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catscidr · 4 months

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I think we have all seen the "Argenti thinks the Reader is Idrila" stuff on here. But what if the reader actually is Idrila? So I wanted to request Argenti/Idrila!Reader (gn or afab reader) headcanons or a oneshot where Idrila, who has taken on a mortal identity after [Insert tragic event here], and meets Argenti. They develop feelings for each other, Argenti finds out she is Idrila, they end up dating. (Maybe or maybe not in that specific order) I thought maybe after protecting her followers from Nanook she disappeared to ensure Nanook doesn't target them anymore? That part isn't as important so feel free to add whatever backstory you think fits^^ Thank you in advance, I really like your writing!

NONNIE omg im booting up star rail rn to stare at him lovingly. also i changed the scenario a smidge so reader is her own person while also being idrila? if that makes sense......?? yeah. also bc otherwise id be writing ten thousand words n i didnt want ur ask to grow dusty in my inbox d(;∀;d) but tysm for the prompt i couldn’t stop thinking about it ueue. also hey gang peep me trying to make my blog look more coherent n nicer looking. am i doin it ⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝ cw: a smidge of amnesia and soulmate trope (it’s not that bad, trust), fluff, love at first sight (does that even count in this scenario....), argenti and reader are dancing around the topic a lot bc argenti is a gentleman and doesn’t want to pressure her to talk. blurbs to set up the plot + a fic after them hehe. not proofread, writer’s block is killing me includes: fem reader (he refers to reader as "my lady"), argenti, natasha, luocha is kinda there wc: 2,3k

-ˋˏ You’d go to Natasha’s clinic at least once every other day because you always had the worst migraines. To the point where you almost got beat up by a Flamespawn one time when you were clearing out calyxes (thankfully there was a Silvermane guard patrolling the area, otherwise you would’ve been charred). The doctor always says the same thing; “Stop looking for fights so often”, “Let your body rest”, “I can’t prescribe you antibiotics”, and your favorite, “Stop slamming my door open I can’t do anything about your headaches”. She was a good friend, but whenever she repeated how she couldn’t be of any help to your predicament, you’d wish you could just take that glass vial hanging from her outfit and chuck it far, far away out of spite.

-ˋˏ Obviously it wasn’t her fault- she'd done everything she could. Natasha even had you undergo the Underworld’s equivalent of an MRI scan because of how frequently you would visit her, insisting that something was wrong. The symptoms consisted of forgetting important things too often, feeling a foreign buzz in your limbs and brain, having a sudden burst of elemental energy come out of your attacks and a myriad of benign but annoying, irritating signs that something was up with you.

-ˋˏ It became more of a chore than anything to leave your room. Some days you felt fine, but then when you’d go out again and beat up wave after wave of enemies in Caverns of Corrosion you would keel over, clutching your head while vague images of what could only be described as a fever dream ran through your mind.

-ˋˏ You decided to leave the Underworld for some time- considering your absence like some sort of “vacation”. You heard of a wandering doctor (and merchant, apparently) by the name of Luocha and, from the people that crossed paths with him, it seemed like he was extraordinary at his job. A trek to the Xianzhou Luofu would be a long one, but after weighing your options you thought you’d give it a try (it was worth it if it meant you’d stop waking up at ungodly hours, holding your head in your hands while hoping, praying that the pain stops.)

-ˋˏ You (somehow) made your way to the Xianzhou Luofu from Jarilo-VI. As competent as you were however, being stranded on a foreign planet with no map nor local to guide you was... a challenge. In retrospect, maybe you should’ve gotten in contact with that Luocha doctor and had him come to Belobog instead of you going to him since, well, he was a traveling merchant. Going from planet to planet is what he does (you assume).

✧✧✧

If you had read up more on general information about the Luofu you would have been aware of how many enemies were roaming around the docking area. But you didn’t. So, unbeknownst to you, a rogue mara-struck soldier was on your tail, trying to sneak up to you to snag the goods you hid in your bag (which were basically just different types of painkillers and sustenance that bodes well on an upset stomach. He doesn’t know that though.)

Your head was throbbing; ever since you set foot on the planet, your physical health had slowly dropped down to levels you wouldn’t be enduring if it wasn’t for the promise of a competent doctor once you get to the main city. Painkillers weren’t working, your feet hurt and to make matters worse, you felt the familiar lack of something in your head. It was so bad to the point where you had to have a tangible mark somewhere to remind you that you did, in fact, just take something for your headache and if you took two more painkillers, your body wouldn’t agree with your decision. It was a struggle even remembering what you did five minutes ago, no way were you going to be in top shape, beating up every enemy crossing your way.

Clouds began covering the bright sun, casting shadows over the desolate, geometric area. You huff, irritated that, from the looks of it, you won’t be able to find a cozy place to set up camp. Though sleeping on a ground made of primarily iron and steel was considerably less nerve-wracking than sleeping on the mushy, cold, dirty ground of Jarilo-VI. So, with a pout aimed at no one in particular, you find some place that you deemed decent enough to set your humble tent. It wasn’t often that adventurers slept outside of safe zones, however with your condition you couldn’t afford to miss out on some rest and possibly get even more lost than you already are.

You set your heavy backpack down, rolling your shoulders to soothe the ache in your muscles from carrying something so bulky. As you ruffle through your belongings, you open a bottled soda and take a swift gulp, sighing contentedly at the pleasant taste on your tongue. Now that you were sat and could rest your bones (until you started setting up your tent, at least), your ears were able to pick up on some not-so-distant footsteps.

There’s no time for you to react; the mara-struck soldier that had been following you lunges at you, aiming for your bag. Your eyes widen and you open your mouth to yell, but before any sound can leave your mouth, a long, red and gold spear pierces the ground between you and the rabid man, making you yelp in surprise. You scurry as far back as you can in your current state; however, the soldier doesn’t have time to take advantage of your weakened stature. The owner of the spear lodges himself before your shaking figure and the mara-struck, yanking his spear out of the ground with impressive elegance, and summons an array of thorny vines to catch your assailant.

It takes little to no effort for the seasoned fighter to take down the mara-struck as he swings his weapon, swiftly knocking the blunt end on the soldier’s plexus, knocking the wind out of him. A strangled scream leaves his throat as he scampers away, leaving your belongings safe with you and the strange red-haired man. He lowers his spear, careful to keep the sharp edge far from you, and turns around to face you properly. His brows raise a smidge for a split second before he composes himself and bows before you, the action short and curt.

“It would have been a shame to lose a beauty such as yourself,” he says smoothly, straightening his back to look down at you with a warm smile. He stretches his hand out, a polite offer to help you stand up, as he continues speaking. “My name is Argenti, I belong to the Knights of Beauty. What might you be doing so far away from civilization, dear...?” he trails off, waiting for you to introduce yourself.

You were in a state of shock, your mind still processing what had happened in such a short amount of time, that you failed to notice the lack of pain at the back of your head. As you meekly tell him your name, you hold onto his hand to help yourself up- as soon as his armored glove comes in contact with your hand something flashes in your mind; too quick to allow you to think about it too much, or to recognize what you saw for a millisecond.

“So far away from civilization... do you know how to get to the city?” you ask as you feel a glimmer of hope spark in you. His words were refreshing, probably the best thing someone has ever said to you in the past month. He nods, reaching into his pocket to fish out a blue handkerchief embroidered with a delicate gold trim. Argenti hands it over to you and you gratefully take it, blotting the sweat and... dust off of your face.

“I have made my way around the Luofu for long enough to show someone the way,” he says kindly. “Besides, even if I didn’t, I would still offer to accompany you through your trek. It is my duty as a Knight of Beauty, for I must uphold chivalry and distinguished manners, in the name of the Goddess guiding me.” His words resonate within you, making you beam, nodding in understanding.

Your reaction doesn’t go unnoticed by the knight. As you hand his handkerchief back, he smiles at you and gestures to your bag. “What brings you so far from your homeworld, my lady?” Argenti asks gently, though a glimmer of doubt swirls in his sparkling, verdant eyes. The question makes you pause, a memory flashing in your mind too suddenly for you to know what it meant. Although, from what you could tell, you knew you could trust him with what troubled you somehow.

“Ah, it’s a long story,” you start sheepishly, “I’ve been having these incredibly painful migraines recently. And sometimes I feel like my memory is fading too quickly for what would be considered normal,” you say, trailing off slightly at the end. “I’m looking for a healer, a doctor by the name of Luocha...?”

Somehow, the doctor was currently the least of your worries. You’d never felt so refreshed before, at least not that you could remember; simply being in Argenti’s presence seemed to be enough to make your aches disappear like a starskiff smoothly gliding through a cloudless sky.

“I’ve seen the man only a handful of times,” Argenti mutters aloud, pulling you out of your thoughts. “I can do my best to guide you to him, but if I may... you don’t seem to be injured?” the knight says, his voice trailing off into a questioning tone despite the observation. You shake your head, wondering how you should explain your predicament to the man.

“Like I said, it’s a long story,” you say again, shrugging sheepishly. You wondered if you should even go into the nitty gritty- he could always just be making small talk to help you get comfortable or something. Sensing your unease, he changes the spotlight to him instead.

“There’s no need to delve into details if you wish to keep them secret,” he says with a kind smile, bending down to take ahold of your hand- gently pressing a chaste kiss on the back of your hand. Red flushes your ears immediately, words caught in your throat at the sight of his hair cascading over his shoulders, a beautiful contrast from the gold and silver armor glittering in what was left of the sunlight.

