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kybercrystals94 · 6 months ago

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Neon Warfare

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Summer of Bad Batch 2024 | Week 1 | Main Prompt: Water Gun Fight | Alt. Prompt: "It's not what it looks like."

Rated: G | Words: 3109 | Summary: Wrecker buys two little water guns. What's the worst that could happen?

“Hey, look at this?”

“How much do you think something like that costs?”

“They call that art? I’ve blown up things that ended up looking nicer than that!”

“If we could get one of those, would you want red or blue? I know red is part of our colors, but blue is nice.”

Crosshair tries to ignore Wrecker’s incessant commentary as they cut through a district of novelty shops. Keeping Wrecker on task during slow paced missions is like herding wild tookas: impossible and incredibly annoying.

“We’re not here to sightsee,” Crosshair finally snaps. “Are you even watching for our contact?”

“I thought you were watching,” Wrecker says, “I’m just backup.”

Crosshair rolls his eyes. “So help me…”

Wrecker gasps, and Crosshair turns to see what has distracted his brother now. Small, neon colored, plastic pistols. “What are these?” Wrecker asks the shopkeep.

“Water guns,” the man says.

“What do they do?” Wrecker asks before Crosshair can haul him away.

The man looks unimpressed with the question. “Shoot water.”

“They’re so tiny,” Wrecker croons. “You just fill ‘em with water? Simple as that?”

“Simple as that.”

“Wrecker, come on,” Crosshair growls.

“They’re on sale, two for a credit,” the man says.

“Sold!” Wrecker whips a credit out of nowhere, drops it in the vendor’s waiting hand, and snatches up a green and a pink pistol from the basket.

It takes every shred of patience for Crosshair to keep his mouth shut until they move away from the cart. “Put your toys away, we’re busy,” he hisses.

“We’re always busy,” Wrecker says, ignoring him as he fiddles with the tiny orange stopper at the top of the pink pistol. Once he dislodges it, he hands the green pistol to Crosshair. “Hold this.”

“I’m not holding your toys!” Crosshair cries, taking the pistol anyway.

Wrecker gets out his canteen and tries to delicately dribble a stream of water into the hole at the top of the gun. Most of the water ends up in a puddle on the ground.

“I’m not sharing my canteen with you when you’re thirsty later,” Crosshair mutters.

Wrecker either doesn’t hear him or doesn’t care. “There!” he says, triumphantly, poking the stopper back into place. Before Crosshair can react, Wrecker points the gun at Crosshair and pulls the trigger. A spurt of water splatters harmlessly across Crosshair’s visor.

He’s annoyed nonetheless. “Ugh! Grow up, Wrecker!”

“Here,” Wrecker says, unperturbed, reaching for the green pistol, “let’s fill yours up.”

“It’s not mine!” Crosshair says, thrusting it into Wrecker’s hand.

“Sure it is! I bought it for you.”

“I don’t want it.”

Wrecker’s shoulders slump. “Aw, c’mon, Cross. You’re no fun.”

“We’re not here to have fun. We’re here on a mission. Now, put your kriffing toys away.”

Crosshair starts walking, and hears Wrecker start trundling along behind him. And then he feels it. Something wet on the back of his neck.

“Ha! That was a good shot!”

Crosshair sighs. This is going to be a long patrol.

Surprisingly, Wrecker seems to lose interest in the water guns the moment they come within sight of the Marauder. He shoves them in one of his pockets and goes about his chores without a word about his newfound toys that he’d been harassing Crosshair with nonstop.

Crosshair isn’t complaining. Maybe the stupid water guns will be forgotten, lost in a crate somewhere…or found by a certain sniper and shot out the airlock while in deep space.

However, Crosshair’s hopes are dashed when he opens his firepuncher case the next cycle and finds that someone has put a neon green water gun inside. A torn piece of flimsi is folded beside it. Crosshair picks it up and opens it. Got plan. Practice. Secret. - W.

Shaking his head, Crosshair picks up the tiny pistol. He can tell by the subtle weight that Wrecker has already filled it with water. With a scoff, he aims idly at a bolt in the wall and shoots. The spurt of water misses by at least nine centimeters to the left. Crosshair’s jaw drops. He missed? He adjusts the pistol in his hand. Shoots. Five centimeters too low.

Crosshair swears under his breath.

Squirt, squirt, squirt, squirt…

Miss, miss, miss, miss…

He’s about to throw the water gun across the ship when a rumbling voice says behind him. “Harder than it looks, huh?”

Wrecker’s pink water gun appears in his hand, comically miniscule in his massive fingers. He aims for the exact bolt Crosshair was aiming for.

Direct hit.

Crosshair actually chokes on his gasp of shock. He’s coughing so hard that Hunter comes back to check on them, Wrecker slapping Crosshair on the back as if that’s gonna do anything to help.

“Everything alright?” Hunter asks.

Wrecker grins. “Yeah, he’s just fine, sarge.”

Hunter quirks an eyebrow at Crosshair, and Crosshair can only nod. With one last bewildered look, Hunter retreats back to the cockpit.

“That’s why you gotta practice,” Wrecker says loftily. “Otherwise, I’ll just be a better shot than you with a water gun.”

Crosshair glares at his largest brother, seeing the shameless goading for exactly what it is. And yet, he will not be outdone by Wrecker, not even with a stupid little toy water gun. “Oh, you’re on.”

Echo is tracking their flight plan when he hears Wrecker start sniffling behind him. He ignores it.

“Sure is dusty in here,” Wrecker comments offhandedly.

“Whatever you say,” Echo mumbles.

More sniffling. “My nose sure feels funny. It’s like a sneeze is stuck in there.”

Echo grunts in vague sympathy.

Then comes the shuddering breath of an attempted sneeze, loud and exaggerated…and prolonged.

“For force sake, Wrecker, if you’re gonna sneeze, sneeze!”

“ACHOO!”

Wet droplets shower the back of Echo’s neck. His reaction is immediate. “Wrecker! Did you just sneeze on me?” Echo squawks, standing and whirling on the giant.

Wrecker doesn’t look the least bit ashamed. In fact, he looks alarmed and frantic as he tries to shove something bright neon pink in his pocket. Echo is faster when he’s annoyed or angry, and it pays off now. He snatches the mystery item out of Wrecker’s hand. A tiny, cheap water pistol.

“You shot me with this and made me think you sneezed on me?” Echo demanded. “That’s disgusting!”

“It’s called a prank,” Wrecker says, sounding offended by Echo’s evident lack of humor.

Echo rolls his eyes. “A childish prank.”

“It’s called fun,” Wrecker says, holding out his hand. “Now give it back. I still need to shoot Hunter and Tech with it.”

“Do you honestly think that’s going to end well?” Echo asks, deadpan.

Wrecker smiles. “Not sure, but I’m willing to find out.”

Echo hesitates, weighing his options. If he returns the kriffing toy and Wrecker pranks Hunter and Tech with it, Echo risks being called complicit in the crime.

If he keeps the toy…

“C’mon, Echo,” Wrecker whines, making a grabbing motion with his outstretched hand. “It’s water. It’s not like it’s gonna hurt them.”

The manchild does have a point.

Echo sighs. “Fine. But so help me, you shoot me again with this thing, I’ll send it out the airlock.”

Wrecker grins almost apologetically and snatches the toy up the moment it’s placed in his hand. “Ah, it was a good prank. You can’t actually be mad.”

He’s not, but Echo narrows his gaze anyway. “You wanna bet credits on that?”

“Fine! I won’t shoot you with water again,” Wrecker grumbles, folding his arms, hiding the water gun from view. Echo shakes his head and turns back to finish his calculations. He chooses not to react when Wrecker mutters, “Killjoy.”

Hunter is on the very cusp of sleep on one of the bunks when something hits the side of his face. Something cool and wet. He jerks awake with a gasp, hand flying up to touch where the attack occurred. His glove comes away damp. Turning, he sees Crosshair, polishing his rifle.

“What was that?” Hunter demands.

Crosshair looks up. “What?”

“Someone splashed me with water,” Hunter says.

“Someone splashed you with water,” Crosshair echoes. He rolls his eyes. “Sure they did.”

Hunter glares at him. “You did it.”

“How?” Crosshair asks.

“Easy. You threw water at me.”

“Where did I get this water?”

“Your canteen.”

“Does it look like I have a canteen on me?” Crosshair asks, glancing around himself pointedly. “Maybe you’re just imagining things.”

“My glove is literally damp!”

“Maybe it’s sweat. Between that mop you call hair and that bandana, you must be roasting alive.”

“I’m not sweating!”

Crosshair shrugs, returning to his task. “Whatever you say.”

Hunter watches him a few more moments before he closes his eyes, keeping his head turned toward his brother, and tries to resume his nap.

Another water strike, square in the middle of his forehead. Hunter’s eyes fly open, and Crosshair is still there, not looking at him, polishing his rifle with the same leisurely ease as before.

“You did it again!” Hunter cries, sitting up.

Crosshair meets his gaze. “What are you on about? I didn’t do anything!”

“Yes you did! You’re the only one in here! There’s no other explanation!”

“How the kriff did I do it then? Explain it to me!”

Hunter grits his teeth. He can’t explain it. But he knows it’s true. “You’re the one doing it, so you tell me!”

“I’m not doing anything! I’m cleaning my rifle. Maker!”

Hunter stands up. “You know you’re the worst sometimes?”

“So I’ve been told,” Crosshair muses, going back to his task.

Hunter starts to storm to the cockpit when something hits the back of his head. He whirls around and Crosshair is still at work, an almost imperceptible smirk twitching at the edge of his lips. Hunter growls a curse under his breath before making his retreat.

“What are you doing?”

Wrecker and Crosshair startle and look up to find Tech standing over them. The casings of two water guns are on the floor between them, taken apart, amongst a plethora of spare parts from Tech’s stash for his projects. A stash he has very deliberately told his brothers not to touch without express permission.

And neither of the clones in front of him had any such consent.

“It’s not what you think,” Wrecker says. He has the decency to sound guilty.

Tech frowns. “What I think is that you are modifying toy pistols using my personal collection of parts.”

Crosshair shrugs. “Then it’s exactly what you think.”

“Put the parts back immediately! They are meant for serious projects, not hobbies.”

“Ah, c’mon, Tech,” Wrecker complains, “this isn’t just a hobby. It’s for science.”

“How so?” Tech asks, unimpressed.

Crosshair holds up a data pad with crudely designed schematics. “We’re going to increase the weapons’ accuracy by approximately one hundred and five percent.”

Tech takes the data pad and examines the modifications. “No you are not.”

“Why?”

“Because I am not giving permission to use my parts for these modifications. Give them back.”

“Maker, Tech, don’t be stingy,” Crosshair protests.

“It is not being stingy to say that these parts are for specific purposes. Not a single one of those purposes include water guns. Put them away.”

“Or what? You’ll tell Hunter on us?” Crosshair snarks.

Tech glares. “You are being immature.”

“Fine!” Crosshair says, “We’ll put your precious parts away. We don’t need them.”

Wrecker frowns. “Yeah, we do.”

“No, we don’t,” Crosshair says. He scoops up the spare parts and dumps them back in their box. He hands the box over to Tech, now a jumbled mess to be sorted.

“You are behaving like a juvenile,” Tech says irritably.

Crosshair smiles, but there is no friendliness in the gesture. “Oh, you haven’t seen juvenile yet.”

“Is that a threat?” Tech asks.

“Of course not,” Crosshair says, lifting one shoulder in a shrug. “Just something to think about.”

