gonna keep you here in my lap for a few more hours, I think. And! No saying even a word!”

And before you can argue or complain he tacks on a “How bout I tell you another story from my time back in Flower Fruit Mountain, huh?” Of course you get a story, because this isn’t really a punishment, after all. He’s just framing it as one so you ‘have’ to sit and spend time with one. He’s a pretty clever monkey.

“…a story about killing hunters?”

“Sure thing, kiddo.”

———————————————————————-

Sha Wujing has no words. He’s hurt and saddened that you would do this to yourself, nearly in tears at the sight of your wounds. He finally has people who accept not only his mistakes and misdeed, but his demonic form alongside them.

And now one has done this.

To Wujing, this isn’t just a team of random travelers. This is his family. You are his family. And he cannot bear to see you so upset and distraught that you might switch to such gruesome and self-injurious behaviors.

The river demon will switch to baby gloves afterwards, treating you like a porcelain figure that is bound to shatter when mishandled.

He’ll carry you on his shoulders and his back and in his arms, squishing your tiny form perfectly into his protective chest. For hours on end the demon will usher you about, never daring to let you free from the safety and security that his power offers.

Instead of allowing you to feed yourself, Wujing will push cut your meals into pieces and them to you piece by piece, ensuring that you won’t choke (intentionally or otherwise) on them. And he won’t let you get dressed alone

He sees the severance of your limbs more as a form of “self-harm” than an attempt to escape, unfortunately for you. It leads him to think of you as a danger to yourself that needs to be properly wrangled and tended to.

All you can do when he’s around from then on is submit to “Brother Sand’s” loving care, and pray he might stop thinking of you as unstable and prone to breakage.

———————————————————————-

Zhu Bajie is thoroughly disgusted, though that revulsion is born mostly of worry. Nobody wants to see a kid slice off their own wrists, and he certainly wasn’t hoping to see you standing in a puddle of your own blood, your torn flesh bubbling sizzling and bubbling up as it regrew.

And he especially didn’t want something so awful to happen to his little sibling. Not to someone so very precious to him.

Bajie really just… doesn’t know what to do.

You’re hurt. Usually this scenario ends with him either eating a human or smashing a demon’s head open with his nine-tooth rake. And he’d fight off the monk’s reprimands with his own volley of justifications. “Y/N is a child! Any jerk who would hurt them is unforgivable!” He’d declare, his mouth stained with fresh crimson. “A demon who would put their hands on a child is just a monster, that’s all,” the pig might yell, clutching you to his chest protectively.

Neither of those are options when you’ve the person that hurt you is yourself.

All the swine can really do is hold you and try not to scream your ear off about never hurting yourself again, rocking back and forth like he’s trying to soothe a baby to sleep.

Maybe that will help.

Maybe if he holds you long enough and keeps his grip tight, Bajie can prevent you from being hurt by anyone or anything ever again.

Or maybe it’s just his way of keeping you from leaving him and this little family again.

———————————————————————-

Tang Sanzang, reasonable man that he is, understands that you’re not in a great headspace right now. If things got so bad that you viewed the gory removal of your arms as a reasonable option to escape, then what you need isn’t further punishment… but a firm and guiding hand.

So the monk refrains from the sutra and chooses instead to tend to your fragile condition. Reassurance that he isn’t angry at what you’ve done to yourself, a promise that you’re already forgiven for running. I think he’s likely to mandate constant surveillance of you from now, always to be under the eye of either him or one of his disciples.

He tends any wounds or aches with balm, stitches the tears in your clothing, then puts you to bed with a canteen of water at your side.

His well of patience is truly endless, only leaving room for an occasional reprimand or a quick tightening of the blessed bands on your wrists. There’s no lashing out, no brutal punishments.

Hurting yourself has not changed that.

Sanzang will spend each early morning before travel checking you over for new wounds and changing out any bandages you’ve got wrapped around old injuries.

The Great Monk stills cherishes you, of course. He’ll never stop cherishing you.

He’s just a little more gentle with that love now.

[feybarn]

And I return with some ghost Obi. Thanks @queenaelinwildfire!

Spinning off of Sparky, ghost Obi haunting Jango Ooo bonus points if it’s smol obi wan

When the boy first appeared, Jango had been sure it’d been the spice. Hallucinations were hardly new and the young boy who stared at him with frightened eyes was hardly the strangest thing he saw. In fact, the boy who whispered warnings about when the slavers were coming, and told him that Neeva—the young togruta girl a few slaves down—was dying, and told him stories about men in white armor who died forgotten heroes, was perhaps the kindest hallucination that Jango experienced.

Except the boy didn’t go away. Not when Jango killed the slavers. Not when Jango detoxed. Not when Jango left behind all but the scars of his time with the slavers.

Jango hadn’t quite believed in ghosts before, but he had no other explanation for the boy that followed him unerringly from the slavers’ ship to Concord Dawn to the ugly, worn down ship he eventually acquired.

“You have a reason for haunting me, kid?” he asked.

The boy frowned. His hand came to his neck where a collar rested.

Jango had tried not to think about that particular accessory too much.

“I don’t know,” the boy admitted. “I… I don’t remember how I got here.”

Jango was going to guess that the answer included ‘dying’. “You need help moving on?” Jango asked. Though he had no idea how he would help some ghost move on. Jaster would have, though.

Jango blocked out the thought.

“I don’t know,” the boy admitted. “I don’t think so. I think I’m here for a reason.”

Great. A reason. That explained so much. “What’s your name?”

The boy’s brow furrowed. “I… I don’t know.” The boy sounded alarmed, as though he’d just realized he didn’t have a name.

Well, there went trying to track down where the boy had come from. All Jango had to go on was the rough mining clothes the boy was wearing, several sizes too large for him, and the collar around his neck.

Mining colonies weren’t exactly sparse in this galaxy. Even narrowing it down to mining colonies that used slavery didn’t help.

The Republic might claim that slavery was outlawed, but that didn’t mean much, Jango had discovered.

“Do you have a name you want me to call you?” Jango asked, because while Jango could keep calling him ‘the boy’ it seemed…

Wrong.

If Myles were here, Myles would have already named the kid. It’d probably have been something meaningful and well thought out.

If Silas were here, he’d have helped the kid come up with a name on his own. He’d have turned it into a game, until the kid didn’t even remember he was upset.

If Jaster were here…

Jango tried not to think about what Jaster would have done.

The boy frowned and Jango could tell he was thinking. “Obi,” the boy said finally. “I think… I think I like Obi.” 

“Obi,” Jango agreed. He wondered if it was the kid’s actual name, hidden in the depths of his mind. “You going to keep following me around?”

Obi tilted his head. “I think so. I don’t want you to be alone.” Obi’s gaze was piercing. “Are you going to go home?” he asked. “Now that you’re free?”

Jango swallowed. “I don’t have a home to go to.”

Obi’s eyes echoed with a terrible sadness. “You’re afraid.”

Jango closed his eyes. “You wouldn’t understand,” he said, words coming out short. 

“Sometimes I dream I can’t go home either,” Obi whispered. “In the dream, I want the desert sands to strip me to my bones.”

Jango flinched, but added the piece of information to the possibility of where Obi had come from. Though, there were a spare few mining colonies on desert planets. The combination was rarely conducive to the most valuable of mining operations.

“It’s not the same kid.”

Obi stared at him. “I think they’d want you to come back.” His hand rubbed at the metal collar around his neck again. “Wherever home is. They… they probably miss you.”

Jango scoffed. He’d gotten so many of their people killed, the ones that remained could hardly want him back. “Not likely, kid.”

“In my dreams, they died because of me,” Obi whispered.

Apparently being a ghost made the kid telepathic. Jango was not a fan. But it was… it was a kid, a dead kid. Jango didn’t have the heart to try to get rid of him, unless it was to bring him home.

“Just a dream, kid.”

Obi looked away. “What if it’s not? Do… do we never get to go home?”

Jango sighed. “Come on, let me teach you how to navigate in and out of hyperspace.” He’d noticed that the kid looked like he enjoyed watching Jango in the cockpit. Sure, the kid would never need the skills himself, being dead and all, but Jango didn’t know what else to do with the dead kid that was stuck with Jango.

Obi nodded, following Jango back to the cockpit. It was the end of the conversation.

Or it should have been. 

The question haunted Jango as the months passed. Would he ever get to go home? With the sins that weighed so heavy on his shoulders? It’d been years. Years as a slave and now nearly a year free.

He looked at Obi, who hadn’t aged since the day he’d found Jango in the hull of the slave ship. Just a kid. Always a kid. A dead kid that couldn’t go home. Whose closest thing to home was Jango and Jango’s ship.

Jango had been determined not to think of it, of what he’d lost, of what was gone, of what he could never allow himself to have again.

Do we never get to go home?

Was that why the kid was stuck as a ghost? Had he told himself he was never allowed to go home? Had he trapped himself in some sort of eternal punishment.

Jango had never heard of it happening before, but he wasn’t a scholar, and this universe was full of things stranger than Jango could believe.

Do we never get to go home?

Was that why the kid had found him? Because he saw Jango’s punishment as his own?

Because this life Jango lived now, constantly chasing the next bounty, with nothing but a ghost at his side… was it a life? Was Jango just as much a ghost as the dead kid that haunted him.

“Where are we going next?” Obi asked when the next hunt finished.

Jango stared at the controls on the cockpit’s dashboard.

Do we never get to go home?

Did he? 

The kid needed a home. Jango… Jango couldn’t give him the one he’d been taken from. But…

“Concord Dawn,” he said.

“Where’s that?” Obi asked. “Is there a hunt there?”

Jango shook his head. “No, kid. We’re going home.”

[reidfucker]

mitski songs that make me think of reid + a specific lyric

spencer reid is very mitski. but these were the first to come to mind. i do not take criticism.

- working for the knife

honestly, the entire song reminds me of reid, but this in particular:

I always thought the choice was mine

And I was right, but I just chose wrong

I start the day lying and end with the truth

That I'm dying for the knife

- liquid smooth

I'm liquid smooth, come touch me, too

I'm at my highest peak, I'm ripe

About to fall

How I feel this river rushing through my veins

With nowhere else to go, it circles 'round

- class of 2013

Mom, would you wash my back?

This once, and then we can forget

And I'll leave what I'm chasing

For the other girls to pursue

Mom, am I still young?

Can I dream for a few months more?

- i don't smoke

Just don't leave me alone

Wondering where you are

I am stronger than you give me

Credit for

If your hands need to break

More than trinkets in your room

You can lean on my arm

As you break my heart

- abbey

again, the entire song is very reid, but:

I am something

I have been something

I was born something

What could I be?