“As for myself, like I mentioned earlier, I am a Knight of Beauty. I’m on a quest to find my dear Goddess Idrila once more, for I need to pay my respects to them after they saved me from a particularly grim fate.” His words echoed in your mind, your brows knitting together as you felt what could only be described as a cold bucket of water being dunked on your head. “I-Idrila?” you parrot, your voice coming out as a choked noise. Argenti perks up, the hand that had been softly holding onto yours now holding it with a firmer grip, his other hand joining it.

“Yes, Idrila. Have you ever heard of them? Or...” he trails off, looking deep into your eyes expectantly, almost as if he knew something you didn’t. His eyes seemed to suck you in, bringing a comfortable wave of warmth over you, making you yearn for something.

“I...” you begin, your gaze falling down to look at your feet. As you thought long and hard about what you wanted to say, what you tried to remember, you slowly look over to his spear, lying flat on the ground- long forgotten since the fight earlier. As if a lightbulb went off above your head, you perk up just as he did, and look at him, beaming. The words were caught in your throat; there was so much you wanted to say, to declare, to do in this moment of clarity, but with how fast your mind was running to catch you up on the current events of your life it was a struggle.

“Argenti,” you murmur, the name rolling off your tongue smoothly, as you realized seeing the traveling merchant was no longer required. Though the road might have been arduous, and you may have almost lost your mind in the process, being with Argenti suddenly made everything make sense. That’s why your migraines mysteriously disappeared as soon as you were in the knight’s presence, that’s why you had gaps in your memory, that’s why you were freakishly powerful... at convenient times.

Everything clicked into place.

The both of you share a pregnant pause, eyes locked together as the world seemed to come to a stop around you. If it were possible, you’re sure there would be delicate, silky rose petals floating around your figures, suspended in the air. You glance down at his lips, and for the first time, make a decision with a clear head.

His lips felt smooth against yours, the faint taste of vanilla mixed with roses transferring to your own lips. The kiss almost felt like it could be the result of a symbiotic relationship; now that you had Argenti, or at least had him by your side once again, you didn’t think you’d be able to continue on without him.

#i may or may not have butchered the ending bc i DIDNT KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH THEM /SOBS #i did my best #୧ ‧₊˚orderup!#hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #argenti x reader #argenti x fem reader #argenti x you #argenti x y/n

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charliemwrites · 3 months

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I’ve been thinking about “mean” (okay no they’re mean) characters.

Specifically, I’m thinking about Rook “Duke” Alistair being best friends with Actual Assassin and meanest bastard around, Velikan.

They’ve known each other since her early days back in the Air Force. Maybe Duke, freshly nicknamed and bright-eyed, got caught up in some sort of ambush with a shiny new unit.

And maybe Velikan was going to kill her as collateral, but for reasons not even he knows, he didn’t.

And now he’s got this duckling (she’s even blond and fluffy like one) that’s practically imprinted on him. Every time they cross paths (and they keep crossing paths for some fucking reason) she lights up and waves, babbling updates about her life. She doesn’t mind his gruff tone or his short temper, or the absolute mauling she receives when he finally acquiesces to spar her.

It’s not that she doesn’t know he’s an assassin. Oblivious as she can be, she’s not stupid. Just the opposite, in fact. She recognizes that approaching him at any point is like sticking a hand in a tiger cage. And yet she still does it, even when they’re out in the field.

How she’s not dead yet, for pure annoyance alone, he’s not sure. But he figures that she’s spent so much time being an inconvenience to him specifically that he’s earned the right to put an end to her.

And then he’s not sure how she isn’t dead from natural selection.

“I thought you were military,” he hisses, brushing dirt off her shirt and pants. Why is he doing so? Because he’s annoyed that she slipped on pile of wet leaves.

“I am!”

“You have no discipline, no coordination, and no sense of self preservation.”

She beams. “I think that last thing is something they encourage, actually.”

He stuffs her into a good hideout and tells her to stay while he takes care of their his tail.

It’s not just the slipping, tripping, and falling. If anything would make him believe in luck, it’s Duke having the worst of it. Falling objects and loose floorboards, changes in a guard rotation or a light coming on at the worst moment. She’s smart and quick enough to watch out for herself, but only just.

Maybe he lets her live out of pure bafflement. Morbid fascination with someone so smart and yet so—

“Stupid,” he growls, dunking her head in the rain barrel.

She comes up sputtering, but giggling. “This isn’t how you’re supposed to treat acid exposure.”

He dunks her under again for good measure. She shakes off on him like a dog afterwards and he genuinely tries to strangle her. But then she gets her sharp little teeth in his arm and bites, proceeds to inform him that he’s going to need antibiotics with a bloody smile.

Is he going to personally bring about her violent, gory end? Yes.

Is she also his best friend? Somehow.

“Do you think cinnamon floss or mint floss is better for improvised stitches?”

“I think you should just bleed out.”

“It’s not for me, dummy…. Yet.”

He’s not relieved when she gets the position with the CIA, but something close to it.

They hire him for their dirty work often enough that he sees her regularly. Her ridiculous, cluttered desk and her grotesque stash of snacks and her constant rotation of injuries because they still let her near machinery.

“You stink,” he scoffs, lifting her right out of her chair as she squeals. “You are taking a shower.”

And because she has the attention span of a fly, he goes in with her. She fusses when he gets soap in her mouth or eyes, but he just tuts that it wouldn’t happen if she were capable of doing it herself. And dignity? Long forgotten as he scrubs her down from head to toe, pinching when she complains about being babied.

“Do not act like a child, then,” he gruffs, throwing a towel in her face.

Honestly, Laswell should be ashamed.

“When was the last time you ate?” He demands, squishing her cheeks with a little shake. “Eh? When was the last time you had something other than blue candy?”

“‘S raspberry.”

“Are raspberries blue? No. They teach this in school. All that sugar has rotted out your little brain.”

It turns out the answer to his food question was “too long.” He trades her potatoes for carrots, but only after holding her nose closed until he could force peas in her stubborn mouth.

Ridiculous, really.

#I don’t… know #I just needed to write something and post it to get out of this block I’ve been having #it’s not necessarily good but…#ta-da #velikan #cod Velikan #rook ‘Duke’ Alistair #cod oc #my oc #cod #thoughts™️#my writing #weird friends #dom friends

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sanctus-ingenium · 8 months

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What are some of the other countries in the alt-history your Inver stories are set in? Is Armorica roughly where modern day Brittany would be? :0

Because our concept of countries is very modern & constructed it's not quite that Armorica or Hibernia were Countries as we might understand them. They were mostly made up of smaller fractured kingdoms and cultures which were always fighting one another. Armorica was a region which was roughly here (map and history ramble under the cut SORRY i basically didn't answer your question i got carried away)

(this map is from the 1860s! not Finbarr's time.. I still need to make a map of that)

but it was never a country, just a region alternatively ascribed to Inver or Aquitan. It fell on the northern side of the Inver border with Aquitan whenever it was established but the border was put there rather arbitrarily and cut across the region without consideration for the people who lived there.

So there IS in fact a whole other history which doesn't even concern Inver at all. There is a small city-state on the southern coast of Aquitan called Suzette, which was founded by the pseudo-Catholics of this world and used as their main base of operations. It's basically just the Vatican, but an early actually-Catholic historical figure called (Saint) Alexandre led a schism with the church and was successful. The schism dealt with the legality of using magic to advance the church's position, Alexandre argued that it was a moral imperative to preserve the ability to use magic within the ranks of their holy knights. Alexandre became a very polarising figure but his most famous follower was military leader called Renzo who, in the renaissance period, basically upturned and reshaped the entirety of the Mediterranean region.

At the time, Aquitan was a kingdom with an absolute monarchy and the same werewolf-based religion as the nobility of Inver (the winners of Finbarr's war were the Aquitanian werewolves and it became the dominant religion in Inver as well). Renzo led a religious crusade against the monarchy of Aquitan, to wipe out all that pagan werewolf stuff. He blindsided the queen of Aquitan, who had been running her own campaign of expansion against the king of Notte [placeholder name], on the far-western coastline of Iberia. When Renzo began winning substantial victories in the southern countryside of Aquitan, the queen immediately turned around and ""allied"" with the king of Notte, by mounting an invasion against the city of Notte and forcing him to surrender and play nice. She sent him off on an enforced holiday under house arrest, aware that her play relied on not martyring this king while she ruled his country in all but name. With the combined might of these two kingdoms she was certain she could crush Renzo, and this began a decades-long war.

Unfortunately for everyone involved, the king of Notte was killed by bandits who didn't even know who he was, before he ever reached his holiday home. The nondescript carriage was ambushed and there were no survivors. The queen, in a panic, chose not to publicise his death.

Well guess what Renzo was doing with his holy knights' blood magic. With each victory his army grew, because he raised the dead to serve him. Resurrection and immortality were key themes of Saint Alexandre's teachings and although Renzo's war crimes would result in his own religion banning the practice of this type of magic, it was kind of a-ok back then (the Church of Suzette would later go on to be pioneers of medical innovations such as antibiotics, germ theory, and safe anaesthesia). And you'll never guess whose dead body Renzo's knights found one day, dumped on the side of the road. Renzo alone recognised what had just come into his possession, and he formulated a counter-play against the queen by using the dead king as his own pawn. Using the king, he got the entire Iberian peninsula to turn on the Aquitanian monarchy, so instead of it being 2-on-1 against Renzo, it was suddenly the queen who was dangerously outnumbered and deeply unpopular.