Tech calls a meeting between himself, Echo, and Hunter, closing the cockpit door while Crosshair and Wrecker are distracted with cataloging inventory. At least, that is what they said they were doing when they disappeared into the upper hold.

“Something has to be done about Wrecker and Crosshair,” Tech says.

“What do you mean?” Hunter asks.

“Are you talking about their stupid little water pistols?” Echo asks, rolling his eyes.

Hunter’s jaw drops. “That’s how Crosshair got me!”

“And Wrecker got me,” Echo says.

“I caught them trying to modify them to have better accuracy,” Tech says. “I stopped their attempt, but it is only a matter of time before they find alternate means.”

“I told Wrecker if he shoots me with water again, I’ll send his water gun out the airlock,” Echo says with a shrug. “I say we follow through.”

Hunter shakes his head. “No. We should fight fire with fire.”

“Water with water, as it were,” Tech chuckles.

“Please no,” Echo entreats. “Let’s end this before it gets out of hand.”

“I’ve been doing some research,” Tech says, bringing out his data pad. “I believe I have found the perfect solution.”

****

“We have four standard hours of shore leave,” Hunter says, “That means you’re all back to the ship in three and a half. Got it?”

“Yes, sir,” Crosshair snarks with a lazy salute. He and Wrecker saunter off, leaving Hunter, Echo and Tech without a backwards glance.

Once they are out of earshot, Hunter turns to Tech. “You got those coordinates?”

“Affirmative,” Tech says, pulling up the directions on his data pad.

“Are we really going to spend hard earned credits on water guns?” Echo asks.

Tech frowns. “These are not simply water guns, Echo. They are classified as super soakers.”

“Cross and Wrecker won’t know what hit them,” Hunter murmurs almost gleefully.

“Do you even hear yourselves right now?” Echo cries.

Hunter ignores him. “We need to head out. We have to be back here and in position before the targets return.”

Echo rolls his eyes, but follows Tech and Hunter anyway.

They turn more than a few heads when they walk into the toy store; however, Crosshair ignores the incredulous stares of the other patrons. He walks straight to the counter, Wrecker at his shoulder. “We had an order for pickup,” he says.

“Sure, what’s the name?” the clerk asks.

“Crosshair.”

The clerk disappears into the back room and returns with two packages. “Two special order water guns?”

The burning sensation of embarrassment creeps up the back of Crosshair’s neck. “Yes,” he says.

“Aw, yeah! I can’t wait to try ‘em out,” Wrecker crows.

“Can you be quieter,” Crosshair hisses at him.

The clerk rings up the order and accepts the payment before relinquishing the packages to the soldiers, fully armored sans helmets. Wrecker takes them both eagerly, tucking them under one arm. They leave the shop and nearly collide with three more armored figures about to walk in.

“What are you doing here?” Hunter demands.

“Nothing!” Wrecker cries, sounding panicked, shoving the packages behind his back.

“We could ask you the same thing,” Crosshair counters.

Hunter crosses his arms. “We were following you.”

“Why?”

“We’re suspicious.”

“Of what?”

“Of what you’d be getting from a toy store.”

“How did you know we were coming to a toy store?”

Hunter doesn’t have a comeback for that, and changes the subject. “What did you get?”

“Nothing,” Wrecker reiterates guiltily, “It’s a surprise.”

Tech adjusts his goggles. “Which is it? Nothing or a surprise?”

“How about,” Crosshair says, stepping in front of Wrecker, “none of your business.”

“This is ridiculous,” Echo grumbles.

Crosshair reaches back and grabs Wrecker’s arm. “C’mon. We’re leaving.” Dragging Wrecker behind him, he shoves through the suspicious trio.

“See you lot back at the ship,” Hunter calls after them.

“Not if we see you first!” Wrecker hollers back.

“Shut up!” Crosshair growls. “This is bad enough as it is.”

They watch until the suspicious duo disappear into the crowd.

“Those packages were definitely within the dimensions of super soakers,” Tech says.

Hunter nods. “We should have known they’d do something like this.”

“We’re doing something like this!” Echo exclaims. “I never asked to be part of this. I’m never going to be dry again!”

“Stop whining, Echo,” Hunter says, opening the door of the shop. “It’s three versus two. We’ve got the advantage. They might have started this, but we’re going to end it.”

When they return the Marauder, the ramp is down, but it is quiet. Too quiet. Hunter holds up a fist, and Echo and Tech immediately stop short. Hunter’s eyes rove over the ship’s exterior.

“Are we within range?” he asks Tech, a whisper over his shoulder.

“If Crosshair is positioned on top of the ship, affirmative. He will have gravity on his side.”

Echo groans. “Need I remind you all that we are in public?”

“We split up,” Hunter says, voice low, gripping his colorful weapon and holding it in ready position. “Circle the ship.”

Echo sighs and takes the left side while Tech goes right. Hunter bravely takes center. He barely makes it four steps forward before he is hit in the face with a stream of water.

And that’s when all hell breaks loose.

No one says anything until the Marauder is settled in a hyperspace lane. The only sound is the hum of the ship and the faint sound of water dripping off five drenched commandos.

Until…

“They had no right to confiscate our weapons!” Wrecker grouses.

Echo huffs. “It was that or the city putting in an official complaint with the GAR.”

“I find it a little extreme to be prohibited from an entire planet. No one was injured,” Tech says.

“Crosshair shot a child point blank with a super soaker and made them cry,” Echo points out.

Crosshair chuckles darkly. “In my defense, I thought it was Hunter. They were similar heights.”

Hunter scoffs. “You are such a liar.”

“Wait, who was it that then shot an officer sent to investigate the disturbance?” Crosshair asks, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “Oh, yes. It was Hunter. That’s what got us in real trouble.”

“Now wait a minute,” Hunter starts indignantly.

Echo stands up. “I just want to go on the record and say I didn’t want to be involved in any of this!”

“This is true,” Tech agrees, “Although you are the one who soaked the second officer.”

“That was an accident.”

“That’s not how the officer saw it.”

As the bickering escalates, Crosshair catches Wrecker’s eye and holds out his hand, mostly fisted, but open enough that the demolitions expert sees a glimpse of pink and green. He grins, looking back at Crosshair. Crosshair puts a finger to his lips. Wrecker nods.

The war is far from over.

END

Finally got my first prompt fill done for my own prompt event 😂 It's been an absolute joy and delight to see all the fills so far! I dedicate this story to @just-here-with-my-thoughts' kiddo 😉 A lot of work went into getting this prompt in the top 13 🤣

12 more weeks of Summer of Bad Batch!! Can't wait!!

✨Let me know if you'd like to be added to my tag list!✨

Tag List: @followthepurrgil @amorfista @mooncommlink @arctrooper69 @nagyanna424 @proteatook @ezras-left-thumb @maeashryver

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bullet-prooflove · 3 months ago

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Home: Jamie Dutton x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @alixw22x @vintagedaydreams @madisonbroxson1 @shira666 @zealouslibrariesparadiselight @lovethis-lovethat @foxfables

Companion piece to:

Wild Bloom - Jamie buys flowers on the anniversary of Lee's death.

Palm Sunday - Jamie needs help with one of his plants.

Leap of Faith - Jamie decides to take a leap of faith.

Everything (NSFW) - Jamie wants everything with you.

Miss You - Jamie misses you when you go away to California.

The Making of A Man - Jamie reflects on your relationship.

Birthdays - Jamie doesn't celebrate his birthday.

Liam - Jamie discovers a secret.

Break Free - Jamie decides it's time to break free from Yellowstone.

Every Part of Me (NSFW) - Jamie wants to give you every part of himself.

After the governor’s candidacy is snatched away by his father, Jamie takes some time to reevaluate things. He tells his assistant he’s working from home and that’s kind of true because you give him the key to your apartment and you tell him your home is his home for as long as he needs it.

He can’t express just how much that means to him, to have a place he feels safe, a partner who only wants the best for him.

It’s as he’s flicking through the documentation for the land trust that he comes across the proposal to buy the field where the wild bloom resides. Something inside of him just dies because until this moment he didn’t realise that he was destroying his brother’s legacy by fulfilling his father’s orders, he didn’t realise he was killing Lee.

He can’t let that happen so he starts making calls, gathering as much information on the potential sale as he possibly can and that includes contacting Anna-May. He discovers that his father gave away the land to punish Lee because his brother refused to annul his marriage. That it was a knife twist in his brother’s heart because that place, it had held so much fucking meaning to him, it felt like their father had stripped away apart of his soul.

“It was the final push.” Anna-May tells him over the phone. “That cruelty, it broke him. Any hope he’d of reconnecting with John died that day.”

He resigns his position as the Attorney General immediately. That role it was never his dream, not really, it was a way of collating power for his father, of protecting the ranch. Now that he’s done with that, it’s time to make his own way in the world, to focus on the things that are important to him and that’s preserving the one thing in this damn state that Lee loved almost as much as his wife.

He spends the next few hours calling the conservation society and every other organisation he can think of to fuck with the equities firm. He figures the bigger the problem the more likely they’ll be to withdraw the sale. Next he goes directly to the land owner and offers him an additional thirty thousand on top of the asking price.

“I did something today.” He tells you as the two of you sit down to dinner. He’s taken you out to that restaurant you love, the one that’s always plush with greenery. “Something for myself and something hopefully for us.”

His hand reaches out across the table, fingers entwining with yours and you give him that sweet smile, the one that lights up his entire world.

“I bought a home Dani.” He tells you, his vibrant blue eyes flickering up to meet yours. “And I’m hoping you’ll live there with me.”

Love Jamie? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#jamie dutton #jamie dutton x reader #yellowstone

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z0-ne · 9 months ago

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Hi! It’s me again I was wondering if I could request another goku + younger sister reader but this time can it be but like them being siblings and them doing sibling stuff (Hc’s please 😚🫶)

HIIII! Yes! If you couldn't tell by now I love doing any platonic goku stuff its so cute and fun to think abt

GOKU AS Y0UR BIG BROTHER!

• Okay so just an FYI, you weren't raised by your big brother. Sorry, chi chi has enough stress with sayains as is, and not enough budget for three mouths again.

•Also, because you didn't hit your head when you landed, you werent exactly good.

•Not to say you were 'Abduct his child' type evil, probably because you're only four years older than Goten, but tou weren't good either. You blew up some stuff, injured people and tried to establish your dominance over the planet, gave Yamcha several heart attacks, and you had No idea who Vegeta was.

•So when they tried to get him to order you around that clearly backfired when his authority was tested by a sassy adolescent.

•"cease this absurd behavior! Your prince demands it!"

•It didn't help that he was wearing the pink shirt with some odd sandels. You looked him up and down before you scoffed.

•"Sorry princess, but I don't listen to stupid men in pink."

•Safe to say, you were a jerk, Goku knocked you out and Vegeta had to sit this fight out or he'd strangle a child.

•It took yall a while to get along, not because of trust issues from Raditz but because you were low-key evil too and you didn't like ANYONE at first.

•Hell it took a while to get you to stop being territorial or just flat out running away.

•Goku was the last person you bonded with, and that was because he kept having to drag you back home with your teeth latched into his arm.

•"Hey there- AH!" he cries out as you lunge at him and sink your teeth into his arm,, he swings his arm around hoping to detach you but its like you're locked on!

•"Ouch! Who just goes around biting people?!"

•Things changed a bit when you guys actually got along though. I guess the biting brought you closer??

•Goku doesn't visit that much, when it isn't involving training. I mean, the guy has work and trains with gods. He's very busy, but he makes time for you.