There is a light that I can see

But only, it seems, when there's darkness in me

There is a dream that I sometimes see

That only appears in the dark of sleep

- i bet on losing dogs

Will you let me, baby, lose

On losing dogs

I know they're losing and I'll pay for my place

By the ring

Where I'll be looking in their eyes when they're down

I wanna feel it

I bet on losing dogs

I always want you when I'm finally fine

- the deal

Then of course, nothing replied, nothing speaks to you in the night

And I walked my way home, there was no one in sight

Save a bird perched upon a streetlight, watchin' me

So, I stopped and let it watch 'til I found that it said

"Now I'm taken, the night has me

You won't hear me singin'

You're a cage without me

Your pain is eased, but you'll never be free for

Now I'm taken, the night has me"

- fireworks

this is perhaps one of the reid-est. here's the particular lyric:

One morning this sadness will fossilize

And I will forget how to cry

I'll keep going to work and you won't see a change

Save perhaps a slight gray in my eye

I will go jogging routinely

Calmly and rhythmically run

And when I find that a knife's sticking out of my side

I'll pull it out without questioning why

- i don't like my mind

again, the entire song is reid, but this is my pick:

I don't like my mind, I don't like being left alone in a room

With all its opinions about the things that I've done

So, yeah, I blast music loud, and I work myself to the bone

And on an inconvenient Christmas, I eat a cake

- first love / late spring

very cliché, but i HAD to include it! here:

And I was so young when I behaved 25

Yet now, I find I've grown into a tall child

And I don't wanna go home

Let me walk to the top of the big night sky

- there's nothing left for you

You could touch fire

You could fly

It was your right

It was your life

And then it passed

To someone new

It'll keep passin' on

Long after you

- nobody

And I don't want your pity

I just want somebody near me

Guess I'm a coward

I just want to feel alright

- because dreaming costs money, my dear

I once lived in the sea

Bring me to your ear, you can hear

The tide where I used to be

Though now I'm but a shell

- a pearl

Sorry, I don't want your touch

It's not that I don't want you

Sorry, I can't take your touch

It's just that I fell in love with a war

Nobody told me it ended

And it left a pearl in my head

And I roll it around every night

Just to watch it glow

Every night, baby, that's where I go

- real men

Real men keep cool in the face of a fire

Go down with the ship

And real men don't eat

'Cause they're above that, damn it

Oh, I'm gonna be a real man

- crack baby

It's been a long, hard 20 year summer vacation

Both these 20 years tryna fill the void

Crack baby, you don't know what you want

But you know that you had it once

And you know that you want it back

Crack baby, you don't know what you want

But you know that you're needing it

And you know that you need it bad

[peeweekey]

homecoming | sam x reader

word count: 3.2k

tags: hurt/comfort , family struggles , reader and sam are married , set somewhere in year 2 (kent is back) , oneshot , intimacy

synopsis: Sleep evades you on nights like these, without Sam by your side.

a/n: i love sam but the allure of angst is too hard to resist!!! sorry babe i still love you 😔

Sleep evades you on nights like these, without Sam by your side.

Your feet are bare as you linger at the entrance of your room. The dimmed light of the living room washes away the darkness of the hour. It's late, the air is cool and damp smelling of night dew—you take a deep inhale. It feels thick as you breathe it in, like smoke is clouding around the room, restricting your breaths.

Sleepless nights were not unusual in your household. Before you married Sam, you hardly slept—the satisfying ache of collapsing into your sheets after a day at the mines was an addiction you couldn’t get enough of. 

Now, you earn enough to afford coming home before sunset. No longer having to worry about how you’d afford the next day. And if you are being completely honest, evenings spent with Sam are far more addicting than the sting of a day’s work. 

The ache is still there. It comes with the profession. Though not anymore the dull humming ache in the muscles and joints of your arms and legs, but a bone deep ache settled deeply curling around your chest. 

Somehow, it stings even more.

It is as if it drags over your heart, catching on every ridge and edge of your bones. Daring to fill your lungs with ichor—hardening like stone around your ribs. No amount of stardrop you swallow can ever relieve the stinging soreness. 

The cushions of the old second-hand couch groan and squeak as you twist and turn atop of them. Perhaps as restless as you are. The light flickers—on, off, on. 

It doesn’t scare you, but it makes you uneasy. You’re long over the notion the farmhouse was haunted, but nights like these make that conviction waver. The nape of your neck prickles—like a person is staring from behind. Sam isn’t here to tease you about ghosts nor curl his arms around you in mock protection. 

He hasn’t been here in hours, hasn’t been present in so long. It feels wrong. It feels like an omen. Your fingers find the back of your neck, brushing over the vulnerable skin. 

You hold a tassel cushion tightly to your chest. Your knuckles whitening with the strength of your grip on it. The strength of your heartbeat is so loud you’re convinced it would be heard without the pillow to muffle the sound. 

Little Vincent is sound asleep, snoring softly away in his dreamland. He looks like the epitome of innocence under the quilted blankets of your bed. It's soft, worn and covered in stitched cartoon-y lions and tigers. A temporary parting gift bundled up in his dinosaur backpack from jodi. Before he came to live with you and his older brother. 

The separation was painful. there were tears—for both him and for his mother. 

(Sam stood next to you then, gripping at your hand so hard you felt it prickling with numbness. You didn’t dare look up to see the tears you know are there, the crystalline tears dripping down his lash line. 

It would’ve made the teardrops in yours fall over too. You’d stay strong for the both of you.)

The entrance door to the farmhouse creaks open and you immediately know it’s him. Relief floods your whole body—to your fingertips to your toes. He's safe, and home at last. You stand up and hurry to him, throwing the pillow to the ground, before the door creaks shut.

The air goes still, calm before the storm. The anticipation before potential terrible news.

(You expect there will be. You can tell by the way Sam slumps, like the weight is physically bearing down on his shoulders.)

Sam is still at the doorway, slumping over you when you wrap your arms around him. He smells of sweat and the cloying scent of rubbing alcohol—something must’ve happened, you think. It smells like the clinic.

The paper bag in his hand loses from his grip, it falls unceremoniously to the ground with a dull thump. You pay it no heed, mentally accounting to pick it up later. Though you note that it lands right over your ‘home sweet home’ doormat. Fitting.  

“Sammy.” you greet him with a chaste peck on the cheek. He barely has the energy to hug back, more so stay steadily upright on his feet. you both sway slightly, suspended in the tranquility of the moment.

You try again, slowing the movement of your lips. “Welcome home, my love. you there?”

His lips move against the skin of your neck, a whisper of a greeting. It is enough for you.

Sam retracts his face from your jaw. There are blue-purple eye bags under his eyes, like bruises. The trademark twinkle in his brilliant green irises have dulled to nothingness. He looks so unlike himself like this, older than his years and so unbearably tired.

And you wish, with all your heart, to take his aches away. To wash them away like ink in water. 

You pull him into the living room with you, the skin of his wrist enclosed in the firm guiding grip of your fingers. He's fragile like this, this sunshine of a man reduced to a shell of his usual demeanor. 

He trails slowly behind you, silent. You say nothing, either; choosing to focus on the rhythmic sounds of your footsteps padding against the floor. In the living room, you dim the lights to a mere whisper of light. 

These days, when he comes home, you’ve built some sort of routine.

You drag him down to you, spread lying down on the length of the couch. Your thighs frame his hips as he melts into the warmth of body. He lays on top of you, his cheekbone against your chest. You watch as his eyes flutter shut, as he presses his ear to the epicenter of your chest—the sound of your heartbeat quieting the swirl of thoughts in his mind. 

You gently remove the woolen beanie nestled on his head—revealing the stringy oily mess of hair under. A sign of how little care he has been sparing himself after his father’s homecoming. You feel your lips downturn into a frown. He hasn’t even been using that hair gel you like to tease and groan about. 

(You lied when you’d say you hated it. You don’t, never did. 

You miss it. You miss the things that make him, him.)

You don’t hesitate in running your hands through the softness of his hair. Your fingers scratch gently on his scalp, eliciting a soft sigh from your weary husband. Eyes watch raptly as his shoulders unwind and ripple. The tension in them melts away with the deft caress of your hands.

Your heart squeezes painfully in your chest. Like a knife twisting. You love him, you love him.

Moments pass, the silence is almost comfortable when you ask, speaking it to the silence of the room. There’s a wavering lilt in your voice reassuring him. You aren’t going to push him for an answer. He doesn’t need to respond. Him being safe, home and warm in your arms is all you ever want. All you’ll ever need.

“How are they?” 

(The first night, you and Sam stayed the night in his family home. squeezed in his twin bed with Vincent curled up by his ribs. The little boy couldn’t bear sleeping alone that night, not with the anxiety of his father being back making him pace a mile a minute.

The air in the household had shifted that day.

In the dead of the night, the fire alarm went off—a blaring loud beeping sound from the kitchen. Totally harmless, a malfunction. A disturbance to sleep more than anything.

Except it was not.

You still remember the blood-curdling scream that came from Jodi and Kent's room. The panicked sobs of Jodi as she tried to calm her terror stricken husband. 

You remember the way Vincent clung onto you, like a koala to a tree. You cupped your hands tightly over his ears—he didn’t need to suffer the consequence of it.

Sam removed the fire alarm and Vincent from the house the next morning.)

His voice is hushed when he speaks. A pin could drop and be more clearly heard. “Mom's… getting better.” 

Not getting worse than she already is.

You plant a kiss on the crown of his head, lips soft and adoring on his skin. You ache to take his burden, to take his share of suffering. 

It hurts sometimes, to be right beside him but feel so faraway. Yet like this, feeling every curve and edge of his body—you can convince yourself that it doesn’t.  

“Is Vince asleep?”

“Yes,” you reply, tucking a blond curl behind his ear. His head unconsciously tilts to the room where his younger brother rests. Ever so protective of him even like this. 

Continuing you say, “He was looking for you,” you thread your fingers through the short blond strands at his neck. Sam untenses slightly in your arms, his arms going limp at your sides. “He's been fidgety lately. Restless.”

“He usually is.” his feeble attempt at a joke. Though the rasp in his voice only makes it sound resigned. You purse your lips, eyes tracking back to the cedar wood of your bedroom door on the other side of the room—and the sleeping child behind it.

You stroke Sam's hair, thinking. “More so than usual.”

(You know why. He knows too. Kent wasn’t the same when he returned from the war. He was vulnerable, not the fragile type but vulnerable in the way a ignited bomb threatened an explosion.

Vincent wasn’t either—grown much more from that thumb suckling toddler when he left.

“My dad is coming home soon,” Sam confides in you on that day on that day on the beach. Him standing a few feet away from the shore line, and you; next to him.

“This isn’t how I wanted him to grow up,” his voice cracks with vulnerability. “I—I want him to have a better childhood than I did.”

“He will, Sam. He will.” I know you’ll make sure of it.

His eyes are red-rimmed and raw when he looks at you. All you wanted was to wipe that anguished expression off his face.)

He is silent. All is silent. Tranquility is like a honey thick syrup poured over your chest, smeared all over the expanse of your body. The soft sounds of your synchronized breathing is the only sound you can bear to hear. It makes your eyes droop, the lethargic feeling dulling your senses.