The monarchy of Aquitan was finally defeated by its own people sixty years after the war began, and a theocracy based on the teachings of Saint Alexandre was founded there, along with the city-state of Suzette. The final execution of the monarchists had severe ripple-effects that reached Inver, which had been pretty insulated from the war by virtue of being a kinda pointless place to invade and housing a population of faeries outnumbering humans 10 to 1. The monarchy of Inver took pride in its links to the Aquitanian nobility and now that was gone. The result was a death spiral for the Kingdom of Inver, as the werewolf monarchists, fearing their imminent extinction, began to fight one another to grab as much power and wealth as possible before the Suzettes reached them, too. They banned the church at the border, only allowing the harmless priests of Suzette's poor Austerity sect to build their hospitals, though they were forbidden from holding religious services and actively converting the public, you have to willingly join.

The final Hibernian families who bought into the monarchy of Inver included the descendants of Finbarr, who had largely betrayed everything he would have stood for by assimilating into their enemies' ranks. And, as anyone might have predicted, their assimilation did not protect them when the nobles of Inver chose to prune their own ranks to concentrate power. One of these families was the noble and now extinct Mercier family, the family of one of our protagonists of Said the Black Horse (bowman lol). The other two protagonists are a second-gen immigrant Hibernian and a war orphan originally from Notte.

#setting: inver #oh god. hey. do you want to learn some fantasy history #it's not even spoilers. it's just bg info #there's more... so much more....

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alpaca-clouds · 3 months

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The Moral Complexity of a Meat Consumption

I said it before and I will say it again: There definitely is a subsection of the Solarpunk movement, who keeps going on about the future having to be "all vegan". In any Solarpunk space you will find some of this sort. Heck. You will also find folks in anarchist spaces, who will go: "Oh, you are an anarchist and still eat meat? So you do believe in hierarchies! Because you see yourself as higher as an animal!"

These days I am mostly ignoring those people, because I know that you really just cannot win those arguments with them.

Outside of chicken I do not really like meat. I do not like the taste or texture. But if I completely cut it out of my diet, I will get sick. Tried it several times. It did not work out. So, I cut it down to two days a week, which keeps my body in a somewhat sustainable equilibrium.

For me the issue is in how my body metabolizes certain aspects of food. But a lot of chronically ill and disabled people will have to eat meat and cannot cut it out of their diet. Maybe they cannot eat a lot of other proteins due to their allergies. Maybe there is stuff in plants that they cannot metabolize. And maybe they are autistic and literally can only eat like five different things. There are plenty of reasons people might just not get around it.

However... I also look at a lot of folks in the modern world eating cheap meat every single day, and I am shaking my head. Sure, some of them might need to eat meat daily, but let's be honest: Most people actually do not. Most people would be perfectly fine to cut down on the meat and only eat meat once or twice a week.

I personally absolutely do not see anything wrong with killing and eating animals per se. Because that is just how the world works. Some animals kill, other animals are eaten. Humans are just another animal.

What I do find issue with, however, is the industrial meat industry. The thing that makes it possible in the first place for folks to eat meat every day. Big plants where hundreds, if not thousands of animals are being kept, with only ridiculous amounts of antibiotics keeping the animals from getting too sick. With slaughtering plants that process hundreds or thousands of animals each day. That is just... Not how it should go.

I personally... since I cut down the meat in my diet, I can afford to actually just eat the free range animals that got to frolick out on the pasture for their entire life. Because frankly, yeah, it is double the price of the alternative, but... So what? For two times a week it works fine. (Also, frankly, there is less water in the meat and the meat actually has better taste and texture.)

So, you know, for me it would be totally fine if there just was no cheap meat at all and all meat was pasture frolicking animals. But even here it gets complicated of course.

Because... Well, there are poor people, who also need to eat meat for health reasons. And what are they gonna do? After all being poor makes you more likely to be disabled - and hence require stuff like that.

And it is exactly the big issue. And frankly... I honestly do not think there is any proper solution to this under capitalism. Because more than anything... capitalism sucks.

#meat consumption #eating meat #animal farming #animal husbandry #vegetarianism #veganism #solarpunk #lunarpunk #anti capitalism

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henqtic · 2 years

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back problems . xavier thorpe x black!reader . wc: 482.

·:*₊‧ masterlist . taglist form . request works . ·:*₊‧✩

— Xavier Thorpe has back problems. Being not only 6’2, but an artist comes with a price — and that’s needing a fucking chiropractor.

— And when you tell him that, he gives you just the same response.

— “Why would I need a chiro when i have you?”

— He has a grudge against them. After seeing all of those chiropractor videos, and listening to the sounds of peoples literal neck bones popping in half — he couldn’t risk it.

— But they don’t make stuff for people his height around Nevermore.

— Constantly throughout the day he’s putting one hand over the opposite sides shoulder.

— Bending back in his seat in class so that he could crack his back just the smallest amount, a perk being able to smile ( upside ) down at you.

— “Do you need something Xavier?”

— “A kiss?”

— He wouldn’t get back up until the fifth peck on his forehead — a disgusting sight to everyone else trying to focus on the lesson, including the teacher who had given up on the idea of actually stopping you both.

— He’d come up behind you randomly between classes, wrapping his arm around your torso and tucking your head underneath his chin.

— Using your body as some kind of stand even though he was about a foot and probably some inches taller than you.

— “We’re gonna fall frontwards, get off,” you’d laugh and attempt to swat him away.

— “We can’t fall if you just embrace it.”

— Even the stools in his own art shed don’t help him.

— Sometimes you just stand behind him while he works to straighten him out.

— This boy is suffering.

— It hurts even when he’s relaxing. And it’s worse in a way, like he’s so close to relief but sooo far.

— So he digs his phone out of his pocket, and texts you.

December 14 — 11:15 pm ˳·˖✶

Xavier 👩🏽‍❤️‍💋‍👨🏼: I’m in pain.

Come over

Doors unlocked

You: Pain ???

What kind of pain ??

Helooooooo

Antibiotic or Wednesday Addams got mad ??????

Xavier 👩🏽‍❤️‍💋‍👨🏼: my back 🙁

— You get there to see him lying face down on his bed motionless.

— Every single pillow, blanket, duvet, and plush thrown to the floor.

— “Sure you don’t have a fever, baby?” You asked as you reached underneath his shirt and rubbed his back, it was particularly warm.

— “It just hurts,” he groaned through the mattress.

— “Wouldn’t some cushioning make it better?”

— “I tried that. I buried myself in every blanket, got overheated and threw all of ’em off.”

— “Yeah I can see that, even the squishmellow,” you frowned as you picked it up from off of the floor, drawing a little tear coming down from its face.

— “I’m sorry, give him to me, I’ll use him as a head rest,” he offered, picking his head up and smiling as you swiftly hid the stuffed animal behind your back.

— “Uhn uhn, what’s something else that you want from me to make you feel better that isn’t suffocating our squishmellow?”

— “A slab of fucking concrete,” he huffed as he put his face back into the mattress.

— “What about a massage instead?”

— “Please.”

— You straddled his back, working all parts of your hands in the tense muscles of his back as he told you exactly where to go.

— “More pressure.”

— “Up.”

— “To the right”

— “No go down.”

— “No, no, no, that was good. Go back.”

— And once you scooted up by just the smallest amount, giving your own back a rest and no longer holding all of your body weight — a particularly mewling groan came from him.

— . . .

— “Are you okay? Did I pop something?”

— “I need you to do that again.”

— “Do what?”

— “What you just did,” he answered, “Put all of your weight on my back. The message was okay but that was amazing.”

— You’re a little offended, but you entertain the idea.

— “I will literally break your back.”

— “That’s the point.”

— “People can get paralyzed that way you know, maybe? I’m not sure. But I’d rather not risk it, get the fucking chiropractor Xavier, they’re certified.”

— “Most of them aren’t and you know that. They go around half killing people for fun, you want me to put my life in their hands or yours?”

— So you do it, max fifteen minutes everyday.

— Sitting on his back and massaging all of the kinks out. Sometimes you’d just sit there while you caught up on the day, or talked about how ridiculous all of the homework was the teachers were giving out.

— It became a normality quickly, and you even turned you lying on his back like a sloth sleeping on a branch, a new cuddling position.

— It all made for very odd conversation by the time his new roommate moved in.

thank you for reading, every like and reblog is appreciated 🌷 !

#— xavier thorpe.#xavier thorpe x reader #xavier thorpe fluff #xavier thorpe x you #xavier thorpe x y/n #xavier thorpe imagine #xavier thorpe oneshot

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everestica · 9 months

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♕PM!Dazai x Fem!Reader: Too Late♕

♕ - Reader is described as Female, and Is Mori's assistant, Mori is only mentioned a couple times and there is a convo between Mori and Dazai (Elise is mentioned but nothing more then that). Dazai is a little creepy in this depending on how you interpret it (Following/Stalking Reader) A little bit of Angst at the end, and there will possibly be a part two if requested for!

Dazai had always been by Mori’s side, at least as long as he could remember, but it was bound that he would find somebody to help him with easier stuff that Dazai never wanted to do, coffee runs, picking up medication, paperwork, etc. What he wasn’t expecting though was this smaller girl to be sitting next to him doing the paperwork as he was coloring with Elise instead, while it had confused the bandaged brunette he decided not to say anything. It had been like this for months and he would come in everyday and see the girl once again, doing some sort of work while Mori was either hanging out with Elise or not even there some days. So he finally decided to ask about it one day. The day that (Name) was out doing another medicine pickup run he walked in and started to question about her.

Dazai: So. Who’s that girl you normally have in here?

Mori: Oh (Name)? She’s my new assistant, well not new at this point.

Dazai: Why is she even here? You don’t need somebody like that.

Mori: Well I make her do all the things that you don’t wanna do, you know the “boring stuff” as you call it.

Dazai responds with silence as the girl comes back into the room, holding a small paper bag. She quickly walks past Dazai and sets the bag down near one of the shelves full of antibiotics, after she finishes putting it on the desk walks back out of the room before anybody can ask her anything. Of course out of curiosity Dazai follows her, wondering about what she does when she’s not with the boss, which isn’t too often.