•Since you're close to gotens age but also a few years older, he likes to make time to pick you up from school to hang out with him and Goten for a bit.

•Its not like he just snatches you up out of school, he knows better, he's a father afterall, but after-school he's always excited to pick you and Goten up.

•"Hey! Ready to go?"

•However sometimes he forgets that he can't fly in public. Easy slip up, can you blame him though? It's as natural as walking!

°"Goku! You're flying!"

•"oh! Shoot!"

•Outings and shopping sprees are rare but he has experience with Chi Chi so he learned how to juggle the bags you throw to him while you go crazy in the mall.

•He doesn't mind it though because its a way to spend time with a non-deadly family member. Although he questions how deadly you are when it comes to a sale.

•"Hey! Thats on sale!"

°"But didn't that lady already cut infront to take it?"

•"That doesn't mean I'm gonna let her keep it!"

•Its like watching deers headbutt eachother. Then you just come back with the biggest grin holding up the shirt you wanted and adding it to the pile.

•When it comes to the food I pray for the people cooking..

•The two of you together have nearly been banned due to how much you eat, one restaurant offered to pay you two to just leave and stop ordering.

•You guys do play fight, at random times too.

•One minute you're getting along and they next, one of you is punching the other in the face.

•Goku bites. It's Canon, we see it all the time so don't think he won't chomp down just because yall are play fighting.

•it might also be payback for when you bit him...

#x reader #x y/n #anime #x you #dragon ball z #dbz x reader #platonic #dbz fandom #goku #Feral reader #sister brother #siblings

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sailorstarr-chan4 · 4 months ago

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Sugar and Spice - an InuKag coffee shop AU

What's this? An InuKag oneshot that is NOT porn? It's been ages! This fic has been 4+ years in the making (aka, collecting dust until I finally finished it today), and now, at last, I'm sharing it. In honor of 6 years since I shared the coffee shop AU headcanon list, here at last is my first "true" coffee shop AU for this fandom.

This is also officially my 100th Inuyasha ficlet that goes into my oneshot collections! I hope y'all enjoy some silly fluff! ❤

Posted under my "Tied Together" collection: ff.net & AO3

Words: 2,662

Setting: coffee shop AU

Rated: K+

DISCLAIMER: Yes, I've worked in food service and customer service and am fully aware that all I wrote below is bullshit. Fiction is fiction lol ^^"

~*~*~*~

“Sugar and spice and everything nice. That’s what little girls are made of.”

That stupid nursery rhyme, thought Kagome furiously as she jabbed at the coffee machine, was the biggest load of bull!

At the moment, this “little girl” was made of molten lava, bubbling under the surface of the falsely tranquil mountain of her Customer Service Persona, and any second now, she was going to blow her top.

All because of him!

The Asshole, with short silver hair, golden eyes, perpetual frown, and absurdly adorable dog ears, came into Kagome’s workplace every Friday morning. For the past four months. And not a single occasion had passed where he remotely acted like a decent person!

He seemed to use Coffee for the Soul (the cafe where Kagome normally adored working) as an outlet for all his personal problems. Yeah, one of those customers.

Kagome actually considered herself somewhat an expert of dealing with those sorts; she had an uncanny talent of letting their snippiness and rude manners roll off her back like water on a duck, and smiling so sweetly and behaving with such politeness that eventually even the angriest customer either slipped away shamefaced or let their anger temporarily melt away.

But not with him. She had no patience with The Asshole. It was simply impossible!

Still, Kagome had a rep at Coffee for the Soul for being “the sweet barista,” so every Friday was a test of her fortitude. At first, she took it head-on, with all the enthusiasm of any wide-eyed bushy-tailed newcomer, despite already being employed there for two years.

But then, he had snatched the cup from the counter, glared at her, and spat out, “You smell funny.” And promptly left the premises!

Fuming, Kagome had spent the rest of her shift off-kilter, with sharp movements and incoherent mutterings under her breath, causing her coworkers’ heads to turn in surprise. From then on, Fridays became a tense battlefield of wits: the Asshole Customer vs the Slowly-Losing-Her-Cool Barista.

“Kagome, I can take over, if you want–” her coworker and friend Sango tried offering once, but Kagome refused point blank.

“This. Is. War!” she had snarled, pushing the buttons and slamming down utensils with such ferocity that no one dared tried to argue.

So, every week Kagome and The Asshole had their “face-off,” with tension one could cut with a knife until he left the premises. The only blessing of that infamous customer’s regularity was that his order was forever the same: black coffee, with a shot of espresso.

After a month of his weekly visits, it was suggested that maybe, perhaps, the baristas could already prepare his drink ahead of time. Best case scenario, he leaves Coffee for the Soul all the earlier (and lessen the damaged mood of a certain stubborn employee). Worst case scenario, he changes his order and they cut their losses.

Kagome shot down the suggestion with a righteous fury.

“He can wait for his stupid order just like everyone else!” she hissed at Sango. “And he can go through my suggestions and sales-pitches, too!”

(Sango chose not to say that Kagome normally avoided the sales pitch with other customers, preferring to take the “personable” approach that generally opened them up to trying new things without her input. It was a brilliant, psychological tactic that worked most of the time, so she really did not, in fact, have to do the Sales Pitch Spiel with The Asshole.)

And thus, Fridays always ended up the same way:

The Asshole enters the cafe.

Kagome greets him with a beaming smile that fools absolutely no one.

The Asshole begins to tell his usual order.

Kagome cuts him off with a long, cheerful spiel on all the various types of drinks, additives, and specials.

The Asshole scowls. Mutters something along the lines of “you talk too much.”

Kagome beams with the radiance of a thousand suns.

The Asshole mutters, “Just black coffee, with a shot of espresso.”

Kagome: “Would you also like that with a shot of caramel, vanilla, hazelnut, nutella, chocolate, mint, or strawberry?”

The Asshole: “Plain. Nothing else.”

Kagome, her smile almost unnaturally wide: “Very good, sir. And would you like whipped cream, soy or whole milk?”

The Asshole, growling slightly: “No. Just black. And espresso. Like I said a million times already.”

Kagome, positively overflowing with the Joy of Providing Good Customer Service: “Excellent choice, sir.” Gives the same exact total amount that The Asshole pays every week. Meticulously counts back his change, all the while smiling uncannily.

The Asshole pockets his change. Sits down. Glares at Kagome’s back (according to witnesses) as she cheerfully, painstakingly, slowly prepares his coffee before personally coming around the bar and placing it on his table with a chirpy, “Here’s one black coffee, with espresso, and no additional flavors, cream, or any interesting whatsoever! Enjoy your drink, sir!”

The Asshole furrows his brow, downs his coffee in one gulp while glaring into Kagome’s equally fiery eyes behind her fake smile, tosses the cup, and stomps outside without a word of gratitude, the door bell jingling in his wake.

This exchange became famous. There were variations, of course, oftentimes on The Asshole’s end, where he’d cut Kagome off faster than usual and bark at her to “stop stalling and give me my fucking coffee already.” At which point, a venomously smiling Kagome would politely tell the customer that rude language was not appropriate at this establishment and if he did not comply, she would suggest he find business elsewhere.

(He never did. Kagome seethed about it constantly.)

At first, Kagome’s coworkers were scared she would get a “talk” from her higher-ups, but to everyone’s astonishment, no reprimand or discipline was issued. The supposed reason? “As inappropriate as we would generally find that behavior, the customer has never filed a complaint and continues to give us business. So, we’ll let it slide this time, but expect exemplary service with the rest of our patrons.”

(That was the spoken reason, but Sango, Miroku, and Shippo, all eyeing their normally bubbly and genuine coworker turn into a terrifying fake, condescending queen when face-to-face with the source of her wrath, suspected that the managers found it, well, entertaining.)

Miroku was the first one to make that observation after two months of “the war.” He noted that even the other customers were positively gleeful, watching Kagome and The Asshole rather like watching boxers in a ring. Newcomers would be quickly and quietly filled in on the scoop and they’d find themselves invested in the tense face-off as well.

“I would not be surprised if our bosses have a betting ring going around or something,” Miroku confided in Sango and Shippo while Kagome was on break.

“That’s so unprofessional!” Sango gasped.

“Can you imagine how bored you’d have to be with your life,” Shippo piped up thoughtfully, “to be that invested in the love lives of total strangers? Talk about pathetic.”

(Sango and Miroku were not fooled. Shippo eagerly watched “the show” every week just like everyone else.)

Because regardless of the rage behind Kagome’s eyes, despite the rants and ravings she subjected her coworkers to about how abominable The Asshole was, there was no denying how she was obviously, hopelessly attracted to him.

No one told Kagome this, of course. No one dared incur her wrath any further than necessary. But her cheeks always reddened when the telltale bell rang at 9 am and he entered the cafe. She always smirked when making his drink, and always watched him leave afterwards.

The love-hate-tension between Barista and Customer was the greatest source of entertainment anyone could ask for.

Until one day, when a change of the routine nearly threw everything into unmitigated chaos.

The Asshole came inside, looking uncharacteristically nervous and twitchy. Kagome primed herself for another battle, barely registering the way his usual scowl was missing and in its place was a rather pleading, puppy-eyed look.

“One black coffee and one pumpkin spice latte, please,” he said in one go before Kagome opened her mouth.

The morning buzz around them fell deafeningly silent. Sango froze in place of handing a customer their drink, Miroku’s hand nearly burned on the oven, and Shippo all but literally choked on his drink of water. Every single person, customer and barista, were staring at the nameless customer and a rigid Kagome.

Kagome opened her mouth a few times like a dying fish, shook herself, and croaked out, “Repeat that one more time, please?” There was no sign of her over-the-top Customer Service persona.

“One black coffee and one pumpkin spice latte, please and thank you,” The Asshole repeated, blushing furiously, but his tone was sincere.

Kagome blinked. There was a ringing in her ears. He never said “please” or “thank you.” And he certainly never ordered a second drink, let alone pumpkin spice!

Come to think of it, he was also dressed nicely. Instead of his usual red leather jacket and dirty jeans, he cleaned up rather well, with a button-up shirt and slacks, and dress shoes. Dress shoes?! Kagome’s head swam. Was he on a date? Oh gods, he was definitely on a date!

The silence in the cafe renewed its buzz, but this time with an uptick in excitement. Everyone was wondering the same as her, gossiping delightedly over who his date was going to be, and how their beloved barista was going to “take the heartbreak.”

Well, they had no reason to fret or fuss. Because Kagome had nothing whatsoever to care about! The Asshole may be a thorn in her side, but plenty of women had bad taste and went for those types. So what if he had a date? So what if he cleaned up way too nicely and looked devastatingly handsome, but also adorable in how nervous and shy he clearly was? So what?!

“Your, uh, your usual is different today, hehe,” Kagome awkwardly laughed, hating herself for losing the battle. “You on a — a date or something? Haha, just kidding, I—”

“Yeah, um,” the Asshole ran his hand through his hair, grinning bashfully, “I’m hoping she’ll…. like the gesture.”

And then, the volcano finally erupted.

Without a shred of fake niceness in her voice, Kagome coldly gave the total amount to her regular customer and all but threw the change into his hand without counting. She stomped over to the latte machine and started to prepping the order, her vision going red.

Who was she?! Who was the one who took her asshole away?!

Wait…. What?

“Kagome…” a concerned voice broke into her reverie. “Your hand’s shaking.”

Sango gently but firmly removed the partially-made drink from Kagome and quietly suggested that she sit in the back to “take a moment.”