Your hand reaches for his, intertwining your palm with his long-fingered one. You relish in the familiar feeling of his calloused fingertips, earned from afternoons spent with his guitar. His skin is warm, warmer than yours. You give his hand a tentative squeeze, he squeezes back.

“Mom told me to say hi to you both for her,” he tells you, his breathing slow and deep. “She misses him, and you. She’s coming to visit as soon as she can.”

“Vince misses her too,” you sigh, craning your head forward to peek at the top of his head. “It's affecting him, I can tell. Penny's getting worried. She tells me he hasn’t been himself at school.”

All that Sam can manage is a deep intake of breath, then a softer resigned exhale. There isn’t much nor enough for him to say. Your free hand goes to smooth down his back. The muscles there are tough—bunched up and tense.

He shifts between your thighs, baring down heavier on your pelvis. Even as tired as he is, Sam is restless. Always has been, whether it be on his skateboard or with his guitar. You ignore the growing ache in your lower back—it is not your moment, but his. The warmth of his weight on top of you overpower any discomfort you have.

Twirling the stray curl at his neck, you finally ask. Fingers featherlight against his shoulder.  “How… is he?”

Sam stiffens above you, the lean line of his body rigid. He’s clearly distressed with talking about his father. You suck a breath through your teeth, knocking your leg gently against his, giving your silent push for him to continue.

“I can't even lie,” he squeezes his eyes shut and turns his face away. “It isn't good, Doc Harvey says dad’s got PTSD from the war. It's triggered by loud sounds. Remember the time he woke up because of the fire alarm?”

You nod, curling your fingers around his. You try to provide him any semblance of comfort—to reassure him. You love him, always. 

It's painful to see, to watch what he’s going through only by the sidelines. 

Sam looks up at you from your chest, eyes blurry with exhaustion. His jaw tensing ever so slightly, you see the patchy blonde stubble starting at the jut of his jaw. The wrinkle in his brow growing more prominent at the mention of his father. It's a fresh type of wound, raw and open. You dance around the topic, like poking a sleeping lion that threatens to attack at any given moment.

“We’ve transferred him to stay in my old room. He’s been holed up there most of the time. The nightmares are keeping mom up. He wakes up screaming most nights." Sam rasps, squeezing your fingers. He speaks lowly against the thin fabric of your sleep shirt, the heat of his body bleeding through it and into you. 

His voice dissolves into a pained crack when he speaks. “It sucks.”

“It will get better, we can get through it,” you sit up slightly, elbows bent behind you. Sam's been out the whole day. You assume he must be starving and tired. “Do you need anything?”

Sam doesn’t let you up, though. He tugs you back down under him with the gentle pull of his arm. You still in his arms, looking down at him.

“No,” he pleads. “just… stay with me, okay? Let's stay like this, please.”

You swallow, nodding. “Yes, of course.”

You wish you could ease his worries. You wish you could tell him that it’ll be alright and he would believe it.

You love him, more than life itself. Like you are a planet that orbits around him, the sun. You show him so everyday—and will continue to do so with everyday that will come. 

You just wish he’d be more selfish with you.

If he falls, you’ll piece him back together. Glue his bones together with your hands, relying on the familiarity of his being. Anything, you’d do anything.

The matching mermaid pendants resting over his and your collarbone symbolizes that.

“I want to help you, sam. You take all this burden up on your own. please?”

He sits up, back hunched over you. A dim shadow of him filtered over you. You follow him, like you can’t bear to be apart from him. 

“You are, you always have,” Sam softens, gazing at you so reverently you could sob. He looks at you as one gazes at master paintings, like he is in wordless awe of you. 

The room is dark with night. If you strain your ears hard enough, the cooing of the owls filter through the cracks of your windows. The moonlight is scarce, you can barely see the expressions painting his face. Though, you’re sure your expression is as lovesick as his. Practical hearts in your eyes as you stare.

“Looking after Vince is more than I could ever ask for, honey.” he whispers, pinching the hem of your sleep shirt between his thumb and pointer finger. 

“No Sam,” you murmur, taking his face into your hands. your hands frame his face, warming the cool skin of his cheeks. Desperation fills every movement in a plea for him to understand. “I meant you.”

You inhale, relishing the smell of sweat, mint and rubbing alcohol on his skin. The scent smells so comforting, and so familiar. 

You hope he finds that same solace in you as you do with him.

“I want to take care of you,” you say more firmly, stroking him on the skin of his brow bone. “Won’t you let me?”

He stares at you, enveloping your hands with warmer ones. You sigh contentedly at the feeling. They sear into your skin, warming you with the righteous heat of his devotion. 

To you, he is the sun and you have the sun right in the palm of your hands. You know he won’t ever burn you, nor leave your skin red and raw from his intensity. His rays are gentle, a featherlight whisper of a kiss on the expanse of your body.

But the sun never stops shining. It is steadfast in its duty to provide. You worry, will he explode in a grand supernova or crumple into a black hole? 

Either way, you will never allow it. You’d rather douse the sun in the water of the ocean to hold him in your arms. Maybe then, he can finally rest soundly. 

You feel his thumb rub back and forth on the back of your palm, silent and considering. The brush of it melting you against him like a contented cat. A smile graces your lips, you can wait.

Though you do not need to. Sam turns his head and kisses your wrist. His nose bumping into the crease of your thumb. You feel honeyed warmth drip down your heart, collecting in the cavern of your chest.

That's all the confirmation you need.

(There are some days his words fail him. The days his mind is bursting with ideas, so much so it’s difficult for him to convey a singular thought.

That's alright. Perfect, even. Sam has always been better at expressing himself through actions.)

“I love you,” you kiss his forehead, then over each of his eyelids. You want to kiss every inch of his skin until there is nothing left to cover. “so, so much.”

You press your lips to the corner of his. Opting to speak your promise against his skin, to tattoo your undying love into the smooth expanse of it. 

Sam tilts his head, causing his lips to brush completely against yours. He presses them firmer against yours, the taste of spearmint gum heavy on his tongue. You lick the seam of his lips—let me in, let me in. 

“I love you too. more than you know,” he gasps, tearing his lips away. His breath puffing warmly against the skin of your cheek. He declares it as if he’s running out of breath, and it is his final words. A willing sailor drowning in the deep ocean that is you. “More than anything, more than life itself.”

You press your forehead against his. Your eyes meet the depthless green of his. The twinkle is there; flickering and faint but present.

Love is what brought him to you. It’s what keeps bringing him home to you every night. You want to be his refuge, his comfort, his partner for life. 

Your eyes shut, eyelashes fluttering against your cheekbones. “Share the burden with me, Sammy. I can take it.”

At the end of the day, he is all you want. All that you need. If it takes him time, you won’t mind. even if it takes centuries.

Sam captures your lips again. Murmuring his agreement greedily against you. You love him, you love him and he loves you. 

You are the one he comes back to, his spouse. The greatest love of his life. Home isn’t the farmhouse you’ve built a life in—

It’s you, always has been you.

[hydraulicpressedspaghetti]

I spent a couple hours trying to decipher and write down the lyrics to the stolitz duet (I’ll keep updating as more recordings are posted, hopefully the unintelligible lyrics are easier to hear in at least one!)

Lyrics below the cut (question marks in parentheses mean I’m not 100% sure)

S: thank you too (?????)

The butterflies in my stomach, I have’t felt this nervous(??????) since I was a little fluffy dove, nesting my

Daring do, his half disguise, behind the smile my beak is grinding, never minding

I swore I couldn’t dwell on the divorce, so for my own health, I’ll remind myself

That when I see him, I know that it won’t be so tough, I’ll believe him and not the voice inside of my own head(?!?)

Instead(?) of our arrangement, it can just be him and me, how perfect it could be, when I see him tonight

B: it’s time to meet?(??) alright, alright! It’s been a while since he came for attention! Are we okay? I can’t really say, I’m getting by by avoiding his questions

So complicated, I hate when it’s complicated, why do I alway end up in situations that are complicated

Here I go again, getting in my head, so I’ll focus on the sexy stuff instead

S: when I see him

B: I’m gonna do that thing he likes(??)

S: when he sees me(?)

B: we don’t have to change things, I’ll just bring a load of spice

S: —(???) make things worse

B: we’ve got a nice arrangement, and it’s working out just fine, we’ll keep it light(?)

S: I’ll fucking die alone if this goes bad tonight

Both?: when I see him tonight

S: am I doing something I can’t take back

B: relax

S: would he want me if he was free

B: we’re fine!

S: and if he’s only here as a prisoner, what kind of monster does that make me? My entire life’s been written in stone

B: we’re gonna bone

S: he taught me that I could choose

B: cool

S: he deserves a choice to stay or go, though it scares me to think what i’d loose

B: I can’t wait to lose ourselves in nasty sex and make that bird SQUAK

S: what do I(???) ———- (???)

B: we’ll just stick with what makes sense, like him sucking my

S: co ————(??????)

B: who needs words when you’ve got a mouth full of

S: come to your senses

B: ———-(???)

S: this will be(?) all for love and trust

B: I’ll leave his bird puss nice and rough

S: I will love(?????) him soon

B: he’ll be coming-

both: -soon enough

B: oh yeah!

S: when I see him, will it be tender or be tough? Will it please him, or will I just be fucking it all up? Can this be a relationship, or am I still naïve?

I’ll set us free, whatever it may be, when I see him tonight

[garf-lover96]

Vesuvia Weekly; Inside Jokes (Rowan and Julian)

okay so a bit is technically a joke and i had this thought about them just doing improv during some mundane activities.. there's a lot of dialogue here so it was really fun to write (though like always i was a little worried whether it's in character enough..). and i wrote this whole thing while laying on my carpet because my sheets were in the washing!! so fun!

there's just a little more than 1k words here by the way! it's all sappy and mushy. and i included my olive theory headcanon

———

"Juliannn, I finished tidying." Rowan walks into the kitchen, stretching his arms and yawning. He approaches Julian from behind and hugs his waist gently.

"Oh? That took quite a bit longer than usual, I'm already finished with dinner. A lot of dust today?" he smiles and turns around to kiss his partner's forehead.

"No, Malak didn't stick the landing earlier and knocked over some jars-"

"What-? Why didn't you tell me that? I would've helped!"

"It's fine! It's fine, I've gotten it covered. The shop is squeaky clean now..." Rowan yawns again, "And I am sooo hungry." he looks over Julian's shoulder and into the pot in front of him.

"...Like what you see?" Julian asks with a smirk.

"That sauce looks amazing..." Rowan sighs out and leans against Julian's frame.

"Well, the recipe was Pasha's courtesy. Ah, and she was the one that made the pasta... I haven't gotten the hang of that yet."

"You'd make such a good househusband..."

"No, come on... Would you like a househusband that can't even make edible pasta?"

"Mm, if he was as handsome as you..." Rowan snickers and pokes Julian's side, making him jerk back with a yelp, continued by embarrassed chuckling.