Again, months go by and Dazai continues to follow her after work, he soon finds out a lot, she’s poor, like dirt poor, probably why she works for the Port Mafia, especially a young age, finds actually how “sickeningly” sweet she is, definitely not a good fit for the Port Mafia, he tries to convince himself. Though there is one thing he can’t seem to get off his mind, the way that you still, even being dirt poor, have the heart of an angel. Making sure other people still eat, animals make it back to their family, risking even getting killed when helping other people who are much stronger than her in bad parts of town. He can’t seem to convince himself that he’s not in love.

That’s right and it was crazy when some of his subordinates heard him complaining about it,

The Dazai Osamu, Youngest Port Mafia Executive, and Demon Prodigy, in love with some random girl who is just Mori’s helper.

It seemed weird to say out loud, sighing he decides that it’s no help just following you around and trying to figure something out about her, he has to actually take his chance before anybody else can, or worse. It does take a lot of time and consideration before he can actually even start a conversation with her, not only because you never know where she’s gonna be at a certain time but also, he has to plan this before he can just walk in.

Too bad the day that he was going to say something, another one of their new people, Chuuya Nakahara, Former King Of The Sheep, Beat him to it.

♛- Please if you are going to repost any of my works anywhere else, ask permission first! There will be almost a 100% chance that I will say yes as long as you just ask and give credit! Thank you for your understanding!

#Bungo stray dogs #bungo stray dogs x reader #bsd #bsd x reader #dazai osamu #dazai osamu x reader #port mafia dazai #PM!Dazai

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halogalopaghost · 11 months

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As It Never Will Be

read on AO3

“What is this, some kinda game? Like hide’n seek or somethin’?”

Raph chuckles ruefully. “Yeah, somethin’ like that.”

Donatello sits down. In the middle of the lair, surrounded by his family, he sits down before he can fall.

They're all on top of him instantly, Leo kneeling beside him while Splinter puts a warm paw on his head, and they're all trying to talk to him. Donnie can’t hear them through the high-pitched whine buzzing through his skull, everything around him is all blurred and muffled. And he can't breathe—why can't he breathe?

“—Donnie, Donnie please—” Leo, beside him, shakes his shoulder. The world tilts to the left.

“—bruised, he needs to—”

“—son?”

“Can you hear me? Donatello—”

“Bro, take a breath!”

It's Mikey’s voice that cuts through the fog. The flash of orange in his peripheral vision—so bright and happy, not a single stain in sight—snaps him out of it. Suddenly he’s groping for Mikey, grabbing his arm—both arms, and just releasing control of his own body. He feels the lurch as his full weight falls against his baby brother, but there are so many other hands on the both of them, they don't fall.

“Donnie,” Mikey murmurs, stroking his brother’s head, “buddy, you're kinda freakin’ us out here dude.”

He closes his eyes, which are suddenly burning for some reason. Why are his eyes burning? “Eight days,” he murmurs. He can't even feel his mouth moving.

“What?”

He hooks his shaking fingers onto the edge of Mikey’s plastron, memorizing the feel of the waxy smoothness and trying to replace it with the memory of the jagged, dulled scutes he last touched. “ Eight days , not ten minutes.” He gasps for breath, but his chest still feels too tight. Did the air in the lair get thicker while they were gone? Terror grips him as he wonders—is this even the right reality? Is this his earth?

He can hear them talking now, their voices are clearer, but he’s panting too hard to try to respond. His head is spinning, and he hasn't had anything to eat but small dry rations for days, and he can still feel The Shredder’s blood on his skin. He can feel it .

“Mikey, we’re going to the lab, come on,” Leo says in the most Leo-like way possible. God, it’s good to hear his pitchy teenage voice again.

His brothers haul him to his feet and practically have to carry him into his own lab, depositing him on the cot against the far wall. His little doctor’s station is there, with his magnifying lamp and sterile gauze and needles and antibiotics—stuff he would have killed for two days ago, when he saw to rebel after rebel with infections or burns or skin torn from bone—

“Donnie, what's hurt?” Leo asks urgently, hands hovering over his brother.

He takes in a thin, gasping breath, but hot tears are still coming down his cheeks and he still can't speak past the lump in his throat or that dull ache in his chest. Oh, is he having a heart attack?

Raph shoulders his way into the space beside Leo. Donnie’s vision goes double, giving him four brothers instead of two. “He ain't hurt, he’s havin’ a panic attack. Donnie, try to breathe with me.” He kneels and takes one of his brother’s hands, placing it on his own chest while taking deep and exaggerated breaths.

That matches up, he thinks as he gasps for breath. Accelerated heart rate, chest pain, shortness of breath, all classic symptoms of a panic attack. But no amount of logic can stop his body now, auto-pilot has taken over and he can’t stop the short, wheezing breaths that are quickly making him more and more lightheaded.

“Just breathe, Don,” Raph urges.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he remembers being years younger and teaching Raphael how to do this when their roles were reversed. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries, really tries to synchronize his breathing with Raphael’s, but he can barely take in any air at all.

“Can't—” he gasps, shaking his head. “Can't, Raph—”

He feels Splinter’s paw rest heavily on his forehead, thumb smoothing the creases in his temple, and senses, rather than hears, his Master’s soothing words. “ My son. Whatever you have seen, it is no more. You are home, you are safe. Let your mind and body be at rest .”

The world around him goes dark.

“His chest is bruised, he has four lacerations on his right leg that probably need stitches, he’s got other cuts and bruises everywhere , and I think he might have a concussion. I—I can't tell, Sensei. Usually I would ask him…”

“I know, my son. Look! He is waking up.”

Donnie’s head is pounding like a three year old with a drum kit and his eyes are crusted shut, like he’s been sick or crying, but he can’t quite remember when he fell asleep. He forces his eyes open anyway. He wants—no, he needs to see his family.

Only Leo and Splinter are there, sitting side by side at the cot. They both have their hands on him at once—Leo on his chest, gently applying pressure so he can’t get up, and Sensei holding his hand. He lifts the other hand to rub his eyes and nearly hits himself in the face with the IV tube they affixed there. He glares at it. “How long was I out?”

“About twenty minutes,” Leo says softly. “You're a bit dehydrated, so…”

Damn. At first, he felt like he slept for days.

“Are you alright? You really scared the shell out of us, Don.”

He stares at Leo for a long moment, then laughs. The giggle burbles out of his throat suddenly, hysterical even to his own ears. The last time he heard Leo swear, his voice was thirty years older and he didn't say shell .

“I'm—I'm okay,” he stammers out, trying to hold the hysterics in his chest. If he laughs again, he might just burst into tears afterward. “Where’s Mikey and Raph?” He swallows thickly. “I need—I need to see them, Leo. I need to see you all side by side.”

Leo moves to stand, but Splinter beats him to it. He pats each of his sons’ hands, then excuses himself.

Leo scoots into Sensei’s chair, closer to his brother. His hand still hasn't strayed from Donnie’s chest. “I understand if you don't want to talk about it, but—”

“I don't.” That giddy feeling from just a moment ago is gone, and the hollow that it leaves behind might collapse into itself like a dying star if he has to say another word about it. He lays his head back against the pillow and fixes his eyes on a blank patch of brick wall somewhere behind Leo, suddenly drained of any ability to pretend.

He nods. “Okay. That's…that's okay.”

It's gonna kill Leo until he knows, because he thinks he always has to know everything. But Donnie is unequivocally certain that Leo doesn't want to know what he saw over the last few days. Hell, Donnie wishes he could unsee it himself.

“Bro!” Mikey enters with two plates of pizza. They ordered it just before everything went down days ago—hours ago?—so it’s hot and fresh and the sight of it makes his mouth water instantly. “Thought you might be hungry, who knows what they were feeding you…wherever you went.”

Leo throws a look over his shoulder as Mikey sidles into the seat beside him. It shuts him up pretty quick.

“Thanks.” He takes the plate and lifts the slice to take a bite, but the smell of the grease and cheese suddenly sends a wave of nausea over him. Mikey has a point—he hasn’t eaten much in the last few days, so maybe he should start with something milder.

He sets it aside and swings his legs over the side of the cot, aware of Leo’s watchful eye. He reaches out and puts his hands on Mikey’s biceps, gripping them firmly. He knows it's weird, he can plainly see how they're both looking at him, but he just has to convince himself that it's real , and he's home, and maybe it was all just a nightmare after all.

“You sure you're feeling alright?” Mikey asks, mouth full of pizza.

He pulls his little brother into a bone-crushing hug, smiling at the surprised squeak. He doesn't bother answering the question.

“Hey, don't go crushin’ Mikey without letting me in on the fun,” Raph says as he shuffles in.

Don parts from Mikey just in time to see Leo reach up and wipe a smudge of pizza sauce off Raph’s chin, only for Raph to glare down at him with an energy of do it again, I dare you .

As soon as Raph is sitting (and thus within arm’s reach), Donnie reaches out and snatches the bandanas from his and Leo’s heads. He just looks at them for a long moment—eyes intact and seeing, faces free of scars and age spots and sunken frowns. Sixteen years old, voices still a little pitchy, not yet grown to their full height.

“The hell are you lookin’ at, brainiac?” Raph snatches his mask back. “Exactly how hard did they hit ya on the head?”

Yeah. He's home alright.

Leo breaks the uncomfortable silence by standing up and dragging the med cart closer. He starts ripping open sterile packages and setting out things for sutures to tend to his and his brothers’ wounds. Luckily, it looks like Mikey and Raph were more or less unharmed. The other two weren’t quite as lucky, though Don is sure he looks the worst by far.