Angry tears pricking her eyes, Kagome furiously splashed cold water on her face from the sanctity of the bathroom, before gazing at her reflection. What was the deal? Why did this bother her so much? She hated The Asshole! She dubbed him “The Asshole” for good reason! He insulted her! He was always such a jerk!

But then again, how much of that was just a bad first impression?, whispered a treacherous voice in her mind. Has he ever actually been a jerk since that first day?

And loath she was to admit it, Kagome could not think of a singular incident. Grumpy, to be sure, blunt and ungracious, certainly, but not really an outward “asshole.” If anything, her petty behavior over the past few months outweighed his terrible first impression.

Shame washed over Kagome. Shame, jealousy, and sadness. Such a waste…. All this time, she could have employed her actual customer service skills and had gotten to know him. Instead, she lost her chance and now he was chatting away with some pretty young thing and would probably never order his usual black coffee with espresso ever again—

“Hey, Kagome?” Sango’s tentative voice called out, knocking on the door. “You mind coming out?”

“Just a second,” Kagome called out, rubbing her face clean. She stepped out into the kitchen, and was promptly seized by a pair of hands.

Before she could ask what was needed, Sango had already untied Kagome’s apron. “Sango, wha–?”

“No time! Here, take my hairbrush and tease your hair a bit — oh never mind, I’ll do it!”

“Sango! Pft!” Kagome blew her hair out of her face, fumbling as Sango frantically worked around her. “What are you—ouch! That’s my hair tie! What’s going—”

“It’s a shame you’re not wearing something cuter, but it can’t be helped. After all, if he was won over by that gross cold attitude you’ve been dishing out, I’m pretty sure he’d want you even in a potato sack…”

“Who would want me? Sango, what are you talking about?!”

Sango paused in her hairbrushing, and stared, stunned, at the bewildered Kagome. “You really don’t know? Oh, this is even better—!”

“Better? Know what???”

“Just head out and see!”

“See? What are you—- ah!”

And with that, Kagome was tossed unceremoniously from the back, and out onto the “floor,” or customer area of the cafe. Spluttering, she flipped her hair out of her face and looked around. The Asshole was standing nervously at his usual table, clutching his two drinks. Upon noticing her arrival, he walked over, looking for all the world like a lovestruck schoolboy about to ask out his crush.

Kagome blinked, realizing he was not looking over her shoulder, but rather squarely at her, into her eyes. Heat rose on her face. “Wh-what…. Do you have something to say?” Or are you just going to be rude again and break my heart? The voice said, unbidden, in her mind.

The Asshole reached out and offered one of his drinks. It was a pumpkin spice latte.

“Let’s start over. My name is Inuyasha, I’ve liked you for months, and thought we’d have a chat over some coffee.” His face was burning red, and his ears lowered low on his head, but his eyes remained resolutely fixed on hers.

Sharp inhales scattered around them. The entire cafe seemed to have collectively held their breath.

Kagome stared blankly. Then blinked. “Come again?”

Inuyasha took a shaky breath and began: “My name is Inuyasha—”

“No, no, I heard you. I just…. I don’t believe it.”

“Why doncha sit down and then maybe you'll listen to me instead of just assuming?”

There it was. That was her beloved Asshole. Suddenly, Kagome grinned happily and took the proffered drink.

“A pleasure to meet you, Inuyasha. My name is Kagome, and, um,” she blushed so hard she was fairly certain steam was coming off the top of her head, “I’ve… liked you for months, too.”

“I FUCKING KNEW IT! Cough up, Shippo! You owe me $20!”

Inuyasha and Kagome both jumped a foot in the air and spun around. Half of the cafe was applauding, the other half harassing each other for exchanges of —-

“You placed bets on us?!” Kagome lamented to an excitable Sango who was counting her winnings to Miroku, while Shippo sulked.

“Well, I thought it was awful at first,” Sango said nonchalantly, “but I confess, I couldn’t resist after today!”

Kagome turned and looked Inuyasha in the eye. They both started laughing and sat down, trying to ignore the chaos around them.

“Oh by the way,” Kagome said, taking a sip of her latte, “how did you know to order pumpkin spice?”

“I can smell it on you. The day we met, you….. smelled so much like pumpkin and vanilla, it was overwhelming. I, er, thought you smelled rather nice.”

“That’s not remotely what that sounded like,” Kagome said, raising an eyebrow.

Inuyasha grinned, looking slightly abashed. “I have a bad habit of putting my foot in my mouth. And I can be awfully stubborn. Betcha you know what that’s like.”

Kagome’s face burned even hotter and she sipped her drink. “Well, girls are made of sugar and spice, you know,” she said cheekily.

#Starling writings #AU #coffee shop #Inuyasha #Inuyasha fanfic #Tied Together #Sugar and Spice #InuKag #Inuyasha x Kagome #StarlingChild4 #OP #20 notes

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coffee-at-daybreak · 2 years ago

Text

no more games | brynjolf x f!reader

can't sleep it's skyrim sexyman thirsting time. also! this is really only labeled as f!reader bc bryn says "lass" a few times but otherwise there are no explicit pronouns used for reader. it also gets like the slightest bit steamy but i don't think it needs any tags, lmk if i should though! anyway hope you enjoy tysm for reading!!!

Not even the pouch of septims tucked along your belt makes a noise as you slip into the entrance of Nightingale Hall. The singing of crickets fades behind you, replaced by the eerie silence of the cave.

You continue all the way down the windy tunnel, past the waterfall and run down bridge alongside it. You pass through the archway leading into the main interior hall, bathed in warm light from the nearby torches. Then, you finally relax.

Your shoulders droop and your lungs expand with a deep breath. You pull your hood off your head and reach for the newly attained loot at your belt. A small, hefty pouch of septims, with a valuable piece of jewelry wrapped tightly around it.

You drift closer to one of the torches to get a better look. A necklace, you realize. In your hurry to snatch it off that sleeping nobleman at the Bee and Barb, you'd barely gotten a glance at it. All you knew at that moment was that it was valuable, and you had to have it.

With deft fingers, you pull the necklace off the pouch and hold it up to study the material. It's made of shiny gold, and has a large pendant dangling off of it. The pendant is round, with a small but glimmering red stone in the center, and intricate markings etched into the gold around it.

You're turning the treasure between your fingers when you hear a low whistle come from behind you.

"Now that's quite the prize," Brynjolf's voice flows across the hall. You turn around to see him slipping in from one of the nearby tunnels.

You turn back to the necklace, trying to ignore the sudden jump in your heart rate. "You know me - I have to take anything that catches my eye."

Brynjolf chuckles. "I don't blame you for it, lass." He stops next to you. "Where'd you get it?"

"Some rich drunkard at the inn. I don't think he'll miss it much." You hold out the necklace by the pendant for him to see. When he goes to take it, his fingers just barely graze over your own. The flicker of warmth you feel from them seems to shoot all the way up your arm.

He studies the necklace for a moment, giving you a chance to study him. His emerald eyes are bright with awe, and his russet hair looks even brighter, nearly matching the intensity of the torch light. He's in his Nightingale garb, but everything's slightly .. unkempt. He definitely didn't just come back from a job like you.

"Flawless ruby, for sure," he murmurs. "Very valuable, indeed." His eyes flick to catch your own. "And quite the beauty."

You cross your arms and hold his gaze. You pretend not to notice the gesture - and pretend you don't feel a blush crawling up your neck. "I am not trading that in to Delvin. Don't even ask."

He grins. "What if I take it off your hands?"

You reach over and snatch it from him. "Not for sale."

He chuckles again, a low rumble from deep within his chest. You tuck the necklace into one of the many pockets at your belt and start to head back to the waterfall cave. Crashing into one of those old beds there sounds rather tempting right now.

"What are you doing here right now, anyway?" You ask Brynjolf as you walk. His footsteps trail behind you.

"Housekeeping, of course," he replies. "This place has more cobwebs than the Ratway."

You smile at the hint of disgust in his tone. "Afraid of spiders, are you?"

"Aye, just a bit. I don't much like the thought of them crawling around while I sleep."

You roll your eyes in amusement as you stop next to a bed. The gentle rushing water of the fall and creek echo around the room. The familiar smell of wet stone and misty air flows to your nose. It's not the most pleasant scent, but it's a significant difference from the cistern.

"I'm surprised you're up at all," you say with a snicker. "It's rather late."

Your gloves come off, and you stoop down to start working off your boots. You hear another couple approaching footsteps.

"What if I said I was hoping to run into you here?" Brynjolf asks.

This time, your heart feels like it's leaped into your throat. You try to swallow the nerves down, and focus on slipping off your boots. "You can run into me anytime in the cistern - anywhere in Riften, really. Why here?"

"Because we're alone."

You straighten up, and turn around, and nearly jump back. He'd moved much closer now, a mere hand's width away. The sudden proximity just about takes the breath out of you.

His eyes seem dark, but there's a little bit of torch light reflecting off of them. And when he smiles, they seem to glimmer. Very much like the stone of that necklace. Something about his eyes is much more captivating, though.

"I know you feel it, too, lass," he murmurs, voice so soft that you wouldn't be able to hear it over the water if he weren't so close. The cave air suddenly feels warmer than it did a moment ago.

You gulp. "Feel what?"

Brynjolf's head tilts slightly, and he lifts an eyebrow. You know he's clever enough to figure out when you're playing dumb. But of course, he has to play along.

He takes a step closer. You back up, but your back meets the rough stone of a wall, and you freeze.

"Don't be coy, now." His eyes break away from your own, only to travel around your face. You see them looking at your hair, your cheeks, your nose. Then back to your eyes. "I don't exactly try to hide it anymore, if you couldn't tell."

You exhale. Your breath comes out choppy. You don't try to hide it either, because the first thing you look at when you break your eyes away from his is his lips. That slight smirk in them makes your insides coil.

You had felt a connection with Brynjolf from the moment you'd met. It didn't take long to realize it was more than just a platonic connection. You'd never forget the way your heart went into a frenzy when you and Karliah returned from Snow Veil Sanctum and Brynjolf was trembling with relief. Or the way you'd held each other in Bronze Water Cave, trembling from both the tumultous battle with Mercer and the freezing water you'd so desperately escaped. And the little moments in between the big ones had the same effect. It felt like a game - a tedious, frustrating game of throwing flirtations and quips at each other to see who would crack first. You couldn't deny it any longer, and truthfully, you were tired of trying.

"You know it's not wise, though," you say. Your words are a protest, but the way you tilt your head up, closer to his own, is the opposite. "We're Nightingales now, after all. Sworn to duty, with no distractions."

Brynjolf pauses for a moment. His hand lifts, and finds the side of your face. You suppress a shiver as the warm skin of his thumb brushes your cheekbone.

"I think we can find a balance, lass." He leans a tad inch closer, and his breath is ghosting over you.

You let out another shaky breath. Your eyes flutter closed when his thumb moves lower. It trails along your cheek, under your jaw, down your neck. He spreads his hand along the side of your neck, and you know he must feel your racing pulse somewhere in there.

"I took an oath to Nocturnal because I had to," he whispers. "But you-" his other hand circles your waist, pulling you closer, and by the Gods you nearly collapse against him. Your hands press flat against his chest in an effort to steady yourself. You grow weaker still as he continues, "I'd willingly lay my life down for you. I'd do anything for you."

His voice seems to flow around you. You can hardly imagine your surroundings anymore - you only feel his hand trailing your side, his breath tickling your skin, his heartbeat thumping beneath your palm. His entire presence is like honey, as if you could melt right into it.

"Bryn-" Your hushed breath is cut short. His hand is coming off your waist, and coming up between the two of you.