"You flirt... Just sit already, I can hear your stomach growling."

Rowan chuckles and goes to sit down at the table. He pulls his feet up on the chair and looks up at Julian with a smile while he brings the plates over and sits down across from him. The pasta does look delicious... Rowan's never been a big tomato fan but he is possibly the biggest tomato sauce fan in all of Vesuvia.

"You didn't put any olives in, right...?" Rowan inquires with a slightly raised eyebrow.

"Not in your plate. I have them all to myself now." Julian snorts when he looks up to see Rowan's disapproving scowl, "I don't judge your food choices!" he adds with a soft scoff.

Rowan rolls his eyes a little and starts eating. He twirls the pasta around his fork swiftly and puts it into his mouth, with his head just above the plate.

After a while of silence while they're both busy eating, Julian says something again.

"That's no way for a proper gentleman to go about this... You eat like a beast."

Rowan raises his eyes to be met with Julian's familiar expression. That silly teasing smirk. So he answers accordingly.

"That's because I am a beast. A very fierce and dangerous one."

"Right, of course. What kind of beast are you?"

"Umm... A dragon! Yes, that."

"Ah, I can picture that already... But what color?"

"Red. Naturally."

"And just how big of a dragon are you?"

"Twenty feet."

"...In length or height?"

"Height, of course."

"Well that's just greedy..."

Rowan holds up a finger to silence him and Julian just smirks again.

"Fine then. You're a huge red dragon. So can I ride you?"

Rowan snorts and covers his mouth in fear of spitting his pasta out. He recovers and swallows his bite.

"Wait, but who even are you?"

"Uh... Maybe just a simple peasant with a soft spot for dragons. So I come with a query. Can I ride you, oh mighty dragon? So I can experience the feeling of soaring the sky, the wind of my face and escaping my mundane life as a simple olive farmer..."

Rowan wrinkles his nose at that slightly and it makes Julian scoff again.

"So...?" he raises his eyebrows, waiting for an answer.

"The Rowan-dragon considers it. And then he eats you whole. One bite."

"Er- Huh? But why?"

"Sheep shortage. He's very hungry."

"But I'm all skin an bones! I'm a very humble farmer, not nutritious at all!"

"The dragon doesn't particularly care."

"But I'm so full of love and affection for you, dear dragon! I could've offered you something no mere sheep would be able to. If only you haven't eaten me... Now I'm just slowly dissolving in your dragon stomach acids... Nobody will even remember the name of... Uh... Wilhelm Olivewilhelm..."

Rowan shakes his head slowly with a weak grin.

"Maybe it's better off not being remembered-"

"Rude! So that's just it? Wilhelm gets eaten and that's the end of his story?"

"No, uh... The dragon reconsiders the situation and spits you- Wilhelm up. Wait, should I say you or Wilhelm?"

"Whatever you see fit. But how is that possible? Wasn't it a bite? I'm like a bloody mush now."

"Eh, it was more of a gulp, actually. So the dragon spits you up and you're mostly undamaged. The dragon is moved, in fact. Moved by the love he felt radiating off of you while you were in his stomach."

"Right. So, mighty dragon, will you let me love you? I don't care what the world thinks of us... My feelings are strong, undeniable and I can't hide them anymore-"

"The dragon leans in for a big, sloppy kiss."

"That's..."

"Do you return the kiss? Your whole head is in the dragon's mouth by the way.

"How is that supposed to work then...?"

"I don't know, lick him from the inside?"

"Rowan, ew!"

They both explode into laughter, forgetting about their pasta almost completely. When they manage to calm down a little, Rowan leans back and yawns again.

"Aww, is my dear dragon that tired already? You should just go to sleep once we finish eating." Julian says with a soft smile.

"Well, terrorizing villages does take up a lot of energy. And I can't go to sleep right after this, I get heartburn..." Rowan rubs his eyes a bit and leans down again to finish his pasta.

"Then I'll make you chamomile tea." Julian shovels the last bit of his food into his mouth and gets up from his seat.

"Thank you, Wilhelm." Rowan answers with a grateful smile.

While Julian prepares the drink, Rowan manages to clear off his plate. Then Julian approaches again and sets the tea poured into Rowan's favorite flowery cup on the table in front of him.

"You're still a little dirty, darling." Julian instinctively reaches forward to wipe Rowan's face and gasps when his fingers get bitten down on.

"Hey, what's this for?"

Rowan lets go after a moment.

"I'm still the dragon. It's an immersive experience. Besides, don't you know that dragons are allowed to go to sleep all dirty and disgusting?"

"Not my dragon. My dragon is supposed to go to sleep all clean and smelling like fresh flowers." he states and grabs the nearest piece of cloth so he can clean Rowan's face.

"No, an ambush-!" Rowan yelps and starts squirming under his touch. Julian just carries on with a grin.

"Now," Julian sets the cloth away and hands Rowan the cup of tea "take your little drink and to bed with you, dragon. I'll handle the dishes."

Rowan gets up from his seat with another yawn and Julian puts an arm around him just to give him a little peck on the lips. Then he nudges him towards the exit of the kitchen.

"I love you, dearest dragon."

"The dragon loves you too."

[afreakingdork]

Weak Spot - Chapter 66

RotTMNT Donatello x Reader

The last thing you see before you lose a hand or as I like to say, this week's chapter art by @aimike17

Warnings: Aged-up Turtles, Romance, Meet Cute, Villain Donatello, Cussing, Crushes, Xenophobia, Fear, Intimidation, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Hurt/Comfort, Love, AFAB Reader, Vaginal Sex, Sex Rough, Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Creampie, Teasing, Scent Kink, Sexual Tension, Breeding Kink, Multiple Orgasms, Cunnilingus, Fellatio, Marathon Sex, Somnophilia, Bondage, Feral Behavior, Feral Donatello, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Public Sex, Dom Donnie, Human/Turtle Relationships, Turtle Noises, Roleplay, Sexual Roleplay

Synopsis:  A love story of villainous proportions! Though it hadn’t come easily, as these things rarely do, you found yourself in a whirlwind romance with a handsome and mysterious mutant. His idiosyncrasies had been easy to ignore as attraction grew into something more. However, will love endure when the unknowns about him end up being far darker than you ever considered?

SCREECHING AFTER THE FACT SHOUT-OUT TO @tmntxthings for helping me out with this chapter too! She's a freaking saint when it comes to helping me cook!!!

Fem!Reader References/Warnings Below Cut

Also available on Ao3

First 💜 Previous

LAST WARNING FOR THE 🍋 UNDER THE CUT. MINORS DNI!

Fem!Reader References/Warnings: gun, robbery, threats of murder, blood, broken bones, bra removal, clit suck, folds, and the typical pregnancy mention

“Tarp.”

“Check.” You patted down the many plastic sheets.

“Mirrors.”

“Big and small.” You tiptoed around a floor length one and over to the table where a handheld one lay.

“Paint.”

“Check.” In a little swivel, you held out a hand in demonstration to the litany of choices.

“Brushes.”

“Check!” You turned your outstretched hand into a pointed finger to the cup sporting many.

“Spot testing for allergic reactions, check. Scheduled time is blocked so we have the entire day. This leaves mess where tarps have been laid out in accordance to my mapping.” Donnie lifted his head from a screen to stare down where plastic sheets disappeared into the bathroom. “Bedroom otherwise prepared, which leaves clean up…”

You nodded in time, itching to get ready.

“Clean up.”

His repeated line brought your attention.

He was in motion toward the bathroom before you could even ask.

There you heard the clatter of the shower curtain as you followed.

“No, no!”

You reached the door frame and looked in where he was holding a bottle of his soap. “What?”

“Colloquially I may say body wash, but this is technically a cleanser!”

“Okay…?”

“Cleanser retains skin’s natural oil!”

Your fingers squeezed the jamb as you waited for him to elaborate.

“It won’t properly clear paint! Water-based or otherwise!”

“Oh…”

He shook the container. “We would need excess which I have not planned for! The new formulation isn’t due for another week!” 

You grimaced sheepishly. 

Donnie sighed and then turned to gripe at you. “While I may have increased my order to account for your utilization, it will not be enough. If you recall, we had the addition of your soap for grimier circumstances. With my wash it would take multiple lathers to scrub away all residue. This would leave us without cleanser before more arrived, id est, we were meant to have purchased a separate and appropriate soap.” 

He hadn’t been shy about his complaints. When you had first moved in, you had your own body wash, but after a while it seemed easier to just use his. While the formula was supposedly made for him alone, it also made your skin feel comfortably supple.  “Uh huh...”

“Y/N, this is a problem!” He brought the bottle over to you.

You took the offering, found it light as described, and turned your head toward the sink. “Okay… We have other soaps… How about the hand soap right here?”

He made a noise of revulsion.

“Or dish soap?” Your head lolled as you looked at him.

His features curled into twisted horror. “You are describing a replacement worse than simply letting the paint dry!”

“If it dries, it just flakes off, doesn't it?”

“I won’t even dignify that with a response.” He spoke caustically.

“Donnie, the dish soap is good enough for ducks and oil spills. It’s their whole branding, it can’t be that bad-”

“These are neither oil based paints nor are either of us waterfowl!”

“That’s not what the marketing scheme is trying to-!”

“I refuse!”

You made an annoyed sound and were just shy of stomping your foot. “Donnie, it took forever to get the tarps down according to your plan!”

He folded his arm.

“Donatello!”

His beak rose with a haughty turn of his head.

“So, that’s it!? No body painting because you forgot soap!?”

“Me?” He came down with a fiery gaze. “We made the list together!”

“And you’re Santa Claus checking it twice! You ordered everything!”

“Blame goes both ways. You wound me and therefore I’m even less inclined to continue our activity!” In a flap of his hands, he shooed you.

Irritated, you stepped away only for him to begin to kick up the tarp behind you. “What are you doing!?”

“As you so kindly put it, there will be no body painting today! I am cleaning up!”

“Don, come on!” You blocked him from messing up the ground cover further.

He towered over you.

“We spent all that time testing brushes to make sure they felt right against you! Hell, we spent forever trying to figure out the best way to write on each other. Markers grossed you out and there was so much trial and error for smell and texture and everything! Then, getting the stuff and the time and setup! Please…!”

“We have a process for a reason. This is an undertaking, not to be done on a whim.” His eyes were down, ready to calculate moving you out of the way.

You stepped around his toes to cage him in. “Do you still want to?”

He reared with an annoyed shake. “Have you not been listening!?”

You whacked your hands against his plastron. “Obviously I have! I’m asking if you’re just trying to find an excuse out.”

“Of course not!” He was further offended. “I put forth the effort because I wanted this! We both did!”

“Then why are you giving up so easily!?”

“I’m not! I’m rescheduling. We can attempt another after we have the proper wash.” He found that to be his last word on the situation and moved to get around you.

“I can go to the closest store. There’s a shop two blocks from here and I know they have body wash!”

Donnie stalled, but didn’t look.