“Okay so I know it was bad and everything, but the place I went was kinda awesome,” Mikey gushes. “We were superheroes! But like, it wasn’t really us or something, none of them went by the same names as us. It was spooky, dude.”

“Mikey, we’re giant turtles that practice ninjutsu, how much closer to ‘superhero’ do we really need to be?”

“Uhhh, I dunno, Raph, can you change size and shape at will? Can you fly? Huh ?”

Donnie sits back against the pillows while Leo gently positions his leg to do the stitches. Just a pinch of local anesthetic, exactly like he taught them, and he’s ready to go.

“Pfft, doesn't matter, I got to race across multiple hostile planets on a bike the size of the battle shell.”

“No way! Did you win?”

“‘Course I won!”

“That must be awesome for you dude, since you lost the Battle Nexus so hard .”

Donnie smiles idly at his brothers as the youngest receives a vicious noogie.

“I went to Usagi’s world,” Leo says quietly, not looking up from his task. Donnie barely hears him over the other two bickering.

“Oh, that’s…nice, I’m glad you were among friends.”

He chuckles. “It was weird, being in a world where anthropomorphic animals are the norm. I walked through cities in broad daylight.”

Donnie only hums in response.

Leo doesn’t look up until he’s finishing off the stitches on the first of three cuts that would receive them. Don doesn’t meet his eyes, just pretends he can’t see him at all. The look Leo gives him is a knowing and expectant one—usually this is how they have hard conversations, one exchange of information at a time. But Donnie isn’t interested in that bargain. Not this time.

“You think we’ll ever see Draco again?” Mikey asks.

“Nah, that lizard’s done for. Though I woulda liked to get in a few hits first,” Raph grumbles. “Make the world’s ugliest snakeskin boots.”

“And Lord Simultaneous just recreated the Daimyo's son! Talk about a bad idea.”

“Maybe not,” Leo says with a shrug. “He’ll have a chance to do things over, and he’ll know what to watch for this time. People aren't inherently evil.”

Mikey shrugs it off. “What about you Donnie? What crazy shenanigans did you get up to?”

“Oh. It was…” he tries to formulate a lie that isn’t too far from the truth, but boring enough that they won’t ask for more details. “It was basically the same as here,” he shrugs. “I manifested in the lair, met you guys…”

“Boo, lame,” Mikey pouts. But Donnie catches the look that he gives him—he’s reminded that Mikey has always been more perceptive than they gave him credit for.

Donnie barely manages to beg off sleeping in the lab—Leo wants them to take shifts through the night, sitting at his bedside and observing him, but Donnie insists that they all need rest in their own beds after whatever-the-shell-it-is that happened to them in the last few days. (Minutes? Hours? He’s still not sure, and at this point he doesn’t care either.) He desperately wants to sleep in his own familiar room and listen to the groaning water pipes in the wall behind his bed, with Raph snoring just next door. He craves that normalcy like oxygen.

Leo seems especially loath to leave him alone as he lingers in the doorway of his bedroom later on. He watched Don like a hawk all evening as he forced down some Gatorate and a few stray pizza crusts, and now he apparently wants to watch him sleep too.

“Leo, I’m fine,” he insists. And he really is, tucked into his warm bed and truly comfortable for the first time in days.

His eldest brother still hesitated, gripping the door and staring uncertainly into the dark room. “Are you sure you don’t want someone to stay with you?”

“ Leo .”

“Okay, okay,” he sighs. “Let me know if you need anything. I’ll see you in the morning.” He pulls the door to behind him, leaving a thin sliver of light across the floor and up onto the wall. Someone flicks off the hall light, and then that disappears too.

Honestly, Don is one hundred percent down for any and all of his brothers piling into his bed for the night, but admitting that to Leo would just raise more red flags on his already-sensitive radar, and he simply did not have the energy to deal with that tonight. So he lay in bed alone, pillows and blankets all tucked in around him the way he likes, glow in the dark constellations wishing him goodnight from the low ceiling, and tries to sleep. And tries.

And tries.

As time goes on, it becomes increasingly obvious that he just isn’t going to be sleeping tonight. Every time he begins to drift off, he sees flashes of his brothers from the future; blood, scars, the horrible things they said to each other, Master Splinter’s grave in the park, the way Mikey would occasionally grip the stub of his arm and faintly grimace like he was in pain—

Enough of that, he needs to get up.

Don rolls out of bed decisively, coming up a little wobbly on his feet. He doesn't have a concussion, that much he’s sure of, so he shouldn’t feel this unsteady. Maybe it’s just the too-quick pumping of his heart inside his shell, screaming like a steam engine about to fly off the rails, or the fact that he still can’t draw a full breath without feeling the tug of panic in the pit of his stomach. No matter what it is, he can’t just lay in bed like this. He needs to do something.

He pads out into the hallway and takes the stairs down one at a time, mindful of the stitches all up and down his right leg straining against the movement of his muscle and skin. In the dark, it’s easy to imagine his home as he’d briefly seen it in that other reality: broken, scorched, empty. Utterly devoid of life. He has to remind himself that Mikey’s ripsaw snores are real, and the flickering light of Master Splinter’s one ever-lit candle from behind the screen of his door are real, and he isn’t alone, and his brothers are safe, and he is safe.

But The Shredder isn’t dead.

He has a feeling that the fact is going to haunt him for a while—even more than usual, anyway—maybe until Saki really is dead. Next time he faces The Shredder (and there will be a next time), he won’t be making any assumptions about whether he’s dead or alive. He wants whatever the Utrom equivalent of asystole is, to see him bleed out then burnt up until there isn’t a single atom of him left to identify. Because even if those turtles weren’t really his brothers, that Shredder was the very same that he’s faced again and again—the same one that has tormented and abused his family again and again. And he’ll have his preemptive revenge, that is no question.

As he reaches the threshold of his lab, the comforting whir of computer fans and the blinking lights on various equipment greeting him like a warm blanket, and he’s absently surprised to hear Mikey’s voice in his head instead of their father’s. “ Fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate, hate leads to suffering,” says Mikey’s uncanny Master Yoda impression in his head. It used to drive all three brothers crazy that the Jedi code sometimes matched up so perfectly with principles of bushido; Mikey could spout Star Wars nonsense and Sensei, none the wiser, would simply nod along with him and tell the three that they should be more mindful like their brother. Of course, that had long since passed when Leo practically forced their father to marathon the entire Star Wars hexalogy for the sake of everyone’s sanity.

The memory brings a smile to Don’s face. He won’t let anger consume him like it had with Darth Vader—or indeed with The Shredder himself. He’s going to be intentional about involving his brothers every step of the way and make sure they’re all united and equally prepared when the time comes. If he’s learned anything in the last week-and-some-change, it’s that no one of them could take on Shredder without all three of the others.

He leans into the doorway of the lab for a moment, just breathing in the familiar smell of motor oil and hot CPUs and trying to relax his tense body. Honestly, now that he’s gotten up, he feels more tired than he had when he was in bed. Maybe he just needed the change of scenery; a cognitive shakeup. Whatever caused the change, his body suddenly feels like it weighs a hundred tons, and he’s overcome with an all-consuming need to lie down. He easily crosses the lab in the dark and finds the soft edge of the cot against the wall. He lays down on his plastron and pillows his head on his arms. The moment his eyes close, the sleep which had so evaded him swallows him whole.

Mikey kept staring at him, eyes narrowed and suspicious, the whole way to the rebel base. Donnie thought about addressing it a few times, but quite frankly, he didn’t know how to address this older, cynical version of his brother. He hadn’t seen him smile once, or even crack a joke, or make an obscene gesture. This Mikey was covered in scars, missing an arm, and utterly suspicious of Don.

And looking at the world around them, Don couldn’t blame him.

Mike stopped short at a street corner. Donnie rushed to melt into the shadows of an alley anxiously, assuming his brother had spotted something or someone coming around the way. Instead, Mikey just stood there and kept staring at him with those shrewd, narrowed eyes. He’d be lying if he said it didn't feel a little threatening.

“Mikey?”

“How old are you?”

“Uh—sixteen.”

Mikey’s expression went completely blank, shrewd gaze gone into a faraway stare.

He moved to take a step forward, then falters and stops. “I told you Mikey, I didn’t abandon you guys. Something happened . I haven’t—I mean, I didn’t live through the last thirty years.”

Mikey leaned heavily into the crumbling brick facade of the building Don had his shell pressed against, staring wide-eyed at the ground.

Donnie had a hundred questions he could’ve filled the silence with. First and foremost, he wanted to ask how the heck old he thought he was, half a head shorter than his younger-but-older brother as he was, but he thinks better of it. There was no good way to frame a question like that, and Mikey was clearly reeling.

“So you, what…time traveled here? Is Renet involved in this?”

Donnie almost laughed. “I wish, Mikey. It was Draco and the Daimyo’s son.”

Mikey uttered a string of colorful profanity. Well that, at least, was more like the Mikey he knew. “We spent all that time looking for you, we were all so angry with you…”

That stung. That his family could ever think him capable of outright abandoning them like that... He had to remind himself what this Mikey had been through, and the extremes that it must have taken for them to arrive at that conclusion.

“I’m not sure that I’m really…from this timeline,” he added hesitantly, voice small and uncertain.

Mikey straightened out. “Doesn’t matter. I just needed to know you weren’t…some kind of trick of The Shredder’s. I couldn’t live with myself if I led them right to the base, after everything. Come on, we have to get in before sunrise.”

Fuck, fuck , there’s blood running down the side of his face, and his hands are pinned, what happened? He vaguely hears the cries of a brother in the distance, but which one? Which brother, and where, and does he have enough strength to save them?