You open your eyes. He's holding up the golden necklace, dangling from his fingers.

He grins. That stupid, charming grin.

You narrow your eyes. "Really?"

"Easy pick." He leans back, but his other hand doesn't come completely off of you. It glides from your neck to your shoulder, leaving sparks in its wake. He gives the necklace a light swing with his other hand. "Take it back if you can."

You merely glare at him. He still wants to play games. You don't.

Your hand flies out. Brynjolf reels back instinctively. But instead of your hand fishing for the necklace, you hook it around one of the buckles on his chest, and pull him in until your lips meet.

Heat floods you instantly, from just about everywhere. He kisses you back so fiercely that you nearly lose your footing again. But his arms are quick to take you in, one squeezing around your waist and the other coming up along your back. Just as you break the kiss for a gasp of air, his hand buries in your hair, and he's angling your head to bring you back in.

You clutch at him, pressing as close as you can. It almost feels like you could mold into him, with how perfectly your body fits against his own. It feels right - he feels right.

You lose track of how many kisses you exchange, how many gasps of air you trade, how many times your hands grip each other in a new spot. You lose yourself completely in him, in his firm lips, in his powerful arms, in that faint taste of Black Briar mead on his tongue and -

Someone clears their throat behind you both.

In an instant, Brynjolf breaks the kiss and whirls on his feet. He pulls you with him though, earning a small gasp from you when his arm stays hooked firmly around your waist. His other hand is quick to pull out a dagger and point it in front of him.

Karliah leans against the archway, her violet eyes glimmering in the faint light of the cave. "Good evening," she murmurs.

Brynjolf huffs, his chest heaving against your own. "By Talos, lass. Thought you were an intruder."

You're struggling to catch your breath, especially since you're still pressed up close to him. Your head is spinning and a fuzzy warmth takes over your face as you glance up at Karliah.

The Dunmer tilts her head. "No, but it seems I did intrude on something." She leans off the wall. "My apologies. I'll be off... housekeeping."

She disappears down the tunnel as quietly as she came. There's a brief second of silence save for the gurgling water nearby and your heart still roaring in your ears.

You can't help the giggle that builds up, though, and drop your forehead against Brynjolf's chest. "Alone, huh?"

He scoffs, his breath tickling your hair. "Sorry, love. In my defense, the girl's a ghost."

You laugh again. Just as you start to catch your breath, you feel Brynjolf's hand hook under your chin, and he's tilting your head up. There's another fluttering warmth in your belly as you meet his gaze.

"No more dancing around the matter, right?" He asks, voice soft but serious. His eyes search yours intently. "No more games?"

You hum thoughtfully. You lift a hand up, where the golden necklace peeks out from your fingers. "I make no promises."

He chuckles, head shaking with amusement. "Aye, that's what I expected. So be it."

He yanks the necklace from you once again, and dives back in to crash his lips to yours before you can protest.

#skyrim #elder scrolls #elder scrolls skyrim #tes #tesv #dovahkiin #dragonborn #brynjolf #brynjolf skyrim #brynjolf x reader #x reader #reader insert #thieves guild #fanfic #its been years and this man still has a chokehold on me #as always feedback is appreciated!

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ladylooch · 2 years ago

Note

would literally love anything nico rn like i’m in such a fic drought and i love your writing so much plssss nico 🥹💗

maybeeee more drunk reader or overprotective nico 🥹

A/N: You know what, how about both? And thank you so much for your sweet words! I truly appreciate your request and kindness and reading my work 🥰 Hope you like this!

Finally, find you a partner who will save you when you need it. That shit is hot.

Warnings: creepy man, reader is drunk, swearing, physical violence.

Word Count: 717

The bass of the music thumps against the heels of your black boots as you wait for a drink at the bar. You’re out in the city with your boyfriend and his teammates/significant others, blowing off some much needed steam before the grind of playoffs begins. You had made a quick stop at the bathroom before weaving your way to your place now in search of another drink.

You probably don’t need another, but your buzz feels so good you want to keep chasing it.

You make casual conversations with a guy who points out your sparkly boots. In standard, drunk girl fashion, you gush about how you got them on sale at Nordstrom Rack. He takes your friendliness as an invitation, tilting in closer to you until you feel pinned between him and the bar.

“What do you say we get out of here? You look like you could use some company tonight.” You wrinkle your nose in discomfort. Pings of danger dash down your limbs as something about his previously friendly demeanor changes. He leers at your breasts, biting his lip like you’re a snack.

“Um, no, I don’t want to.”

“I think you do.” He leans in closer until the smell of whiskey from his breath assaults your nose.

“No I really don’t.” You become more forceful with your no, raising your voice in hopes someone overhears you. The music is too loud and your tone seems to get lost in the bass.

“Come on, sweetheart. We can have a good time together. Make each other feel good.”

You lean back as he reaches for you. It’s almost not real life. It feels like you’re watching from above, knowing you need to move away, search for someone safe, but the alcohol won’t let you react fast enough. You’re about to scream in panic, when a blur moves in front of you. Someone steps between your bodies, knocking two palms into the man’s chest so he falls backwards off his stool. His back thuds hard against the wood floor, vibrating in your chest along with your rapid pulse.

“She said no.” It’s Nico. You sober up instantly, recognizing this could be bad.

“Neeks.” You call, placing your hands on his back. He ignores you.

“You are one lucky bastard.” He seethes at the man, standing over him, practically spitting. “If even one tip of your finger had touched her, you would be bleeding out on this god damn floor.” Nico’s breathing is ragged as he gulps in air between words. His European accent is thick in the air from how angry he is. The man scrambles back at the threatening look on your boyfriend’s face. Nico’s hands are squeezed into fists at his side. You press your forehead to his spine, hoping he will let this go without further confrontation.

You’re safe now with Nico; that’s what matters.

“Geez, we were just talking.” The man insists, crawling back to standing. “I didn’t touch her.”

“No, but you were going to. Even after she told you no. You’re a fucking piece of shit. Get the fuck out of here.”

“Sorry.” The man mutters as a lame parting shot. He picked the wrong woman to try and snatch. The rest of the bar slowly goes back to their drinks and conversations. Nico’s shoulders are shaking with heavy breaths as he turns back to you.

“Tell me you’re okay?” He is so soft when he touches you around your rib cage.

“Yes. I’m okay.” You run your hands up his arms, lacing your fingers around his neck to pull his lips down to yours. “I was scared.”

“I know. I saw it all. I got to you as fast as I could.” He motions to the crowded bar. Saturday night in the city makes it hard to move around. The rest of the Devils come shoving through; Jack Hughes even has his hands up ready to throw down with his captain. Nico waves them back to the table.

“Take me home.” You plead to him, burrowing your face into his chest. You shudder in relief as his arms wrap tightly around you. His mouth places delicate kisses along your hair, holding you, letting the world disappear until it’s just you and him.

“Let’s go.” He agrees, wrapping a secure, shielding arm around your shoulders and walking you both from the crowded bar.

#nico hischier #nico hischier x reader #nico hischier blurb #new jersey devils #hockey writing #my writing #nhl fan fiction #writing requests

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themisimagines · 1 year ago

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every (damn) time

part 2/? of making my way through the nosebleed club july prompts content: 5+1 formula, general fluff, exceedingly mild nudity, suggestive themes, numbers 2 to 5 under the cut characters: marius focused, fem!reader, generic nxx as window dressing otherwise known as: 5 times marius von hagen was louder than a damn bull horn and 1 time he was not

(1)

Your fingers hesitate over the keypad, the water slowly rising to your chin. Of course, you're panicking, but you can't let yourself - the rest of your team is on the other side of the wall, and you can't let them down.

It's literally a scene from a Bond movie, which this villain has clearly watched too many of. You watch the boys scramble and dive down again and again to find the code that will release the water and allow you to escape. Just as you're about to give up hope, Luke bursts to the surface, and unfurls a scroll from its waterproof covering. He tries to shout the numbers out to you, but it's no good, the rushing water is too loud in your ears, and you're struggling to hit the right numbers, instead of the code that will unleash the crocodiles into the water.

You're all going to die here, just inches away from survival. You want to float upwards until the water covers your head. But then you see Marius snatch the scroll from Luke's hands and somewhere, from the depths of his lungs, pull out a voice which literally pierces your brain, yelling out the numbers one by one, which you punch in because all your lives literally depend on it. The water levels recede. A gaudy exit with flashing lights and sparklers is revealed, because yes, the villain is that much of an asshole.

"Who knew you had a pair of lungs like that?" you hear Luke ask from the other side of the barrier, Marius just laughs in utter relief.

(2)

You're in the dressing room, wondering if the dress suits you after all. It's a shade of pale pink, but as you turn this way and that, you're still not quite sure.

"JIE JIE!" you hear someone bellow in the distance. Probably some kid looking for their sibling.

Just as you are about to unzip yourself from the dress, there it is again, even louder. It seems pretty familiar, actually.

Then, from right outside the changing room: "JIE JIE!"

"Sir," the desk clerk says sternly. "I'll call security if you continue to shout like this."

There's only one person you know who could be this loud, so you quickly step out of the changing rooms to try and defuse the situation.

"Marius, stop shouting. I'm in here."

You step out to see Marius at the changing room entrance, and he beams when he sees you. "There you are Jie JIe! I thought I lost you."

"You know they have an actual loudspeaker, right? You don't have to shout. But anyway, you're literally a fully grown man, couldn't you have just texted me?"

"I thought about it, but they wouldn't let me use the loudspeaker to find my girlfriend so this was the next most embarrassing thing." He winks at you.

You roll your eyes. "Let me at least put my own clothes back on before you cause another scene?"

"The dress looks good on you, Jie Jie!" he says, raising his voice. Then turning to the sales clerk, "Here, take my credit card. Buy all the clothes she tried on in there just now."

(3)

When arguments inevitably occur at the NXX headquarters, Marius is usually the last to lose his temper, but when he does, it's like a small explosion. Even Vyn, usually so used to dealing with erratic patients, is surprised whenever Marius raises his voice, as if shocked by the passion behind his voice. Artem shrinks at it, becoming colder and icier. Luke goes completely quiet. But like a storm, the moment always passes, and Marius is back to his unruffled self, point made. Apologetic, almost, for losing control for that second, but too aware of how much is at stake to back down.

(4)

It's time for the annual sports day held between all the law firms in Stellis, and your event is the 4 x 400m women's race, where you happen to be the final runner. It's been a neck and neck competition between Themis and Baldr so far, and Artem has just clinched victory in the men's race for your team, bringing you both to a tie. If you manage to win this one, it means glory for the firm.

The NXX team is on the sidelines cheering for you, Vyn once again far too overdressed and with a fedora to boot, while Luke and Marius have literally made homemade signs for both you and Artem and are cheering their hearts out.

The starting gun goes and you get into position, heart racing in your chest. you throw the baton back and you squeeze your eyes shut, waiting for your signal. Kiki approaches you, just a few seconds behind the Baldr runner, and you start running, grabbing onto the baton and holding on to it for dear life, overtaking your competitors and then hitting the finish line, so quickly that you stumble to a halt, rolling onto the grass.

Your teammates surround you - you guys have finally won. Marius rushes over you, roaring with happiness, lifting you up on his shoulders as all the Themis Law Firm celebrate, and you're on the top of the world.

(5)

There are many sides to Marius, but the one you see the least is Marius unguarded, not putting up the perfectly cultivated rich boy persona he's crafted to deal with the rest of the world and his status as one of the heirs to the richest family in Stellis.