“It’s not going to be a great brand, but all soap strips right? As long as it’s for the body, that’s good enough?”

He was clearly processing.

“Please…?”

“Not all.” He glanced. “I have stipulations.”

“Shoot.”

“The product must be free of sulfates, parabens, phthalates, mineral oil, retinyl palmitate, coal tar, hydroquinone, triclosan, triclocarban, formaldehyde and its derivative releasing agents, and even the slightest form of fragrance.”

Your lips parted as you weren’t prepared for such a long list. “You need to send that to me.”

“I will go with you.”

“Yeah!?”

“Calm, this is still your task. I would only rather waste a portion of my time.”

You frowned.

“I don’t care if I ruin the mood.”

You gave one tepid sigh before looking at him with a withered expression. “Your skin care is important.”

“As how it feels and what goes on it.”

“Yes. I’m not making light, I’m just…” You gestured out to how your bedroom was coated in plastic wrap. “We worked so hard. I… no, we were really looking forward to this…” 

“I acknowledge the frustrations.” He dipped in to press his beak to your head.

You lingered only for a moment. “Now?”

“Now.” He agreed and you both moved to leave.

Getting shoes on, you were both out the door and heading to the store. Right where you said it was, the micro grocer was a dingy, but serviceable place. Donnie made his stand outside and only helped you by writing out his request list in an app. With your phone in hand, you entered and only glanced at the shopkeeper. A young guy scrolling on his phone, he ignored you while you headed to where the toiletries were. Several options, you picked up the first to start reading ingredients when the door opened again.

Background noise of another customer, you sneered at one of the banned ingredients and moved for the next bottle. Scanning through that one’s tiny print, you squinted to examine it closer when you heard a huffy voice.

“Hurry up…”

Your head lifting with an odd weight, you leaned just enough to look past the shelf you were at.

At the register, whoever had walked in was clearly robbing the place with a gun shaped figure lifted up through his jacket.

Staring, you saw the man at the counter struggle with the machine. “It won’t open unless you make a purchase. I don’t really know-!”

“Fake one, stupid!” The gunman hissed, jerking his coat.

You looked toward the front window, but couldn’t see Donnie.

“Trying to be a hero!?” You weren’t sure how, but the gunman must have caught a glimpse of you because he spun around.

Donnie had been right next to the front door. 

He would have seen the guy enter. 

He would have heard the commotion, no matter how quiet. 

“Hey, you listening?!”

You didn’t move your pupils, but the guy at the register chanced a shaky hand toward the phone.

“Dipshit!!” The gunman stalked toward you. “You hear what the fuck I’m saying or not!?”

Without moving your head, you looked the man up and down. 

He appeared small.

He was technically taller than you, but you couldn’t help but shrink him in your mind.

He appeared pathetic with his spindly form and terrible stance.

He looked like he’d jumped into this store on a whim to steal a quick buck in the middle of a slow weekend day.

One thing out of place was sending him into a rage. 

You arched a brow. “I’m kind of busy.”

“You’re…?” The flared anger was snuffed out in a confused instant.

“Yeah, my boyfriend is really particular about his body wash.” You shook the bottle in your hands so he could see it better.

“I’m… What the FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT!?” Doubling down, he yanked the gun out of his jacket pocket to properly point it.

In a way, you were surprised he actually had one. 

You expected someone like him to have just faked it with his hand. 

Your heart rate barely blipped at the matte black object.

In contrast to your steady blood pressure, you saw a very familiar rush of black behind the gunman. 

It was a move imperceptible to anyone else.

When had your senses become so honed?

You guessed it was somewhere along the pipeline of generally dating a mutant and having almost died.

You had seen things the average person couldn’t dream of. 

Guns seemed so archaic in comparison. 

That explained why you weren’t scared.

You’d dealt with enough.

This pathetic trash wasn’t worth your adrenaline.

You had full faith in your mate and yourself. 

“He’s very particular, ya know?” You shrugged.

“Wha…?” The gunman wilted again at your second rebuttal.

“About this…” You looked at the shelf. “About me…” You turned your attention toward the barrel. “He’s waiting for me.”

“If you think your stupid ass sob story is going to-? You know what, fuck you! Empty your pockets, NOW!” The pistol shook and rotated.

“No.”

He blinked.

“I don’t think you understand.” Your head tipped and you could feel the unhinged quality your features took on. “I’m warning you. Put that gun down and walk out or else.”

If the man’s initial anger level was at a one and he doubled it on your first refusal, then his current boiling point broke mercury. “STUPID, FUCKING-!”

Metal crunched so loud it caused the racks of goods to reverberate.

Standing beside you was Donnie.

Extending out from his body were two of his mechanical arms.

One of which was clasped not only around the gun it had just devoured, but the gunman’s hand.

“I tried to tell him.” You gave Donnie a sugar coated look.

Your partner tipped his head toward you in acknowledgement.

Pain delayed, the gunman screeched and the first drops of blood began to trickle out from where his firearm was now part of him.

“You.” The other mech arm blurred as it caught the man by the chest and slammed him into the ground so hard that the floor depressed around him.

You tucked into Donnie’s side and overlooked the crater. “I have an idea.”

“Yes, my love?” Donnie turned to you with faint interest.

The gunman gurgled.

“We’re busy. Let’s have him take himself to the police. He can confess and we won’t have to deal with cover ups or statements.” You touched Donnie’s arm.

Donnie hummed, unconvinced.

The gunman pawed at the mech arm crushing him with his only available hand.

“What do you think?” You looked down at him. “You go or you die?”

“M-my h-hand!” He squawked.

“You point a gun at my mate.” Donnie leaned back with you moving in tandem and the mechanical arm hoisted the gunman up into the air. “Now you ignore their generous offer?”

Reality struck the gunman and he twitched. “I-I-I-I’ll g-go!”

“I’ll know if you take a single step otherwise.” Donnie’s grin split excitement. “I do hope you will.”

“N-no! I-I’ll g-go r-right t-there!!! P-please!!”

Donnie glanced at you with a smoothed out expression.

“Sounds like he gets it.” You rested your chin against him.

Donnie’s lids lowered with affection and the mechanical arms released.

The man hit the floor with another squeak of pain before he scrambled. He smeared blood from his broken hand out in a wet streak before he stumbled on a twisted angle straight towards the door. As if in a movie panning shot, you and Donnie both watched after him and caught sight of the young man at the register. 

His hands were up in surrender.

A phone hung from one of his palms.

“He called the police.” You told Donnie. “ETA?” 

Your boyfriend checked his gauntlet for a tiny screen projection. “Ten minutes.”

“Hey, we really just wanted to buy some soap. Is it cool if we keep looking?” You raised your voice a little to address the shop attendant.

The guy gawked.

Donnie seemed to realize something and in a slow withdrawal, the mechanical arms retreated and morphed back into his battle shell.

As if on cue, the attendant’s hands similarly lowered. “Seriously?!”

“Yeah.” You held up the body wash bottle still in your hand.

“… Whatever, sure!” The attendant slumped in a stool and mumbled about his day.

“Okay, I was almost done with this one.” You walked back to the selection with your eyes glued to the tiny print.

Donnie came with and curled around your back, pressing impatient kisses to your neck.

“Sweet, I gotta focus.”

“Love you.” He husked in your ear.

“Me too.” You spoke distantly. “Ugh dangit, not this one either.”

The moment you reached to put it back on the shelf, Donnie took advantage of the real estate and groped under your lifted arm.

You held back a moan. “D-Don…!”

“Want you.”

“I know, but the paint…” You fumbled the last bottle, but kept it from falling off the shelf.

He churred honey into your ear.

You shuddered as you turned the bottle over to read. “I saw you run up behind the asshole. I’m surprised you waited.”

He released a hot breath from where he was nibbling your ear lobe. “You were stunning. I wouldn’t dare interrupt. That control, incredible.”

“I didn’t do anything…” Your eyes drifted and you leaned to give him better access.

He latched to give you a hickey close to your hairline.

You released a shaky breath.

He gave a final hard suck before moving his lips away only long enough to mumble. “I see sodium palmitate, which falls in a similar group. Try the bar.”

“I-is that on there? Damn…” You put the bottle back and he moved with you as you grabbed said rectangle.

A churr rumbled in your ears as you found the ingredients list scant and to the point.

“This one’s perfect, fuck, this one.”

“Very good.” He pressed a wet kiss below his mark and removed himself from you.

You stumbled a few steps before making it to the register to pay.

“Uh, thank… you…?” The young man mumbled unsure as he rang you up.

“Sure.” You shrugged and caught the soap bar to leave after the transaction.

“You’ll receive payment for the floor.” Donnie tossed casually as he followed you out.

You heard the attendant give another confused thanks.

Your legs pumped with power walking purpose back towards your apartment. Donnie’s longer legs kept him easily in tow and he had a light hearted air as you walked. Reaching your apartment in record time, you both jockeyed at the front door and in doing so a question popped out of you. 

“You going soft?”

He slowed and turned to you with a curious shift of his pupil.

“Hot or not, there was a gun pointed at me. I doubt there’s much what if, but it just feels like usually you would have killed or maimed anyone the second they tried a stunt like that.”

Donnie sugared his gaze before he bent in, nice and slow, to put his face on level with yours. With a lethally cute tip of his head, his gaze simmered. “So what if I am?”

Your stomach somersaulted.

“So what if I am going soft?” He repeated and the tip of his beak took the faintest whiff of the air.  “Maybe I prefer domestication…? Doesn’t smell like a problem.”

You murmured his name and the door felt especially heavy where you were stuck holding it.

“Being kept…” He flicked a low lidded gaze over you. “I was not aware of the advantages. It seemed a noose, but a docile predator has the same bite while no longer having to fight to be fed.”

“It’s about how they use it…” You whispered and ghosted your lips over his before charging inside.

He followed close after and, as you tried to deviate toward the elevator, he hooked your waist. You were launched up several flights of stairs in a way that reminded you of a tender version of your first night together and this time there was no need to fumble at the door. You slipped in first and took a few dancing steps with your purchase obvious in hand.

Donnie leered behind and you deposited the soap bar in the bathroom before meeting him in the bedroom. The kiss there seared intensity, but starkly contrasted the slow way he worked up the bottom of your top. You mewled against his lips, struggling with quick urges and he scolded you with promises of more. You relented and broke apart long enough for him to disrobe you.

Bra as a last hold, you took your turn to steal his sweater away and did so with far less grace. You dragged him with his long arms on a tug and he chuckled his way to wrapping them around you. Both for a hug and then for the greater purpose of unfastening your bottoms, you peppered him with kisses. He lounged in them, slowing as he shimmied fabric down your hips. By the time your bottom hit the floor, he was drunkenly shoving his tongue into your mouth.

Winding and sipping on heat, you melded together. Your bra was soon popped and you tipped your body to let it fall from your shoulders as he did his own fly. Coordination had you both naked and clothes were kicked away toward the living room before you pulled him to the paint selection.