He groans and tries to gather himself, tries to force himself to think through the fog in his head. He feels paralyzed and stiff—something must have hit him in the head. But he can’t hear his brothers anymore, he’s alone now, and his entire body is slick with blood.

No, something seems wrong about that.

He peels his eyes open, almost forcing them, and slowly, slowly comes down from the false adrenaline high. He’s in his lab still, on the infirmary cot instead of the unidentified rocky terrain he’d seen behind closed lids, but he is definitely damp, that much is real. His hands, pinned beneath his plastron, are vaguely prickly and numb. He moans again, more conscious of it this time, and rolls himself onto his side. The prickling floods full force into his fingers as blood rushes to fill the oxygen-deprived tissues and his nerves respond in kind. His entire body buzzes in the dark.

He lurches to his feet and sways dangerously, righting himself at the last moment on his rolling medical cart. Something crashes to the floor and takes a few other items down with it, but the sound barely registers to him. He’s still wet, and in the dark he really can’t tell if it’s blood or not. As he stumbles out of the lab, he has one hazy goal in mind: shower.

Don feels drunk on his own exhaustion and the leftover panic from the dreams he can barely grasp. He gropes for walls to support himself as he makes his way around the lair the long way, slowly skirting the edge until he comes to the stairs. He ascends them just as carefully as he’d descended them earlier. (How much earlier? His foggy mind hopes it was enough that he won’t have to go back to sleep, that maybe he’ll shower and feel rested enough to face the day, but the silent darkness of the lair betrays that hope.)

He doesn’t even turn the light on in the bathroom, just goes by the nightlight and touch as he opens the hot water tap and steps underneath before it’s even warm. The pipes in the wall shudder alongside him until they finally open blessedly hot water over his skin, scalding away what he now recognizes only as sweat from a restless, nightmare-filled sleep. His heart pounds in his ears over the rush of the water.

In the darkness, he rests his hands on his knees and rests his shell against the tiled shower wall. Vaguely, the logical part of his brain is aware of what’s happening: he’s tripoding—the medical shorthand for the posture a patient commonly assumes when experiencing mild to severe respiratory distress. He’s seen his father, his brothers, and his friends do it after a battle or a particularly brisk run, and he’s seen his brothers do it the few times when panic overtook them. He can feel his neck straining as he breathes, notes the peripheral muscle involvement to his list of symptoms. His heart rate…was still less than ideal, but it never really slowed down since he got home from that nightmare earlier in the day.

Simply put, he’s having another panic attack. Alone, in the shower, in the dead of the night. He drags in steamy breath and forces it back out too quickly, shaking under the scalding water. He doesn't understand—he held it together so well with those alternate versions of his brothers, kept cool and level headed and led them to victory, no matter how pyrrhic it may have been. And now, even though he intellectually knows what’s happening and has experienced this sort of post-trauma breakdown before, he doesn’t understand why it’s happening to him . Can’t he just catch a break for once? Can’t he just sleep through the night, suffer through whatever nightmares his traitorous subconscious deals him, and move on like the rest of his brothers? Does he really have to be such a crybaby about it?

He pounds his fist into the tile, grits his teeth together as it gives and cracks beneath his fist, then sinks to his knees in the shower stall. Even if he has to tape his eyelids open, he won’t be risking sleep again tonight.

Mikey, usually the earliest to rise out of all of them, looks positively shocked when he catches sight of Donnie sitting at the kitchen table at zero-dark-thirty, coffee mug and book laid out in front of him. If Leo and Raph are equally surprised to see him up and about when they file in, they don’t show it.

Sensei suggested the night before that they skip the day’s training, giving everyone a chance to rest and reorient themselves in their home. Donnie had a sneaking suspicion that it was solely for his benefit though, as his brothers appeared more or less unaffected by their adventures, and he just isn't going to take any of the misplaced sympathy. Just before the clock strikes seven, their normal gathering time, Don stands up and pointedly enters the dojo. He supposes Sensei really meant it about taking the day off—no one has lit the candles nor dragged out the sparring mats, so he sets to the task himself.

He hears the telltale dull thunk of a shell hitting the wooden frame of the dojo door and pointedly ignores it.

Raphael clears his throat loudly. “Don,” he starts evenly, “whatcha doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” he mumbles in reply.

Raph doesn’t say anything right away. Instead, he waits until Donnie has dragged the first mat into the center of the room and stands panting over top of it, shell still toward his brother.

“Looks like yer being more stubborn than Leo. Which I’d usually commend, but you look like shit.”

Don wipes a thin sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, pretending that it wasn’t shaking, then turns to face his brother. “Gee, thanks. Are you gonna help me or not?”

Raph, arms crossed over his chest, shrugs. “Nah, I’ll letcha wear yourself out.”

Donnie rolls his eyes and goes for the next mat, pulling it from its place leaning against the brick sewer wall to rest on the ground, then dragging it into place. It doesn’t usually take any effort at all for him to do this, but today it feels like he’s trying to drag an entire continent across the dojo. Fcine, so he hadn’t gotten the best rest or nutrition while he was in that godforsaken future, but he can’t begin to recondition his body until the dojo is set up and his Sensei has stopped babying him.

When he finally pulls it into place, arms trembling, he centers himself on the mat and sinks into a lotus pose with less grace than he’d have liked. He holds no delusions that he’ll be able to meditate like this, but he wishes his brothers would at least sit down with him so that he could pretend to join them and have that deep-meditation connection.

Eyes closed, Donnie listens to Raph close the dojo door, heave a great sigh, and assume a matching pose beside him, knees just barely touching.

“You look like shit,” he repeats. “What happened, Don?”

He flinches. “I spent a week in an alternate reality. It was just—tiring, is all. I’m fine.”

“Bull-fuckin’-shit you’re fine, you look like ya lost fifteen pounds and ten years off your life. I don’t need all the gritty details, but I like t’think you trust me enough with the gist of it.”

“It’s not about trusting you,” Donnie snaps, opening his eyes and jerking his knee away from Raph’s. “I just don’t want to talk about it. Is that a crime?”

He wants Raph to rise to the challenge, meet his anger in kind and start a fight. He wants someone to yell at and blame and be angry at instead of the hollowed-out, bone-deep exhaustion in his chest. But his brother’s gaze doesn’t harden, and his hands don’t ball into fists. Damn him for having compassion, damn Leo for helping him get his anger under control, damn him for losing an eye, damn him for his recklessness that will eventually get him killed.

Raph’s face softens instead. “I heard ya bumpin’ around last night. Did you sleep at all?”

Donnie searches his brother’s eyes for a hint of mockery, a thread of wayward anger he can pull at and unravel, but all he sees is a reserve of compassion that Raphael keeps on tap just for him. He wants to scream, wants to hit something, wants to rip his metaphorical hair out and go apeshit, but he’s the smart one. The level-headed one, the one holding everything together, the one that they look to for strength when things are uncertain. He can’t waver, he can’t let them know their potential future, he can’t let them know how horrible it could be if he fucks up even a little bit.

Raph reaches toward him, and when Don flinches away, he drops his hand into his lap instead. “When you decide you wanna talk, I’ll be around.” He waits a moment, watches as Donnie shifts his gaze to the mat and tries to keep his breathing level. Eventually, he leaves and closes the dojo doors behind him.

Don lays down on the mat and buries his face in his hands.

“Wait, so you aren’t our Donnie?”

In the basement of the rebel hideout, after two days of waiting, Donatello finally had this battered version of his brothers together in one place. They sat around a battery-powered lantern and talked in hushed tones so as not to wake the infirmary of rebels sleeping on the far side of the room, and the harsh shadows cast at harsher angles made his brothers’ weathered faces look truly foreign.

“Well, not exactly,” he said slowly. “I think your Donatello and I are one and the same, but this timeline seems to be a result of my disappearance at Draco’s and the Daimyo’s son’s hands,” he mused. “If you—that is, the younger version of you—are able to put me back in my own time and place, this all may not come to pass at all.”

The three turtles around him, simultaneously his brothers and not his brothers at all, let out a collective sigh that sounded like relief.

“But that’s a lot of maybes, and since you all have no clue what happened to me in this timeline...it’s far from the only possibility, or even the most likely one.”

Leo reached under his dark glasses and scratched at a scar. “If there’s a chance that you could go back to your own timeline, then you need to stay here. Whatever you’ve cooked up in that brain of yours, we can do it ourselves, the three of us, and leave you out of it. You’re of more use to your brothers than...us,” he said awkwardly.

What he meant was if you die here, now, that cements this future, and we don’t want that. Donnie didn’t want that either, but there was nothing to say that this wasn’t already cemented. If his brothers, or Lord Simultaneous, or Draco or whoever was going to pull him back into his own timeline, it would make the most sense to do it at the moment when he showed up. Honestly, there were a thousand different possibilities and Don didn’t have the time or brainspace to do the necessary calculations to rule some of them out. What mattered was that he was prepared to face this reality as the only true future and do whatever it took to save his brothers, these brothers, even if that meant death.

“I’ll be careful,” he said, trying to brush it off. But the Leo of the past wasn’t that gullible, and this elder Leo for sure was not.

“Yeah, sorry Don, that’s not gonna fly,” Raph grumbled out, beating Leo to the punch. Leo’s words died on his lips. “Losin’ you once was bad enough,” he adds, voice cracking at the end.

The foursome grew silent, each willing the other to speak first. Finally, it was Mikey who broke the silence with a harsh laugh.

“Seriously, he’s here after thirty years, offering us a solution on a silver platter, and you’re gonna turn him down on the off chance he can prevent this altogether? This is our chance , guys.”