When you're both alone, however, you try to get his guard down. Marius is notoriously ticklish, and once he starts laughing, he can't seem to stop, cackling even though you've stopped touching him, squirming away from you and begging for mercy.

(+ 1)

"What?" You ask, crossing your hands over your chest. "Say something at least."

Marius is completely speechless for once, mouth open and eyes wide. You feel self conscious, blushing under his gaze.

"Come on, surely this isn't the first time you've seen a woman naked, surely?" You try to tease him.

"You're beautiful," he finally says in an hushed tone, pulling you closer to him, hands wandering all over you as if you're a precious object he wants to savour. Moving further down your body, you think to yourself that perhaps finally you've found something that can keep Marius quiet - for a while.

#tears of themis #marius von hagen #tears of themis imagines #tot imagines #marius x reader #marius von hagen x reader #lu jinghe #marius tot

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pondslime · 2 years ago

Photo

what have I done (to deserve this)

bo sinclair x afab!reader

rating: explicit

word count: 4k

Bo POV. It’s the day before Valentine’s. Bo goes shopping at a bargain outlet. In true romcom fashion, you’re there too.

Chance encounter meet-cute. Except it’s with the worst man this side of Baton Rouge. Sucks! But you get to make out with him! Hope that’s worth the incoming pain and misery, bestie!

Crossposted on AO3 here.

Very self-indulgent and GOOFY. A heaping dose of humor and general dumbassery. Big warning for Bo being Bo. We’re in his head and he is, as always, so stupid. Reader does not have a car for porn reasons. That’s it. She’s a public transportation whore for roadhead purposes. She’s also kind of annoying. And a bratty bimbo.

The title of this fic comes from the song “What Have I Done to Deserve This” by Pet Shop Boys. It’s just a jazzy lil 80′s track that I could 100% picture playing in a bargain outlet over shitty speakers. Bo’s on his Gen X shit.

I just wanted to write about Bo encountering a chick who immediately wanted to hoover him down. Ambiguous ending with some unsettling implications.

This fic is a birthday gift for @raccoonspooky! 🦝💝👻 MWAH!!! I LUV U!!! HAPPY BDAY!!!! HAPPY BIRF!!! DAY!!!! HERE’S STUPID!!!! 4 U!!!

The bargain outlet stretches out in front of him, large yellow signs hanging from the warehouse ceiling. Sales down every aisle, 25% off on all kitchenware. Music blares out of loudspeakers, spitting out a song that Bo hasn’t heard since high school.

He’s thinking of his mother again.

Packed into the family car, bumping down the road to the department store. Just the two of them. Mama would tell him that it was because he couldn’t be left alone, that he wasn’t trusted like Vincent was—up at the big old house, drawing his pictures and staying out of the way.

Time seemed to drag on days like that, plodding along ungainly as Trudy slowly perused shelves. It always felt like he would be stuck there indefinitely, rotting away in front of the floral baking sets and printed potholders. When people congregated around the racks, Bo would reach up and grab her hand. Surrounded with onlookers, she’d let him hold onto it.

Sometimes they’d pass by the toy aisles, but she never gave them more than a passing glance. These trips weren’t for him, after all. Despite that, he looked forward to them with an odd giddiness.

Bo couldn’t be alone, but Vincent couldn’t get this.

Vincent didn’t get to watch himself reflected in the shining glass of the displays that their mother stopped at, tutting over bottles of perfume. He didn’t get to see the chrome and glossy mirrors, the array of beautiful women with long nails behind the counter tops. It wasn’t for him.

Bo would return home smug, carrying Mama’s bags. He always made sure to catch his brother’s eye.

Look. Pay attention. This is mine, it’s all mine. It isn’t yours.

He got in trouble one day. He couldn’t remember for what. Whatever it was, she got angry, and the trips stopped.

That department store had long since been razed. There weren’t a lot of things that stayed the same. Tradition was lost and paved over, turned into this.

Picking up a basket, he makes his way to the back of the store.

The hardware section is pitiful. It always is.

Tools are strewn everywhere, each one emblazoned with illegible clearance stickers. They never have the shit that he needs here. He sifts through the pile of haphazardly stacked tools, pulling a wrench out. It’s a twelve-inch, decent weight. He wraps his hand around it and knocks it against his palm. It’ll do.

On his way out of the aisle, he snatches up two rolls of duct tape and a pack of braided nylon rope.

There are some things you can never have too much of.

He cuts through the clothing department.

A store display looms overhead, announcing another sale. A woman pouts out of the ad, the heaving curve of her breasts spilling out of black lace. He feels something under his foot. Bending down, he plucks a bra off the ground. There’s a boot print across the front, dirt smeared across the polka dots.

“Good afternoon, shoppers!” A voice crackles over the intercom. “Two-for-one deals comin’ in hot this holiday season—”

Trudy would hate this place, with its messily stacked piles of clothes and the incessant beeping of the registers. That’s part of the reason he’s here.

“Um. Excuse me.”

“Huh?” He blinks, jerking his head up.

“Sorry, I just…” You look at him quizzically, your lips pursed. You’re holding a bra that looks identical to the one in his hands, sans dirt. “Need to get…uh. Behind you.”

“Yeah, of course.” He shuffles to the side. “Go on.”

He flicks through the rack, shoving the ruined bra unceremoniously to the back.

“You buying a bra?”

“Yeah.” He says absently. “For my sister.”

“…You’re buying your sister a bra?”

He turns to look at you. Wrenched away from the padded curve of the bras, he finally has a chance to assess you. Cute.

“Sister-in-law.” He amends.

Your brow scrunches in confusion and you nod slowly, fidgeting with the bra in your hands.

“I’m just messin’ with you.” He smiles.

“Okay.” You huff out a perplexed laugh.

He’s rummaging through the detergent when he sees you again.

“We just keep running into each other.” You remark.

“Seems like it.” Gesturing at the duct tape and utility gloves in his basket, he flashes you a smile. “Gotta get some stuff for work.”

“You a plumber?”

“Uh, no.” He’s unable to hide the flicker of indignation that twitches his lip up into a sneer. “Mechanic.”

Your lips curves into an open-mouthed O and he glances down at your left hand. Finding your ring finger conspicuously bare, he files that away for later. It’s not like he gives a shit, but less collateral is less collateral.

“I run a station not far from here.”

“That’s cool.” You pick up a lint roller. “Well, nice to meet you.”

Bo finds you in the Valentine’s aisle. Or you find him. He can’t really tell.

“Are you followin’ me ‘round here, girl?” He shoots you a bemused smile. “You gonna tell me your name, stalkin’ me like this?”

“Maybe. What’s yours?”

“Bo.”

“You buying that for your sister-in-law too?” You nod towards the box of conversation hearts he’s holding. “Can’t imagine your brother likes that much.”

“Now, that’s where you’re wrong. We share everythin’.”

“Oh yeah?” You grab a box of chocolates off the shelf, placing it in your cart. “Seems messy.”

“She’s a lucky girl.”

“That depends.” You quip. “What’s your brother look like?”

He angles toward you, resting his hand on the shelf.

“We’re twins.”

Your eyebrows raise.

Couple months ago, he had one downstairs that kind of looked like you. Same hair color. He has a lock of it in one of the gas station drawers. Her ID’s in there too, but he doesn’t remember her name. He couldn’t place it at first, but that’s who you remind him of. Another version of you, maybe. You’ve got the prettier mouth, though.

“Surprised this one didn’t sell.” You pluck a card off the wire rack. A goose peers off of the paper, surrounded by hot pink lettering.

VALENTINE, WON’T YOU LET ME GET A GANDER…

You flip the card open. With a sigh, you hold it up so he can read it.

…AT THEM HONKERS.

“That’s a good one.” He nods appreciatively.

The food court is tucked into the corner of the store, a collection of neon signs and scuffed tables. The whole area smells gray, strings of cheap cheese and the lemony reek of industrial cleaner.

As he appraises the menu, he notices you at the drink fountain. When you turn, your eyes go wide.

“This isn’t what it looks like.” You exclaim.

“Huh.” He sighs. “Darlin’, you keep this up and I’ll have to call the cops.”

You open your mouth once, close it.

“You hungry?” He gestures toward the menu.

“You’re not from ‘round here, are ya’?”

“I’m just passing through.”

“Hmm.” He murmurs out his acknowledgment. “You should stick ‘round for a bit. Nothin’ like Mardi Gras in Baton Rouge. Family vacation?”

“No, it’s just me.”

He hides his laugh around a forced cough. Pinching at the bridge of his nose, he clears his throat.

“Sorry. Cigarettes.” He smiles at you. “I’m thinkin’ ‘bout quittin’.”

You chew idly at your slice of pizza, your eyes drifting over his face. He arches a brow.

“You like what ya’ see?”

“I’m not sure.” Your lips twist into a smile. “I’m still trying to figure that out.”

You have a lot of damn nerve.

“You do this a lot?” He fixes you with a pointed look.

“What? Go shopping?” There’s something so hopelessly dumb about your expression. You’re blank and brainless, an assortment of curves and painted-on prettiness in front of him.

He imagines paddles whacking the careening Ping Pong ball of your thoughts across your brain. A thought misses the paddle, ricocheting off the side of the board. Game over. Fiddle with some buttons, start over. Another one comes to take its place, bopping uselessly in your skull.

He’s met enough of your type that it shouldn’t surprise him, but somehow it always does. Someone this stupid shouldn’t be allowed to wander too far. And yet, here you are, all by yourself. Just you and your flimsy hold on rational thinking, wandering around his state.

If he hadn’t have met you here, lord knows what trouble you would’ve gotten into. You’d probably have wandered out into the bayou. Blinking all pretty, getting stuck in the muck. Wrenching open a gator’s mouth and stepping into it just because you were curious how many teeth it had.

He’d pay good money to watch that.

“Don’tchu act all shy ‘bout this. You know what I’m askin’.” He tears the straw wrapper into tiny pieces, his gaze trailing down your neck and onto your breasts. “Ya’ make a habit of goin’ ‘round and propositionin’ men in stores?”

You choke out a laugh, your eyes going wide.

“I’m not propositioning you!”

“Whatchu doin’ eatin’ my pizza, then?”

“What am I…doing…” Your eyes twinkle with barely contained glee. You muffle a laugh around another bite of pizza. “…Eating…your pizza?”

“Yeah.” He leans back in the chair. “Ya’ seem pretty happy to be sittin’ right there. Eatin’ my pizza.”

“You’re very cute.” You wipe your mouth off with a napkin, staring pointedly at his hands.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” Grabbing a slice of pizza, he takes a bite.

It’s awful. Grimacing, he manages to swallow it down. Glancing down at it in disgust, he lets it fall limply back into the box. It takes him a moment before he remembers to readjust his face into one of tranquility, winking over at you.

“You know what.” You deliberate for a second, your eyes darting to his lips. “I think I am propositioning you.”

“There’s a theater next to my shop.” He smirks. “You wanna catch a movie?”

“I don’t wanna interrupt your work.”

“I got all the time in the world, honey.” He winks. “Truck’s outside.”

“You’re not gonna kill me, are you?” You rest your chin against your palm.

“Not yet.” He shakes his head. “Hardly know ya’ yet. That’d be jumpin’ the gun.”

“Alright. Fuck it.” You grin. “Let’s go.”

Standing in line at the register, he reaches into your cart and snatches out the box of chocolates.

“Hey!” You put your hands on your hips. “What are you…”

“Ya’ think I’m gonna make a girl buy her own chocolate? What I look like to you?”

You move to say something, your eyes glittering.