“Mark me as yours.” His voice ghosted your ears.

You both exhaled and sighed dreamy as you picked black for its sharp pigmentation. Selecting one of the soft brushes that he’d designated for his skin, you dunked bristles to pigment before bringing up a darkened tip. He eyed it and then you with trust so full that it threatened to drip the same as your implement. Moving forward with a flexible wrist, you swiped black over his neck. A reclamation of his brand, he handed himself over and the loll back of his head said the sensation felt good. Stroking to enhance and taking care in making a bold collar, streaks dripped and rolled along his musculature. It adorned his painted choker with black pearls that beckoned you to swipe over the plump tips of. 

Donnie surfaced enough to try to watch you as you finger painted from the pool and wrote your name amongst the drip just under his blackened throat.

“If found, please return to…” You teased and kissed his cheek.

He churred lightly. “May I?”

“Of course.” You held the brush out for him and he politely declined.

You followed him to the table. He took a long time selecting his own instruments and in the meantime you cleaned your brush. Capping off the black paint, you set the brush off to dry in a little section of the table that was set up for that. Donnie then approached you, ready, with a carefully turned paint canister in one hand and a medium sized precision brush in the other.

“Stand over here.” He gestured and walked himself toward the middle of the bedroom.

You trailed after and strained to see what color he had.

“Don’t look.” He grinned knowingly. “Eyes on mine. I want to surprise you.”

You adjusted your posture to look at him comfortably. “Won’t I be able to tell from the strokes?”

He hummed with little interest. “Maybe.”

You watched the way his lids fell as he uncapped his paint. His little lashes moved as a brush of their own, protecting the dimensionality of his eyes. You watched every little dip and dart of his pupil as he acquired paint. His focus shifted, all engrossed, as the brush dabbed wet to your arm. First with a blot so he could test the thickness and viscosity of the paint, he swiped and adjusted his brush’s load before he committed to a full stroke.

A swift line that he focused on cleanly finishing off, there was a curl of movement. In an attractive turn of his head, he must have looked at the paint pot to get more on his brush. You were enamored to watch your mate work with this new point of view. So often when you were on the receiving end, he was doing his best to distract you. Now you only had clear attention and with it you could commit all of him to memory. From another swipe to your current arm and then moving to the other, you tracked him the whole way. With his eyes focused on the task, you got to see every emotion pass over them.

You understood the phrase windows to the soul, but the phrase took new meaning when you watched him like this. His dedication flowed out in acts of service and he was a machine ever taking information in. If you were to agree with his domestication comment, you’d only do so because he’d allowed it. He was a wild animal that had judged you in a lengthy trial period before he ever chanced bowing his head to your worth.

It was an honor bestowed as great as knighthood and, as such, Donnie knelt before you. You wished you still had your paints to both lay your decree and also because you could now see you had missed a spot on his collar. With his head down you could see the missing connection clearly and wanted to belt off the green. It would match his villainous color scheme nicely where he’d left his mask on and you hardly noticed him painting your legs until he lifted up with a satisfied smile.

“Done already?”

Donnie grinned and went to put his brushes up. “One moment for the reveal.”

“Yessir.” You tried to parse out the damp skin and what it marked off.

It was clearly each of your limbs, but hadn’t seemed to be a complicated design.

Before you could ponder further, Donnie appeared behind you to lead you over to the mirror. “Eyes.”

You let him move you and followed only his gaze in the reflection.

In a quick shuffling to get you full framed, he then nodded for you to look at yourself.

You did and found the slightest purple on your arms. You turned first to the right, finding two connected blocks on your upper arm, but also revealed two disconnected ones on your legs. Your smile grew as you turned the other way and found more purple pixels, all identical replicas of Donnie’s markings. “Interesting brand.”

“I do appreciate a theme.” He kissed your cheek over your shoulder. “You look ravishing.”

“If it’s a theme, you forgot the green.” You chewed your lip and leaned into him. “I love it. Understated, but you.”

Donnie chuffed. “Skin needs to breathe. A full-body paint job would cover your pores and chance a disruption of the sweating and cooling mechanisms in your body. if we were to test something like that, might as well have a cloaking broach.”

You turned toward him. “What is that? You’ve said it before and I think Shelly has like… alluded to it?”

“It’s a stone that allows one to cloak their appearance.”

“Got that much.” You teased and made it obvious you were returning for the paints.

He followed you to clean his brush. “A mystic item then.”

“Do you have one?” You picked the same pair you had before and gestured him to the bed.

He sat on the crinkling tarp covering and waited for you. “No. I liken my visage.”

Half sitting on the edge, you leaned around him to close the painted collar and then drifted brushstrokes down his front. “I do too.”

He churred affection.

You tried to paint his plastron and frowned at how the different texture streaked the paint. “How does the stone figure out what you should look like? Do you think of an image in your head and it makes it happen?”

“Some thought, but as with most mysticism, it trends illogical. Let’s imagine if you were to don it and you chose to cloak as a turtle mutant.”

You nodded both to him and how you tested various brushing techniques to get the black to lacquer.

“You may not be a softshell.”

That caught your attention and you sent surprise toward him. 

He had latent irritation creasing his features. “Unfortunately there’s a certain luck of the draw. There’s a high chance you may be, considering my DNA…” He reached out and pressed a targeted digit into your pelvis. “… is soaked into yours, but I digress. It isn’t assured.”

You stalled a stroke and kissed him hard.

He held you a metered amount away to protect your paint work.

You tapered off for a few needy presses before reluctantly continuing. “Is that why you chose to disguise yourself with make-up instead? Didn’t like the way the broach changed you?”

He gave a faint chirp of approval at your memory.

You stole another kiss. 

“I feel compelled to clarify: I’ve never used one.” 

“Don’t like the chance of how it’ll change you.” You corrected. 

You chuckled and felt his approving air follow you down onto your knees so you could have better access to painting further down his plastron. 

“Share?”

“I was just thinking this would totally turn into washboard abs.” You gestured to him and layered on extra coats to thicken the lines you’d drawn.

“You’re curious?”

“Not really.” You tried to make a circle, but it wasn’t clean. “You don’t like it, so I’m not really interested.”

“You wouldn’t prefer me human.”

It was a statement and, though he hadn’t asked, you knew he needed reassurance. You sent it up to him by fully stopping and giving him your full attention. “Never.”

He had a wickedness to his gaze. “Monster fucker.”

You splatted your brush right into his beak and he chuffed droplets to clear his nose.

Still, he laughed and you continued your work with a pout.

Criss-crossing lines, you did a few touch ups, before you sat back to look at your work as a whole.

“I could acquire two.”

You moved your attention to his face.

“For science. I appreciate that sort of intrigue.”

“Only if you’re sure.”

“It’s not a physiological change. Only cosmetic.”

“And mystic.” You gave a lazy grin.

He sneered.

“Anything with you.” You stood.

He took a deep breath before doing the same. “Shall I see your masterpiece?”

“Please.” You swept your hand in a gesture to the full length mirror.

He moved to his reflection and recognition hit him immediately. “A harness.”

“Yes, my pet.” You pressed to his carapace and kissed his arm. “That’s kept.”

“I never considered…” He tilted his head.

“Wearing one? I doubt that.” You came around to look him over again.

He shook his head. “You didn’t connect the collar.” He pointed at this throat and then down. “I never thought to wear a harness without.”

“Oh…”

“Oh.” He mimicked your interest. “I’ll whip something up.”

“Use the link rings.” You leaned into him.

“Of course.” He kissed your forehead and took your chin. “Make-up gave me an idea.”

“What do you need?” You held up your brush and paint.

“Same purple paint, thin square brush.”

“Got it.” You moved to trade off your equipment and brought his requested materials back.

“Eyes closed.”

Your lids drifted and you tipped your chin up for him.

He startled you by catching your lips first then he moved to paint. Careful around your eyes, you felt him make more rectangles skirting down your cheeks. He then was careful over your lids and brows. He blew lightly to seal his art and then moved you gently over to the mirror. You held firm with closed eyes until he gave the signal and opened them to find he’d done an inspired extension of his markings on your face.

“I look cool…” You admired his work around blinks.

“Very…” He breathed warmth into your ear.

You tipped your head for him and he pressed kisses down the side of your neck.

A distraction, a cool brush dabbed your lower back and you arched with a small gasp.

“You k-know…” You managed as he painted what was clearly another rectangular shape. “I’d figured you go womb tattoo before a tramp stamp.”

He slowed only for a moment before he ducked his head to ensure his design. “Dangerous.”

“How so?”

“I would only need the correctly imbued ink.” He skirted your ass and you twitched with sensitivity.

“What…?” You drunkenly slurred as he exchanged his brush for a hand to squeeze the thick of a cheek.

“With such and the correct branching symbol, my birth control would be rendered useless.”

“Ah!” One of his fingers skirted between your legs.

“Best not to give me that power as of yet.” A finger ghosted your sex before another came around and pressed a thick stroke to your upper mons.

Your voice pitched and your head fell to see he’d smeared red paint across your lower belly. “Wha…?”

“Bed.” He nudged you in the direction, but kept himself out of sight. “I need to mark your inner thighs.”

You nodded and the moment you took a step, he slipped a finger into your folds. Knees weakening, you stumbled towards the bed riding his digit. It tested and teased your entrance and you were left to catch the edge of the mattress. He manipulated you only enough so you were sturdy before he disappeared. It took a moment to catch your breath, but you rotated and sat. He appeared, already on his knees with a brush in hand. With him before you, you spread for him and hiked your legs up against the tarp on the mattress. Your feet slid a few times as you tried to find a foothold and he lost his patience to bury his face into your core with a churr.

You cried out his name as he tasted you. His hands occupied with his brush, he rooted deeper with only his snout and lapped at your essence. Your appendages free in contrast, you fisted his mask and pulled. He clearly resisted and you saw through your delirium to how he was specifically keeping his snout from bumping that red blotch he’d made. An odd adornment hanging above your crotch, he licked up a fat stripe to suckle your clit and you bucked against his face once before he retreated. “Damned I can’t do both!”

You slumped a metered amount. “Can’t both cum in me and eat me out?”

“Yes.” He growled lightly before lifting an arm with a brush. His other appendage dipped to support the first and his perfected posture reminded you of a calligraphy master. You meant to ask if that was a skill of his, but the moment the moistened brush tip touched your thigh, you felt a current rip through your flesh. In expert strokes, the feather light tip wafted over you leaving blocks in its wake. You couldn’t help but compare it to the saliva and slick dripping from you. In contrast, it clung to you thick and wrote out a binding contract.

Property of Donatello down one inner thigh.

A prepared table that was ready to house marks of his ownership was left blank on the other.

You were leaned forward to look them over when he rose up enough to reveal his throbbing erection.

“Oh fuck…” You gasped.

“Shall we begin? See just how much of me you can hold?” He carved out a promise in scalding breath as he lined himself up with your weeping sex.