“Our last chance almost cost you your life, Mike,” Raphael snaps. “And it did cost ya an arm. We’re not draggin’ him into this.”

“Hey, don’t I get a say here? You’re not dragging me into anything, it’s literally my plan .”

Leo held up a hand to silence the argument, and to Donnie’s surprise, the other two actually listened. Even after all this time. “Donatello, I won’t let you put yourself in harm’s way. I failed to protect you once, and I will not make that mistake again. You can go, but you’re going to stay inside the tunneller.”

Donnie bristled, crossing his arms over his chest. He’d spent the last two days, while he and Mikey waited around for him and Raphael to show up, treating the wounded and ill. He’d sewn more stitches than he could count—so many that his fingers were sore and stiff—and held more than one hand while its owner passed into the next world. He helped April dig graves while Mikey stood by watching, physically unable to wield a shovel to help. He watched his brother sleep, whimpering in pain and pleading with invisible enemies in his dreams. He might be thirty years younger than them, but he’d done enough damn growing up in the last forty eight hours to at least make his own decision.

“Let me get this straight. Leo, you’re assuming that I’m not your Donatello?”

Leo hesitated, clearly trying to follow his brother’s train of thought. “Yes,” he said hesitantly.

“Good. Then you’re not my Leo, and I don’t have to follow your orders. I’m going, and that’s the end of it. You guys need me.”

Mikey, sitting between Leo and Raph on Raph’s blind side, grinned and gave Donnie a wink. It was the first bit of the Mikey he knew that he’d seen in two days.

Leo opened his mouth to speak, a finger raised, and Raph once again beat him to it with a harsh, grating laugh that sounded more like silverware in a garbage disposal than his own brother.

“I always knew ya had more balls than brains, just like the rest of us.” Raph sighed and cuffed him on the shoulder affectionately. “Let’s hear the rest of the plan, you little maniac.”

Donnie couldn’t help it—despite the gloom and terror and hopelessness around him, he smiled. And for the first time in who knows how long, so did all three of his brothers.

He wakes in a sticky sweat for the third time in one night, on the living room couch this time. He tried replicating the success of last night’s nap by trying the cot in his lab first, then the couch, but he keeps having the same results no matter where he falls asleep: visions of blood, of swords, of the Shredder’s angry pink face, of the angry pink gore that spilled out of it as the crystal drill bore into him—

Enough to keep him awake again.

He sits up, panting, and freezes completely when he sees a shadow of a figure across the dark lair. He has the nearest thing in his hands in an instant, which just so happens to be the oversized, unlosable TV remote that Master Splinter scavenged after the third time Mikey misplaced the old one. It makes a poor replacement for his staff, but a stick is a stick, and he’s got killer aim.

“Whoa, I come in peace,” Mikey stage-whispers.

Don’s entire body sags back into the pillows, tossing the remote aside. He lets out a dizzying sigh and resumes his labored breathing, hand over his eyes. “You scared the shell outta me, Mikey.”

“Duh, Captain Obvious.” Mikey comes closer, the soft plap-plap of his feet on the stone floor a comforting metronome. “You okay bro? You were having some killer nightmares.”

Don scoots over and makes room for his brother on the couch, gesturing to join him. He obliges, lazily throwing an arm around his brother’s shoulders. Ah, so he isn’t hiding the distress very well. He never could hide much from Mikey, anyway.

“I’m fine,” he insists. “The usual stuff.”

“Shredder?”

A ghost of an ironic smile flits across Don’s face. “Yeah.”

Mikey’s quiet for a while while Don gets his breathing and heart rate under control. It’s easier than it was yesterday night, but still harder than he’d like it to be. He’d never been the praying kind, seeing as he and his brothers were somewhat of an affront to any god that might exist, but he would do damn near anything to forget those images of his brothers’ battered bodies, covered in blood and the scars of too many years on their own, lungs stilled by his failure. He knows he has many more sleepless nights to come, but the reminder that he doesn't have to face them alone is more than a little comforting.

These brothers aren’t dead, they aren't maimed, they aren’t at odds with each other. At least no more than usual. He shouldn’t push them away—he needs to drag them in closer and make sure they all know how much he loves them.

Stupid Raph, forcing perspective on him and making him see reason. Of all his brothers.

“Donnie?”

“Hm?”

His little brother hesitates, hand idly tracing patterns over Don’s scaly shoulder. “I know you saw something bad, wherever you went. You don’t have to tell me about it, but you’ve been acting funny—like, not ha-ha funny, and what you said about…my arms? It's just been wiggin’ me out, man.”

Wow, he barely remembers saying that. The confusion and sheer emotional gut punch of going from Shredder’s throne room to standing beside his brothers, young and whole again, it was…something else.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Don opens his mouth to dispense an automatic reply as he’s overwhelmed by horrible images of his brothers’ mangled bodies and the sharp smell of their blood in the air, but finds himself stopping short. He didn’t want to talk about it with Leo at first, or with Raph earlier, but Mikey…

Even if it wasn’t this Mikey, a Mikey had been his anchor throughout the whole ordeal. Maybe Donnie going missing was what kickstarted the apocalypse or whatever, but he realizes now with a start that Mikey was the glue that held them all together long enough to get anything done in that dismal future. Maybe their older brothers don't need to know about it just yet, but Don is seized by the sudden realization that Mikey deserves to know.

“It was a future where Shredder won,” he begins quietly. “Not our future, I'm going to make sure of that. But he ruled the entire world and you—you were in hiding. Near the lair, but the lair had been destroyed.” He smiles a little, in spite of it all. “You were a badass . I mean, not that you aren't already, but in the future you were seriously wrecking the Foot’s shit. But you were…well, you only had one arm. The other was gone.”

Mikey mumbles out a dulled “huh” that sounds vaguely horrified, but it’s hard to tell without seeing his expression. “That—uh, that's messed up dude. But everyone else was fine, right?”

Donnie worries his hands together in his lap. “No,” he says hoarsely. “Sensei was…gone. Raph and Leo didn't talk anymore, and Raph was missing an eye, and Leo was blind —” He shudders and takes in a thin, trembling breath. “It was horrible , Mikey, like a horrible nightmare I couldn’t wake up from. I helped you take down the Shredder, but it cost you all your lives . I couldn’t save you —”

Mikey pulls him into a hug so suddenly that he lets out a startled cry. With his little brother holding his head to his chest, Donnie finally just can't hold it in anymore. He cries bitterly for the broken future he saw and those brothers that he couldn't save.

“It was my fault,” he cries. “I disappeared and everything fell apart—”

“Hey, hey, bro, it's okay.” Mikey squeezes him gently. “That wasn’t me, or Leo or Raph, those were just some other guys that looked like us. See, I’ve got two good huggin’ arms here! Leo is definitely not blind since he’s been glaring at everything all day, and Raphie is perfectly capable of rolling both his eyes at us. You’re here now, and—I know you’d never leave us. It's okay.”

He hiccups another sob. “It could still happen. If I go missing, or die—”

Mikey pulls him out to arms’ length to look at him. He can barely make out the unusually stern features of his brother’s face in the dark. “Hey, you are not going to die. Don’t even think about it.”

His mouth hangs open for a moment, stunned by his baby brother’s serious tone. Then another wet sob strangles his throat, and he's falling apart all over again. “I'm so scared Mikey, there's nothing to say that isn't exactly what’s going to happen to us.”

Mikey must not know what to say to that, because he just pulls him back in to hold him while he cries. Donnie isn't even sure why he’s crying—it’s all over now, it maybe never even happened, there's no point in dwelling on it now. The tears fall all the same.

“Hey, what's with the ruckus in here? A turtle needs his— Donnie ?” Raph is up and over the second-floor railing and kneeling by the couch in seconds, his hand on Don’s arm as he continues to cry. He just can't stop , no matter how hard he tries.

Leo’s in a second later, a sheathed sword in one hand, the other on the hilt. At the sight of his brothers, he sets it down by the stairs and silently joins them, perched on the edge of the coffee table.

With Raph clinging to his arm and Leo gently stroking the back of his shell, he calms faster than he thought he could. The silent comfort of his brothers—his strong , stubborn, loving brothers—is like a balm on his aching soul. His cheek pressed to Mikey’s plastron, he takes in deep, shuddering breaths and tries to focus on the moment. He’s here now—they all are.

“I'm scared,” he says again, words slightly slurred by his position against Mike.

“It's okay to be scared,” Leo says softly. His hand’s gentle movements on Don’s shell don't cease.

“Yeah, Mikey’s scared all the time,” Raph suggests with a hint of a smile.

“I didn't think I'd ever see you guys again. I didn't—I didn't even know if I was in another reality, or if it was just too late to change things. I still don’t.”

Mikey makes a sad, strangled sound in his throat, and his arms tighten around Donnie. “We’re here, dude, we’re not going anywhere.”

Donnie can tell that Leo and Raph are both barely holding back on a million questions, but he can’t find it in himself to repeat any part of the story now. Now that it’s out of him, he feels like a weight has been lifted from his chest and he can breathe for the first time since the Ultimate Draco vanished him away. He has all three brothers, every part of them, and the next thirty years stretch out in front of him like eons. He knows they’ll get hurt, he knows they’ll have to face Shredder again, but for now just being whole and together is enough. Knowing that his brothers could live with him and this failure, the horrible reality that even though he has the smarts and the skills to match he can’t always save them , soothes something broken inside him that he didn’t even know was there.

“I love you guys,” he mumbles, the words mashed and mangled between the thickness in his throat and his mouth so close to Mikey’s shell.

They’re each quick to respond in kind, hands and arms tangling around him in a warm and confusing embrace of scales and shells and tears from more than one of them.