“If ya’ say plumber—” He gives you with a sharp look, narrowing his eyes. “I’ll tan your hide.”

“Is that a promise or a threat?” You stage-whisper, loading up the belt with items.

“Goddamnit, girl. Let’s get you outta this fuckin’ store.”

Pulling down a side road, he parks the truck.

“Hand me that, would ya’, baby?”

Rustling in the bag, he pulls out the box of chocolates. Ripping the plastic off, he tugs the lid open. He takes a bite of one. Cheap, shitty chocolate. Puts it back in its slot. Picks up another one and takes another bite. Caramel, but it’s still—

“You wanna give me my chocolate back?” You tap on his arm.

“Sorry, darlin’. I bought it. It’s mine.” He smirks at you. “Maybe if ya’ ask all pretty, I’ll give ya’ one.”

Your mouth falls open in shock and you let out a frustrated huff.

“That’s not fair!” You exclaim. “You lied.”

“Lyin’? Nah. Just omittin’ some details, sugar. It’s how we do it down here in Louisi—”

You clamor into his lap, making a grab at the chocolate. Popping one in your mouth, you bug your eyes out at him.

“Bad girl.” He tosses the box onto the dashboard. Reaching up, he grabs your chin, pulling you closer.

You taste like chocolate when he kisses you, his hand slipping down your jaw to tighten around your neck. You hum happily into his mouth, your hands on his shoulders. He can feel your breath under his fingers, the pulsing hammer of your heartbeat against his palm.

You’re always so close to death, to all that red and heat underneath, and you don’t even notice. He could press down a little more, constrict your airflow. Make it hurt. You need that, don’t you? You don’t have any fuckin’ structure. Leave you with your throat burning, your eyes swollen with tears. Make you thank him for that.

“I don’t really do this.” You murmur against his lips.

“Whatchu doin’ right now, then?”

You laugh, a breathless little noise. He reaches back and gathers your hair together at the back of your head. When he tugs your head back, you gasp.

“How bad ya’ want it?”

“I—” Discomfort flashes over your face. “Wait, um. Hold on. This is really awkward, but—”

You readjust yourself in his lap and he drops his hand, watching as you reach under your shirt. Biting down on your bottom lip, the strap of your bra slips down your shoulder. Working it through the sleeves of your shirt, you blow out a huff of relief. Stretching your arms to extricate the loops, you tug it free, tossing it onto the floor of his truck.

You turn back to him with a bashful smile.

“Movin’ fast, girl.”

"The wire's been digging into me all day.” You shake your head, glancing over your shoulder at your discarded bra. “I needed to get a new one, but—I got kinda distracted."

"And whose fault is that?"

You look at him curiously, as if his question is strange. You lean forward and flick at the brim of his cap, smiling.

"Well, yours, technically."

“Don’t see how that tracks.” He leans back onto the headrest.

“You distracted me.” Your voice goes high-pitched and melodic, a sing-song lilt that makes his hand tighten into a fist at his side.

He exhales, snorting out a laugh.

“You know what?”

“What?” You tilt your head, raising your brows.

“I changed my mind. I’m killin’ ya’.”

You blow a raspberry at him, rolling your eyes.

“Not yet, c’mon.” You whine, dropping kisses down the bridge of his nose. “It’s like you said. We haven’t even gotten to know each other yet!”

“You’re tryin’ my fuckin’ patience, girl.”

“Good.”

You’re a bratty fuckin’ thing. Untrained, not an ounce of discipline in you. You rock your hips against him, wetting your bottom lip. Tart and wild, a stubbornness coasting under your skin. He wonders how long you’ll be able to hold onto all that sass. What he’ll have to do to make sure you lose it. He can’t wait to see you cry—you’ll taste sweeter then, curled up inside yourself.

What kind of fuckin’ coincidence.

“Look at’chu.” He shakes his head in disbelief.

“What’d you say? Take a picture, it’ll last longer?”

“Oh, don’tchu worry, baby. I will.” He grins. “Gotta get you all warmed up first, though.”

Slipping his hand between your legs, he rubs at you through your jeans.

“You’re not fucking me in your truck.” With a giggle, you still his hand, tugging it back onto your hip.

“You gonna try to stop me?”

“Um, yeah.” A shriek of laughter spills out of your mouth and the movement rocks your body against his lap. “Anybody could see us!”

“Ya’ gonna tell me that’s what you’re worried about?” He squints at you, squashing down the glare that threatens to darken his features. Not yet. “After grindin’ on my lap like that?”

“Look, I’ve got a better idea.” Shimmying off his lap and onto the passenger seat, you grin at him. “When’s the movie?”

“The movie?” It takes a moment before the realization hits him. Scrubbing a hand over his mouth, he clears his throat. “Oh, uh—an hour.”

“And how far away is it?”

“Uh, twenty, thirty minutes.”

“Well. I don’t wanna miss it.” You tilt your head, raising a brow. “What if there’s a line?”

“There ain’t gonna be a line.” He says definitively, a wave of exhaustion settling over him.

“You don’t know that.” You laugh. “Anyway. I think…you should drive us there. Now. So we have time.”

He’s barely started the truck back up when he feels your hands at his belt, undoing the loop.

“The fuck you doin’?”

“Trust me.” You unzip his fly, pulling him out of his boxers.

You could be sweet if you wanted. All sugar. It’s easier that way, but you won’t want it easy. You’ll make him fight you for it.

You work your hand over his cock with a sigh of contentment. Your thumb teases over the slit, rubbing precum over the head of his cock. He feels a spike of irritation at you for wasting even an ounce of his spunk on your hands. As if to apologize, you bow your head, running your tongue up the underside of his cock. You’ll have to do better than that. Licking up the sensitive skin of his frenulum, you tease your mouth around him, letting him twitch against your tongue.

“Ya’ gonna suck it or not?” He snaps, keeping his eyes locked on the road. He doesn’t need to look down to know that you’re smiling.

“Don’t be grumpy.” Your voice floats up from his lap. “I’m just taking my time. You’re just so pretty.”

Pretty? Anger rushes through him. Calling him that—thinking you can, thinking that there wouldn’t be any consequences. Who raised you? For all your pathetic staring, you haven’t even seen what’s in front of you.

The lack of respect is sickening, making his balls feel heavy and tight. He needs to be down your throat, if only to shut you up. Give you something else to focus on. Every moment you’re near him, you’re signing yourself away. Doubling back, going over the contract in bubbly cursive.

You’re entirely unaware of how many marks you’re tallying up. Every swirl of your tongue sinks you deeper in debt. He wonders if you’d laugh if you knew just how many apologies you’re setting yourself up for.

With a hum, you take him into your mouth, swallowing your lips around his cock.

“Take it deep. Don’t you stop.”

A noise erupts from your mouth, but it’s garbled around his cock. He can’t tell, but he could have sworn that was a laugh.

He stops the truck abruptly, the movement thrusting him deeper into your mouth. You gag around him, a disgustingly wet noise at the back of your throat. With a wet pop, you pull your mouth off of his cock. The sudden loss of sensation draws a frustrated growl from his lips.

“Be careful.” Your lips are back on him. Mouthing kisses down his length, your nose bumps against his skin. “Don’t crash the car.”

“I’ve been drivin’ this truck for longer than—” You wrap your lips around the head of his cock and the sentence falters in his mouth.

He pictures you standing in the theater lobby. Confusion in your eyes, a slackness to your jaw. It’s odd and you’ll know it, right away. But you won’t do anything about it. You’ll second guess yourself. You think you’re so smart, don’t you? With that sweet little twist of your lips, batting your eyelashes at him, resting your hands on his shoulders. He wonders how long it’ll take for the confusion to lift. The realization settling over you, chilling you to the core.

You’ll look back at him and you’ll know.

A lifetime of mistakes all falling into place, your scream lost under the palm of his hand.

You should be fucked there. That’s how it should go.

He can’t wait. Not for anything, ever. Mama was always saying that. And with the wet clasp of your mouth around his cock, patience isn’t manageable. How could it be? You’ve taken up all of it, trapped it in your smile. He doesn’t have any more to give.

You bob your head up and down, resting your hands on his thigh.

“Good girl.” He mutters. You moan and he clenches his jaw, tightening his hold in your hair. “Just like that, c’mon.”

You raise your head off his cock again and murmur out his name, and his grip on the steering wheel turns his knuckles white.

You better be enjoying saying it. Let it live in that slutty mouth of yours for a while. It’ll be off limits soon.

There’ll be other things to call him. Later. He can see several of them in his head, stacked fifty feet high in neon. He probably won’t even have to tell you which one he wants, you’ll come up with it on your own. It’ll bubble up in your little head and you’ll drool it out helplessly, stuffed full with cock. Makeup smeared down your cheeks, caked under your eyes. He’d like to see you when you’re trying to fold into yourself. When you’re trying desperately to be anything but pretty for him.

He’s ready to take the shiny veneer of this personality off. It’s slipping now, he can feel it.

“Ain’tchu glad you met me?” He grunts out, his breaths coming out shallow.

You’re going to hate him soon enough, and he’ll be able to remind you that you didn’t before. That you can’t fool him into believing you don’t love his cock down your throat, that you don’t want his hands on you—he knows better, and you do too.

You moan your agreement against his cock. Glad, you’re fuckin’ glad. You’d better be.

He bucks up into your mouth when he cums, smacking his hand down on the steering wheel. You’re choking around him, making desperate little huffs through your nose. For your credit, you keep him in your mouth, tightening your lips around the base. He eases his foot off the accelerator, wetting his lips.

The truck slows to a crawl as he pants, leaning into the steering wheel. He shudders when he feels your lips tug off his cock, swirling your tongue around the oversensitive head.

“We there yet?” You cough a bit, carefully tucking him back into his boxers.

“Christ, girl.” He whistles through his teeth, glancing over at you. “Actin’ like I didn’t just fuck ya’ throat.”

“You didn’t fuck me. I fucked you. And no one saw.” Wiping your mouth off with the back of your hand, you giggle.

“Little cocksucker.”

“You loved it.” You chirp smugly, winking at him. It takes everything in his resolve not to grab you by your hair and slam your forehead into the dashboard. He can’t get blood in his truck again. Shit’s unprofessional. And he’s nothing if not a stickler for appearances. There’s a way to do these things, and you’ve forced him to rewrite his script halfway through the scene. He’s almost impressed with your lack of morals.

He can only imagine how wet you must be, soaking through your jeans. With the way you were moaning around his cock, your pussy must be aching for it.

He should lay a fuckin’ towel down. Protect the goddamn seats—he can’t get your blood on the upholstery, and you know that.

Tryin’ to leave your mark some other way, ain’tcha?

“Is this it?” You ask brightly, peering out the window.

“Yup.” He parks, turning to you. “Think you can do me a favor?”

“What?”

“Just gotta check on somethin’ with the truck. You wanna run into the shop and put this on the counter?” He grabs the chocolate box off the dashboard and stuffs it into the plastic bag. “Wouldn’t want it meltin’.”

“Sure.”

You hop out of the truck, looking at him expectantly.

“Go on, pretty thing. I’ll be right behind ya’.”

As you push the door of his shop open, he stuffs your bra in the glove compartment. It’s cute. You won’t be needing it.

#big STUPID!!! big!!! fuckin!!! STUPID!!!#bimbo to bimbo communication in this fic rlly and truly #house of wax #bo sinclair #bo sinclair x reader #slashers x reader #slasher fandom #x reader #my fics

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fiddleturnips · 7 months ago

Text

Bonding

This is an excerpt from a larger, incomplete chapter.