“D-Donnie, we have time. It’s not a race…”

“It’s not?” He smiled and was slow in bending forward to claim your lips. “I believe it is. Did you honestly think I wasn’t still competing with that inane heat-brained bastard?”

“That’s you-u-u-u!” Your word warbled as he pressed his glans in.

“Me.” He spat and shifted his angle with his hips alone to sink into you.

You moaned and moved to hold him.

He caught your limbs before he gave his body over to you. 

You felt something wet smear higher than anything between your legs.

For a moment, his weight dropped onto you and he gave a needy wriggle as if his cock wasn’t fully stuffed to its usual depths. 

You groaned at the pleasurable weight and felt how his entire body retreated as he pulled a calculated amount out. 

Look down. 

You looked. 

Where there had once been red, there was now purple. 

Looking up, you saw the same purple blotch on the bottom of Donnie’s plastron. 

Only his was rimmed with blue where yours had red. 

He had mixed the colors to create his own on your body right on the spot where you’d balloon with his kid. “Fuck me.”

“My pleasure.”

You wished you could say you lost track, but it was patently untrue as. Donnie, without fail, stopped each time he filled you up to make a tally mark on your inner thigh. He’d then wait, regardless of how far along you were, to ensure the dash would not smear. It was only then he’d return to you with a vigor that seemed to only grow with each symbol. 

By five you were delirious and he broke from sex to spill paint. Moving to abstract, he brought you back through slick digits that slid smoothly over your skin. He forewent brushes and dotted off designs until you were present and returned the favor. Together you tumbled and Donnie marked off zones with reminders of the memories they carried. It was a list of his downfall and you told him so. He churred warmth and between affectionate kisses, you drew lazy lines that covered his scars. The constant slick turned the many paints a neutral brain tone and with it an idea struck you.

Instructing him to get on his belly, you straddled his thighs with several bottles. You mixed outside the canvas of his body before you descended on his carapace with purpose. He was initially unnerved as you filled in the scarred gaps to his shell, but he settled at the firm pressure and reassurances that this is what you did in exchange. For each piece of him that he’d offered over, you patched them carefully to where they were meant to be. You’d never allow him to regret his decision to love you and it was when gnarled skin was filled in did you press your full palm down to the center of his spine.

“Donatello, you have my heart, my word, my everything. Whatever you choose, soft or domestic or otherwise, I’m going to make sure you can do it to your heart’s content.”

You stilled thinking he’d give a mating call or something of the like, but he sat silent.

You stared down at your hand that blended in with the color of his rough shell. 

“Y/N.”

His voice sounded watery and you tried to quell concerns. “Yeah?”

“Let go so I can gather you.”

You hadn’t considered you were holding him back. The moment your hand lifted, he flipped you over and made a thousand vows in return.

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[kittlesandbugs]

FHR: Just a chat (AO3 link here) Pairing: Sidestep/Ricardo Ortega (hints of Chargentstep), Sidestep & Hollow Ground Warnings: None, they're just chatting lol Word Count: 1720 Summary: Ortega takes Sidestep to the park to get some fresh air after being cooped up with broken legs in his apartment for a couple weeks. When he steps away for a few minutes to take care of something, someone else swings by for a talk.

It's a peaceful day at Memorial Park. The sun is shining through the carefully maintained trees, dappling the green grass. The air is cool and calm, balmy even with your multiple layers. The birds are chirping around you and every so often, a squirrel darts by. The air is full of children's laughter as they play on the jungle gym. People are calm and content around you, enjoying the nice weather. 

You haven’t been this tense since the last time you were hauled into a lab and strapped down. 

"I can't believe I let you talk me into this," you hiss at Ortega, sitting on the bench next to your wheelchair. 

He's lounging, at ease, though still alert. You see it the way his eyes roam around through the back of his sunglasses, watching everyone and everything around you. "Relax, Riley. Nothing is going to happen here," he chuckles. His hand starts towards your knee to give what you assume is supposed to be a reassuring pat before stopping and redirecting to your arm. You don't like it when anyone touches your casts. "You need some fresh air and sunlight once in a while. You were going crazy in the apartment."

"You could have at least waited for Argent to come over," you growl quietly. "Four eyes are better than two."

"We got four eyes. Hell, four hundred probably, if we count your telepathy." 

"Fine, four working legs." You roll your eyes at the pedantry. 

"We're in broad daylight in the good side of town, no one knows we're here. Relax." 

There's a little note of a plea in there that makes you sigh and nod. He is right, but you aren't going to tell him that. The chances of anyone coming after you in broad daylight on this side of town are almost nonexistent. And if they knew where you were, they would have gone for the significantly easier hit on Ortega's apartment by now. 

So you try. Take in some sun from the sky. Some sun from the carefree kids running past in a game of tag. As good for your brain as dogs, and they're here too. You sink into the padded chair and close your eyes, trying to focus on them rather than the itch of your healing bones that reminds you just how helpless you actually are. 

"Hey, wait here a moment," Ortega says after a few minutes of peace and quiet. You open your eyes to find him perched at the edge of the bench, eyes honed in on something. Your gaze follows but you can't make out who or what he sees at this distance. Are his sunglasses enhancing his vision? Probably, knowing him. You try to follow his line of sight with your telepathy, but what you find that might be getting his attention is strange. Foggy. Nebulous. It's difficult to latch on to any thoughts. Not blocking you like numbers, no, that's closer to the static of Ortega's brain. But someone that is definitely strange. Who is it? 

"Ric, what do you see?" you whisper harshly, the anxiety you felt earlier returning in full force like a hammer strike to your skull as he starts to rise, gesturing with his hand for you to stay put. Like you have a choice

"Just an old friend," he says, the cant of his lips saying the opposite. "I'll be right back. You're safe here."

And then he's off at a swift jog before you can protest, leaving you fumbling for the locked brakes you can't easily reach on the wheelchair handles. 

"Wait! You stupid fucking jackass—" 

"He is, isn't he?" A laugh behind you, and it takes all you have not to scream as a familiar lanky figure folds into Ortega's vacated seat. She's dressed in a finely woven linen jumpsuit, warm sepia with matching leather loafers, her gold piercings sparkling in the dappled sunlight. Her too similar face looks at you with a too similar crooked smile. 

Hollow Ground. 

How the fuck could she sneak up on you like this? You didn't sense her at all. You still can't. Not even so much as a thought void, just nothing. You've never seen anything like it. How is she concealing herself? What the fuck does she want with you? Your chair is still half-locked, trapping you here. Should you scream? Should you—

" Relax," she says, and it's almost a command as she meets your gaze with your own gray eyes. Still, you try to rein in your heart attempting to race its way out of your ribs. "I just want to talk."

"About what?" Your voice betrays the tension tight in your spine, much as you wish otherwise. If one more person tells you to relax, you think you might actually snap. You need to regain control of yourself. You are Reckoning, for fuck's sake. You're not some helpless child. 

"You," she says simply and then pauses. Frowns. Like she's no longer quite sure of what to say. Like she had a plan, but now she doesn't know if it should be executed. 

You try to touch her thoughts again, and again you're met with less than nothing. Are you hallucinating? No. The man walking down the path sees you both. He isn't worried by what he sees, two sisters having a conversation that seems tense. You aren't going to dig into the implications of that one. So she's here. She wants something, wants it enough to approach you about it. You realize the benefit to her closely kept secret identity means she can approach you freely as long as Ortega is not around. The weird presence you felt before, you realize that was Jake, you felt the same nebulousness of his thoughts when you went to meet Hollow Ground at Parkside. Irresistible bait to lure Ortega away. But you have no idea what it is she wants. So you wait. Ortega is right. No one is going to try and do anything in public in broad daylight. She won't, not like this. 

"What about me…?" you prompt when the quiet of her gets to be too much, impatient to find out what this is about with her mind giving you no clues. 

"How… are you?" she asks, surprisingly tentative. 

That reserved inquiry catches you off-guard, but you recover swiftly, her odd nervousness making you feel more confident despite your obvious weakness. "Oh, you know. Peachy. Just out for a stroll," you drawl, gesturing at your propped up casts. 

She snorts and the corner of her lips twitches. Somehow, your snark steadies her. "I should have expected that."

"Why do you care?" you ask sharply. She's being weird, and you don't like it. What is this about? Why would she risk meeting you like this?

"You're a mystery, Riley Owens. I'd hate it if you died before I could solve it." She smirks as you feel your blood run cold. Something about the way she says your name makes you feel jittery. But even more importantly, how could she possibly know who you are? You never gave your name before, to anyone at Parkside, you were there as your villainous alias. Argent scrubbed all records of your surgery at the hospital, though you have no doubt Hollow Ground knew who had been involved in the wreck. How does she know your name? Do the Rangers have a leak? 

As your brain stumbles over what this could mean, she holds out a small white card with something scrawled on it. An address. You recognize the area. Rich and residential. Very rich and residential. Is this… She can't possibly be just handing you this… 

"Got it memorized?" At your nod, she pockets it with a smile that's a little sharp for your liking. 

"What is your g—" 

"Fuck." Her hand shoots up, silencing you as her head tilts slightly like she's listening to something. You can just make out the outline of a small clear low profile receiver in her over-pierced ear. "We lost your pet Ranger, and he's on his way back. I have to go." She rises from the bench with the grace of a crane, giving you a conspiratorial wink.

"Wait, what— Fuck!" You swear, fumbling for the other lock on your chair before she can get away. 

As she strides away, she calls back, "You should stop by sometime, when you're back on your feet. We have a lot to catch up on."  

For someone so tall, she disappears far too easily into crowds. By the time you can roll after her, she's gone, as traceless as she appeared. What the fuck did she mean, catch up on? You're left sitting there, stewing in your own bile, until Ortega finally returns. 

He's sweaty, looking a little tired and roughed up. You think you can see the outline of a bruise blooming under the edge of his bearded cheek. He's definitely been in a fight. You don't know if you should be pleased or pissed that he learned to leave civilians behind for these kinds of escapades after his stunt with Jolene went awry. "Hey," he says with a little wave as he catches his breath. "Everything okay?"

 "Just dandy," you snarl, playing into being pissed that he left you. If he knew who just stopped by to pay you a friendly chat, he'd shit his own generator. "Sitting like a duck while you go haring off to go fight some rando."

Luckily, you think he's getting the right message, because he holds his hands up, placating, as he talks to you in the same tone he uses with his unruly horse at the ranch. "Hey, c'mon. I was just gone a few minutes. Nothing happened, right?" 

"Yeah," you lie with a sigh, dragging a hand down your face. "Nothing happened."

He grabs onto the handlebars of your chair, and if he notices you've unlocked it, he doesn't comment on it as he starts walking you through the park. "Angie texted me about meeting us at the ice cream stand. You want to get some ice cream before we go home?" 

"Yeah." Sugar will help steady your nerves. Get your mind off what just happened. “Let’s get some ice cream and go home.”