They sleep in a tangle across the couch and living room carpet that night, all as close to Donatello as they can be. Every time he wakes to a nightmare, at least one of them is there to assure him that he is not alone, the nightmare is over, and he hasn’t failed.

By the time morning rolls around again, warmth has curled up and made a home in Donnie’s chest, replacing the hollow and horrible feeling that had taken respite there ever since he had to look at his brothers’ broken and bloodied corpses. He watches them all sleep—Mikey sitting up at the end of the couch, Raph in Master Splinter’s armchair, Leo sprawled across the carpet with a blanket haphazardly thrown across his legs—with a smile, knowing they’re alive, and they love him, and he loves them. For now, that’s all he needs in the world. The rest of it? They’ll do what they do best, and take it one punch at a time.

#tmnt #tmnt03 #tmnt2k3 #teenage mutant ninja turtles #the ghost writes #turtleposting #fic #my fic #hurt/comfort #sainw #same as it never was

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ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused · 2 years

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can you write something about maggie green literally anything i’m scraping penny’s to find anything about her on this app 😭

༉‧₊˚. 𝐟𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 || 𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐧𝐞

― pairings: maggie greene x fem plus size!reader

― era: season 2

― summary: when you're forced to take glenn's place for the medication run, you get more than what you've bargained for at the hands of the farmer's daughter.

― warnings: kissing, making out, stripping, oral sex, come eating, come swallowing, dirty talk, maggie's dirty mouth, dom maggie greene, dom/sub undertones, tribbing, implied tribbing, implied scissoring.

― wc: 1704

⋆ a/n: you basically take glenn's place in the episode 'cherokee rose'! some twd fans may find the banter leading up to the smut familiar seeing as though they are glenn's lines as he is caught guilty with a box of condoms, so what i have to say for that is i do not own the idea for the dialogue, and it is not my original idea, it is completely trademarked and copyrighted to AMC™ and TWD™ Writers! the only part of this fic that i own is the smut as well as the head-canon for bisexual maggie greene! i feel the same! and that's exactly why i write for her! so, thank you for giving me the excuse to write another smut ;]

masterlist | AO3

Your people had just settled on Hershel's land, you couldn't be having a crush on the poor man's daughter. You shamefully admit that you had been avoiding her, whenever she would come to talk to Rick or anyone really, you would move away, lying about needing to do something in order to escape the guilt as your eyes trailed straight down to her sweaty and sun kissed chest, her cleavage luring you in like a inescapable spell. There was no escaping now, not when you were forced to go into town with the woman to retrieve medication.

The ride to the pharmacy was silent, the only thing you could hear was the sounds of the horses' hooves hitting the pavement.

"You alright?" You asked awkwardly. "I'm fine." She responded without looking back at you. "I saw the look on your face back at the well. 'Never seen one killed up close before?" You asked curiously. She didn't answer you, guiding her horse in front of you. "'Guess it's kind of a shock." Yet again, you received no response from her. "You know, being out on the road, we've seen a lot." You mood dampened, "'Guess we've gotten a little numb to it." You admitted.

"Woah. I guess so." Was all she said.

You both approached the pharmacy, the two of you looking at the 'Take what you need and God bless' sign sitting in the front window. You spared a look at her, the woman taking the initiative to enter the store ahead of you. Once you both had entered, she turned around to look at you. "I'll go see what antibiotics are left," She spoke simply, "What else is on the list?"

"Uh.." You stuttered, reaching into the back pocket of your jeans to retrieve the piece of folded up paper. "Why don't you get started?" You said while handing her the sheet. "What about you?" She asked. "Um.. I'm gonna look around, see what's worth grabbing. Just some general stuff." She didn't bother to answer you back, leaving you to your own devices as you walked into the 'Feminine Hygiene' isle. You felt a bit guilty as you looked for what Lori had sent you for, throwing a glance from over your shoulder before you bent down to conduct your search.

You picked up a bottle and a box before putting them back down fruitlessly. Your eyes finally landed on the pregnancy test as you looked at it in disbelief.

"What do you got?"

You scrambled to shove the box in your bag as you stumbled to give her an answer.

"Uh.. um.. nothing." You said unsurely, "Just, like I said, general stuff." You hadn't noticed what you picked up before she asked, "Condoms?" With an amused smile on her face. You gasped in embarrassment. "You got a boyfriend I don't know about?" She asked with a grin. "Me? No. No." You denied while shaking your head, butterflies twisting in your gut as her eyes landed back down on the box. "Then you're a pretty confident girl then."

"No." Was all you could say. "No no no. I- I- I- wasn't— I would never—" She cut off your nervous rambling. "'Something wrong with me?" You were quick to say, "No." You shook your head, "No, I—" You threw a hand up and chuckled nervously as you tried to think of a response. "I would never have sex—" Realizing how dumb that sounded, you gave up. "Uh, I'm- I'm lost." You said with your eyes shut in shame, a shake in your head as your hand gripped the box once more.

You opened your eyes, waiting for her response anxiously, but the response that she had given you was not one that you would have expected.

"I'll have sex with you." You stared at her in disbelief, not only because you were caught of guard, but you also didn't know she swung that way. "Really?" Was all you could say. "Why?" You added. "You're asking questions?" She asked innocently, proof that she was truly entertained by this whole situation.

"Okay, I can't help wondering." You said plainly, desperately trying to hide how confused but excited you were. "It's not like our options are vast these days." She said as she took off her bag, letting it fall to the floor. She set how cowgirl hat on top of it, running a hand through her hair as she moved closer to you. She looked in your eyes for reassurance before placing a kiss on your lips, your eyes falling shut despite your hesitancy.

You kissed her back, and as you separated, she said, "And you're not the only one that's lonely." The tension was thick between the two of you as you watched her strip off her shirt, her flat stomach and plain white bra being revealed to you. She never broke eye contact with you as she removed her bra, your eyes falling to her gorgeous breasts. It seems as though you would continue to be rendered speechless as a, "Wow." Fell from between your lips. She smiled as she waited for you to do the same, those same butterflies twisting in your stomach as you tugged off your own shirt as well.

Her eyes fell to your torso before raising to your face again, the sight of you bare in front of her causing her to advance towards you slowly, her hand falling on your naked shoulder as you cupped the side of her cheek, your lips joining together as you kissed.

"I didn't know you liked girls." You spoke between kisses. "Oh, honey, you don't know me." She said as she chuckled darkly. Arousal pooled in your underwear as her hands trailed down, landing on the band of your jeans as your stomach sunk in due to a deep breath you had taken, her fingertips tantalizing as they finally landed on the button.

"You gonna be a good girl and take yer bra off for me?" You didn't need to be told twice as you reached behind you, unclipping the useless item and undergarment falling to the floor. "You're so pretty." You heard her say as she fell to her knees, tugging your pants down along with her. "Thank you.." You said shyly. She smirked to herself as your jeans and underwear pooled around your ankles. "Step out of 'em and lay down." She helped to tug them over your feet, putting them right next to her bag that she had put on the floor.

You tried your best to get comfortable as the cold tile flooring touched your bare back.

"Here," She said, balling up your clothes in her hands and putting them under your head. "Is that better?" You nodded silently. She stripped off her own bottoms, kicking them to the side before straddling your hips, hands placed on either side of your face as she kissed you again. The makeout session was lazy, sloppy even as she devoured your mouth, completely dominating the encounter as you moaned quietly when her hand fondled one of your breasts, fingers pinching your nipple.

"I've wanted you so bad," She murmured against your lips. "Since the first time I saw you with yer people." She kissed down your neck, only marking you in areas that she knew no one would see them, which was your chest, down your sternum, to your soft belly that she would find herself so easily falling in love with.

It was no lie that Maggie Greene had experimented with other girls, hell, she was the type of girl that just wanted to smoke and shoplift, so who was to say she hadn't gone down on another woman? She had only been with men leading up to the fall of the world. It had been a long time since another woman had caught her attention the way that you did, completely reclused, and closed off as you stuck to conversing with your friends, trying to make your presence as minimal as possible whenever any of Maggie's family had shown up around you all.

She must admit that you had made her work for it, with the way she caught your perverted gaze to where she stared at you with all the same lust.

"I've wanted you too, I was just— ah!" You cried out as she bit into your inner thigh, licking over the hickey she had left behind. "I was just shy." You heaved out, your chest rising and falling. "There was no need ta be shy, I don' bite." You raised your eyebrow at the shit eating grin on her face, the words that left her mouth clearly a lie seeing as though you had gotten in a fight with a hive of bees. "Mhm.. I'm sure." You giggled, your head falling back onto your makeshift pillow. Her hot breath caressed your heated skin, spread legs trembling as she blew cold air against your soaked labia.

She had finally licked a stripe through your folds, a whimper falling from your lips as the tip of her tongue nudged at your clit.

You wouldn't have expected her to be so good at giving oral, her muscle dipping in and out of your clenching hole, your fingers buried in her short brown hair as your back arched.

"Maggie! 's so— 's so good!" You whined, grinding your hips against her face. "'M gonna make you come, pretty girl, then 'm gonna ride this cute, soaked pussy." Her lower chin was soaked with your juices as she edged you closer to your orgasm. You gripped at the material behind your head, the other hand tugging at her mixed locs.

Her dirty talk was driving you insane as you crashed, her mouth unrelenting as you spasmed against the ground.

As you came down, she pulled off of you, wiping your release off with the back of her hand as she kept that same smirk on her face.

"You okay ta keep goin'?" She asked you, voice full of care as she wiped a piece of sweat off of your brow.

"Yeah, I'm great." You breathed with a smile, spreading your legs wider she she could fit herself in between them.

ೃ⁀➷ my lovely taglist!: @alina02 @louderfortheback @minervadashwood

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