You have a lot of thinking to do later.

[pocketramblr]

Please, 5 headcanons for an AU where Yoichi and All for One survived alone on the streets as babies because they were something other than human.

You can pick any nonhuman creature but if you don't have ideas here are some suggestions:

-All for One was a manifestation of Yoichi's quirk like Dark Shadow. Yoichi unconsciously created him to keep himself safe.

-They were kitsunes (or some other Japanese mythological creature)

-They are half god (pantheon of your choice)

-They're aliens (based off the in-canon theory that quirks originated from an alien lifeform)

1- Gushima Satoyo was in her last semester of college when she was abducted by aliens. Satoyo didn't know it at the time: she was knocked out as the aliens- who are basically their planet's equivalent of grad students themselves- did a health scan. They realized she was a few weeks pregnant, but there was something unusual in their growth. A bit of research told them that this species could have multiple births, but it was rare and dangerous. Without their intervention, the smaller fetus wouldn't make it, and the bigger one only had slightly better odds. So they intervened, checked over the rest of her, tagged her arm so others would know she'd been seen and they could track her, then returned her where they got her.

2- except... It wasn't exactly where she'd been taken from. And it was weeks later. When Satoyo finally made it back home, she'd been assumed to have run away, she'd missed all her exams and been dropped from school, her boyfriend had moved on with her best friend and roommate, and her family had freaked out about her possible breakdown and or death. She was glad to be back home at first, but her family smothered her, still half grieving , and no one believed she didn't know what happened, had been terrified to wake up somewhere else. But her family would rather send her to a hospital than back to school, so, she actually does run away.

3- the tag on her arm are strange spikey bumps, but they don't really hurt and she can't afford a hospital, so Satoyo does what she needs to be able to afford a hotel most nights. It's tricky, to get a job without an address, even not taking into account the lack of degree or experience. Then, she realizes she's pregnant. She actually been pregnant for seven months, but the alien treatment has kept her from noticing any symptoms till now- and a month later she collapses, going into labor.

4- the tag wouldn't have mutated into a quirk in any species of beetle or most species of fish- so the aliens had little reason to expect an effect on humans. But the tag plus their treatment did- the babies are born with white hair and pupils, and one baby has inverted tag spikes in his palms, the other hidden inside his body, inside his bones. They don't require only milk, like normal humans do. They can hold their breath, have improved motor skills. The babies survive what they never should have been able to.

5- a year and a half before the glowing baby was born, the man that would be their father was kidnapped by a set of aliens too. In fact, a lot of early quirk users either were kidnapped themselves, or the children of people who were. AfO can steal the quirks of people born to the ex-lab rats, and anyone who was tagged by an alien group using the same brand of tags as what he got, but not anyone who was directly experimented on by aliens using another brand. Don't worry he gets around that by just killing those people, and soon there isn't a lot of people in that category anyway. Partly because how many he killed, but also partly because after a few alien authorities saw the tags were clearly messing up the life forms on earth, they told the students they couldn't use it anymore. But even though they left, quirks persist, a strange reaction to the alien tags, contagious and lingering in the genes... Not that anyone really knows that's how it happened. Maybe Nedzu suspects.

[002yb]

Hi its me again im so sorry but i was listening to a song and it made me think of literature university teacher Jason and Dick who ended up in his class bc he needed the credits and he cant be crushing harder on the hot professor who wears cardigans and tight rolled up long sleve shirts that show his arms but he also saw him with a motorbyke and a leather jacket and !!!!!! He cant decide if he wants to fail this class so he can see Jason in tutorys or do so good Jason knows his name, either way he wants jason so bad and it shows. He also flirts with him with lines from the books in class and maiden heart Jay is on his knees but hes gotta be professional.

Hes actually doing good bc even if he wants Jason attention bc he is hot, he is really a good teacher and makes it so easy to understand and follow through and his voice is nice and soothing and Dick loves this class and they have long debates after class about their constrasted perspectives and they might be falling in love oh no.

Also Dick is a menace and he is always down to fluster Jason

Dick: if i suck you off can i pass?

Jason: you got a ten????

Dick: can i still suck you?

(Bonus points if Dick didnt actually want this class but the others were full and nos he cant stop talking about it with everyone he knows, his family is tired his friends are amused)

This idea is so sweet!! Ahhhhhh, I love anything with Dick being down bad for Jason and showering Jason with all the flirty attention and adoration. Add maiden!Jason to it and like, hello. //u///

But let's consider the above with a vigilante!Dick and law professor!Jason, for reasons.

Dick considering dropping out of college up until he happens across professor Todd - a law professor

Who is very passionate and adamant and vocal about his views on Gotham's failure of a judicial system

Dick isn't actually in Jason's class, but Dick overhears a lecture once as he passes by one of the lecture halls and it gets his attention because like - Jason isn't wrong. He speaks up in a way that no one else does and Dick is enthralled by that.

Hell, it even makes him think of his own feelings towards the law, challenging certain insights he'd never really questioned before, but maybe should have

Which he likes. Jason piques his interest, so like a freak Dick inserts himself into all aspects of Jason's life because Dick might be a little in love insatiable about this man's mind

OH. Dick not even knowing what this professor looks like for a while. Because at least at the start, Dick contents himself to sitting just outside the lecture, chilling on the floor and listening in with his head tilted towards the cracked door

But more and more he wants to talk things through and debate and challenge Jason's own views the same way Jason unknowingly has challenged him

So Dick stages a meet-cute chance encounter

Or rather, he was working on fabricating one, but then they actually do have a meet cute chance encounter. Where in true cliche romantic trope fashion, they bump into one another in the halls and all of Jason's papers get dropped and they both rush to pick everything up.

And it's when Jason apologizes that Dick recognizes him because he listens to that voice so much. A quick glance at the course papers confirms it, too so Dick capitalizes so fast

Just pulling out all the charm so that he can start a conversation with this guy

Dick commenting like, 'You're a law professor?'

And Jason immediately jumping on that because, 'are you interested in law?'

Just Jason being really encouraging to get more young people interested in law and being the public defenders their community needs

Dick literally not getting a word in as Jason all but solicits him into the law department before Jason curbs the conversation by telling Dick to sign up for his class next semester. There's a waitlist, but good luck.

And Dick is swept up in the storm because oh, yeah. He needs in on this class. Immediately. That passion? Dick is a goner.

So of course Dick hacks his way into the university's systems to force his way into this class because ain't no way he's waiting around literal months to talk with this man again

It was Dick's plan to stalk Jason and pick him up while Jason was out and about running errands, outside of a scholastic setting

Or by encroaching on some office hours if it came down to it

He's genuinely not interested in higher education, but hell. Hours long lectures multiple days a week with this beautiful mind? Cool.

Anyway, so Dick weasels his way into this law class. Scholastic fraud because he's got a profound curiosity about some local uni professor? Dick is a vigilante; he's done worse. Technically. Legally.

But it's fine. Dick plans to drop out after the course, anyway.

The surprise on Jason's face when he catches Dick sitting towards the front of the class at the start of the following semester. And Dick being so endeared to the way Jason hides a small, hopeful smile. Because Jason thinks he's gotten through to a student ;U;

But yeah, the class being either flummoxed or bored out of their minds because the whole hours long lectures are just two people talking/debating

Which evolves into more talking over office hours - not even necessarily over course work and rather law, their judicial system, crime in Gotham, etc.

Which again evolves into Dick bringing Jason coffee but then becomes them going out for coffee together until their meetings become an expected and anticipated thing //u///

And their talks are generally casual, but it also develops into something personal if only because their stance on certain laws/crimes/punishments speaks a lot about them.

What's more? Personal information comes out organically throughout the course of their conversations

Which is why Jason is hopeful Dick will go into law. Because he comes to understand that Dick is good. Firm, but fair and with nerves of steel. He isn't someone that will be corrupted like so many others. Gotham needs more people like that looking out for it.

Basically Jason already has a letter of recommendation written, meanwhile Dick is in a predicament because he might've fallen in love with his professor between challenged worldviews and bouts of banter?

At which point, of course Dick's vigilante life needs to come into play. Because that's an ongoing thing. Oh, an ongoing thing that has been impacted in various ways by Jason's perspective on matters. ;U; Perspectives that Dick challenges Bruce with, too. And that shuts Bruce up on many wonderful occasions because even if they don't agree, Jason isn't necessarily wrong.

But I digress, Nightwing exists. While Jason and Dick have spoken of vigilantism at a high level, it's not something they've gotten into. Dick makes sure to steer clear of Batman/Robin/Nightwing talk no matter how intrinsically they're tied to Gotham and crime.

Anyway. Nightwing saving Jason in some way one night. And Jason falls in love instantly. Meanwhile Dick is peeved because what? Really? Do their intellectual conversations mean nothing??

Jason is attracted to doers so seeing Nightwing doing something about the crime despite it being technically illegal is like, hot damn

At which point, Dick becomes a lawyer. Just kidding, but the thought probably crosses his mind just because wtf, Jason. Dick being jealous of himself is so funny.

I've strayed so far from the original ask, oh my.

Truth be told, Dick could just...not approach Jason as Nightwing, but it's an opportunity to spend time with Jason so of course Dick seeks him out. Just hanging on the roof of Jason's apartment together. First under the guise of making sure Jason was okay/safe/etc, then to listen to Jason in a different way - somehow more raw while airing his grievances about Gotham and its failings to so many hurting people

Just more vulnerable conversations in the dark of night, y'know?

And more sweet reactions (smiles and flusters and ornery playfulness and--). And god, when Nightwing flirts and Jason blushes -- Dick needs to see it all the time.

But then it's class time and Dick is jealous of himself because he wants the same reactions. So Dick pulls out all the stops and what happens in your ask happens, lol. With Dick flirting using lines in a textbook or the letter of the law.

That he's successful in the matter is something no one understands. Even other students blush some, enthralled by a handsomely charismatic guy with questionable puns and a quick wit and biting humor.

And Jason is just up in front of the class gaping because omg that was so clever but also SOS his heart shouldn't be racing like this?

Hmm. Something something with Jason being smitten over Nightwing to Dick, but confessing to a developing problem with his student to Nightwing. At which point Dick realizes that he's in his own situation because the longer things drag out, the more it feels like he's playing with Jason's feelings and ahhhhhhh!!

Extras, because this ask is ridiculously long and scattered. Kudos to anyone who gets this far??

Jason noticing bruises from Dick's vigilante endeavors, but of course Jason doesn't know the background for it. Just that they're there often and sometimes really bad. So Jason worries about Dick's home life, or his life with a partner.

And Dick uses it as an opportunity to flirt/drop hints about being single as can be, only to get all soft when he realizes Jason is honest to god so worried for him. ;U;

The last lines of dialogue you wrote are so funny. Just Dick stopping at nothing to fuck his teacher. Sexual favors for extra credit? Oh, perfect score? How about a reward then? ;) Ahhhahaha Jason would be flabbergasted. Just //A///