Stanley slammed the door on his way out. He didn't really have anywhere else to go, though, so he didn't go anywhere. He sat on the porch and smoked, staring at these unfamiliar Northwest mountains and thinking about how stupid it was that this dumb argument had apparently lasted decades.

Stan was on his second cigarette when Fiddleford came out. Stan didn't turn around, but he could tell it was him. His steps were trying to be heavy, but he probably weighed half what any Pines did including their Ma, and was barefoot besides. He stomped unmenacingly over and sat on the stair beside Stan.

"Can I bum one of those," he said. He was glaring out at the woods like he wanted to punch the whole mountain range in it's big stupid face.

Stan tapped one out and passed it. He shared his flame. Fiddleford took a huge drag that doubled the volume of his chest and hissed it out.

"Trouble in Paradise?" Stan joked.

"Thought I'd finally talked some sense into that man," Fiddleford snapped. "Always gotta be the smartest in the room, with his twelve cotton-pickin doctorates and his one man research grant, don't he get you can't solve everything with just smarts."

Stan suddenly decided he liked this guy. "Yeah. Yeah, it's always, oOooh, if I'm the biggest genius they ever saw then they have to crown me the king of fucking France or whatever. Everything that goes right, it's 'cause he was just better. Anything goes wrong was a fluke. Like, geeze, man, maybe if your entire future rested in a seventeen year old's ability to break the laws of physics it's the system that's the problem, y'know?"

"EXACTLY!" Fiddleford flung his arms out. It almost hit Stan in the face. "He did good in school, and I'm real happy for him, I really am! But it's like, we were in the same classes, and goshdurn it, I was better than him! So what's this magical force what makes him think everyone who didn't get where he did just didn't try hard enough?"

Fiddleford was starting to lose him now, but Stan got the impression the guy needed to vent from how loud it was coming out, so he didn't say anything.

"I tried, Doctor Stanford Pines, I tried till it almost killed me, and then I help you try til that almost kills me too! Maybe your dreams ain't worth all that!"

"Oh, yeah. And, like, maybe your dreams ain't everyone else's dream, too," Stanley said. It probably wasn't a fair thought, but it was one that came on him all the time in motels and WalMart parking lots: what the hell were dreams worth, if you went one way and he went the other and neither of you ever got to see each other again?

Fiddleford glanced over and huffed a smokey laugh. "Truth. Not sure how many daddies and doctor types need to hear that." Fiddleford wrinkled his nose. "Ack, forgot how foul these are."

"Then why'd you bum one?"

"Hoping to trick myself into thinking it was something stronger, I guess," he said, scraping out the lit end on the porch and leaving it in case Stan wanted the other half.

Stan side-eyed him. "You payin'?"

Fiddleford looked over at him in surprise. Then down.

Stan was peeking a baggie out of his inner coat pocket. It wasn't much, maybe half an ounce, and it was cheap shit. But hey. A sale's a sale.

Fiddleford didn't even ask. He just pulled a fifty, threw it at Stan, and snatched the bag. Stan passed him a box of rolling paper, and Fiddleford rolled first one, than a second, out with astonishing dexterity.

"Shit, you know your stuff."

"I had a social life in school."

He offered one to Stan, who lit them both up. Fiddleford lay back on the porch and sighed deeply.

"So. What's the story here?" Stan asked.

"Oh, Stanford's my best friend," Fiddleford said. "And as much as I hate to say it, your brother really is all that. Not only the biggest genius I ever met, but one of the best academics to boot. Brains alone don't get degrees."

"And now, uh, what's going on?"

"Oh, right. Sorry, we've been awful." Fiddleford sat up and occipied his hands by making more joints, resting his own on the stair between tokes. "Doctor Pines is here on grant money he got after groundbreaking solo research and a very impressive proof of concept at a conference a few years back. Now, I don't suppose you'd know much about academic politics, Mister Pines, but that is what we call a very big deal, especially when you look at what they gave him. And if I'm being completely frank, it's not primarily the work that's good. The man could convince the board to dig a canal in Arizona."

"What? Sixer?" Stanley laughed. He noticed, but didn't quite register Fiddleford's flinch at the name. "Guy never took a date to a school dance in his life."

"Maybe he ought've asked more funding admins."

Stanley chuckled. The weed was definitely helping.

"Anyhow, part of what he was doing here was building this big -" Fiddleford sucked from his joint, gestured lamely, lost his words - "I don't know how to describe it in plain speak. It's a doohickey."

"A doohicky."

"Portal, let's say. Real spaceman bullhockey. Let's just say, me'n him are close on the only ones as could do it, this stuff is mathematically on the edge of impossible."

"You an him, huh?"

"Oh, alright," Fiddleford said, grinning, rolling out the last of his little arts and crafts project. "Me. I'm the only one could build it. I weren't lying when I said I'm better'n him."

Stan coughed laughing. "Got a big head on your shoulders?"

"Hardly. I'm an engineer. Not an academic."

"Yeah, yeah. Smart guys. Look, I'm just a schlub."

Fiddleford's face fell. "Sorry, I don't mean that- oh, shucks, my wife always warned me I gotta watch what I say about that sort of thing. I didn't mean nothing by it. Having brains don't measure a man's worth, I know that more'n most."

"Aw, it's nothing," Stan said, made big-hearted and quick to forgive by the drugs. "You're good in my book."

Fiddleford was out of weed. He tucked what he'd made back into the bag and sealed it. When he gazed out at the woods this time, his anger had softened to irritation. "Anyway, I come out here to help him with his work. And believe me, it's good. He's got a one-of-a-kind opportunity here. But Stanford Pines is one of those Victorian types says discovery is all about taking risks, and let's just say when he takes risks I always seem to be the one who ends up with something broke."

"Aw man. I'm sorry. Seriously."

"First there was the Grenloblin, which is a horrid creature, by the way, then that cat-tannin' shapeshifter he kept as a pet even when it began to talk to us-"

"Wait, what?"

"And the gnome debacle keeps coming back to bite us, can't keep the windows sealed tight enough,"

"Gnomes?"

"And then that FUCKING demon."

Fiddleford abruptly stopped talking. He took another toke. His free hand was clenched into a shaking fist. Stan stared.

"What do you guys research, exactly?"

"Anomalies," said Fiddleford.

"Like, what, two-headed calves and shit?"

"That'd work. But Gravity Falls has gnomes."

"Little men in red hats."

"You're shitting me."

"I swear to you I am not."

"Don't suppose the bud went bad..."

"You'll see in the morning. I'll show you."

"You just described a bunch of dangerous shit. And also gnomes, I guess. Do I want to see it all?"

"Believe me, the most 'dangerous shit' is in this house."

Stanley, being an idiot but not that much of an idiot, was about to press him further. They were interrupted by the door, though, and his dumb brother's disapproval.

"Are you two smoking cannabis?" Ford demanded. Stanley chuckled at how much he sounded like a pearl-clutching old woman.

"Yes we are, and you're partaking," Fiddleford said, pulling out a joint. "We're making up for lost time, come on."

Stanford glared daggers. "I am not."

Fiddleford fell back on the porch, stretched his legs out in front of him, and stared upside-down up at Stanford.

"You owe meeeeeeee."

Stanford kept glaring. Then he glared at Stanley, who shrugged.

"Did you bring this?" Ford snapped.

"Technically, but I didn't offer. He asked."

Fiddleford wiggled the outstretched joint.

Stanley had no idea the look on Stanford's face was, aside from uncomfortable, but the guy relented. He stepped forward, sat as far as he could from the other two, and gingerly picked up the joint. Stan tossed him the lighter, knowing very well that he wouldn't have his own. The other boys laughed at him when he struggled to get it lit right.

"Don't worry, Doctor Pines, I'm here for you," said Fiddleford in a fond, dreamy voice.

"Very reassuring, thank you," Stanford growled.

It was endearing. It was, hell, it was cute. Despite the blow-up inside, Stan was kind of... glad? that Stanford had apparently made an actual, honest-to-god friend.

#Stanley Pines #Fiddleford McGucket #Stanford Pines #Smoking Weed #I have never smoked weed #I did some research on weed forums to figure how to properly show a guy overpaying for shitty weed in the 80s #Please correct things #Fiddleford McGucket was a hippie #FiddleTurnips #Scene excerpt #gravity falls fanfiction

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vaeolus · 1 year ago

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as everyone often does, i'm sure you're all wondering what could possibly be going on in neopets right now. please allow me to explain, as someone who is not involved in it at all and has just been watching it take place.

so. late september. an event is about to start: a charity donation event in which users can donate items for points, which can then be exchanged for prizes. alongside this event is another: a Faerie Festival, where you can take on daily quests to bring faeries specific items they ask for. people begin hoarding a variety of junk items in preparation for these events.

and then the events get delayed. some faerie festival coding works for some people, when it is revealed that the odds for getting quests from the Fountain Faerie (debatably the best one to get a quest from, as her reward is to let you color your neopet however you want) is much higher. people also begin panic-buying in the days leading up to the event.

october 2nd: the events begin. for the faerie fest, people start selling quest items that would ordinarily be worth a couple thousand neopoints for upwards of a million. but some people are getting faerie fountain dips, and spirits are as high as the prices.

the points earned by donations for the charity event are based on a stat called Rarity, which each item has. the higher the rarity, the more points you'll get. items with a rarity of 200 will net you the most points, ie, only a handful of items that are available from one specific shop. (rarity technically goes higher than 200, but those items can only be purchased with irl money, so the neopets team quickly realized that was a bad idea and cut it off at 200).

october 3rd. neopets announces that you can only donate 10 items per day. people begin freaking out, trying desperately to get the max amount of points possible for the least amount of money possible. everybody runs to the shop with the highest rarity items and buys out the most inexpensive item for sale:

this guy.

formerly sold for around 50k, squeezy tombola guy toy started selling in shops for something like 600k or more. not only that, but bot accounts have also snatched up squeezy tombola guy toys and are price gouging for insane amounts of neopoints.

october 4th. neopets staff realizes that something has gone terribly wrong. they rework the rarity point values, revealing that only items with a rarity of UNDER 200 are allowed. squeezy tombola guy toy, with a rarity of something like 201, is now disqualified.

the market crashes. there are people who bought DOZENS of squeezy tombola guy toys so they could make a killing on price gouging that are just.... stuck with dozens of squeezy tombola guy toys. meanwhile, other scalpers are buying up all the faerie quest items and price gouging THOSE for FAR more than even the most ambitious person was listing squeezy tombola guy toys for, preying on users' hopes and dreams of their ideal neopet.

let's all give it up for squeezy tombola guy toy. keeping scalpers, bots, and capitalists everywhere in neopia humble.

#neopets #im losing my shit over this.#it is so funny. the event isn't even over yet.#truly one for the ages.

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redwolf17 · 1 year ago

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Buyer Beware: Don't Get Scammed on Hozier Tickets!

Tickets went on sale today for Hozier's 2024 Unreal Unearth US Tour. I'm already seeing people in the tag talking about trying to get marked up resale tickets from scalpers, which is totally understandable, but BEFORE YOU BUY, please read this heads up!

Hozier made most* US venues using Ticketmaster** restrict the ticket transfers. Tickets can ONLY be transferred through TicketMaster's fan to fan exchange, and only for face value. A lot of artists have done this lately; if scalpers know the tickets can't be sold for a profit, there's no point having bots snatch up all the tickets.

But seatgeek, stubhub, vividseats, and other sites already have tickets listed???

Yeah. Yeah, and they had tickets listed yesterday too, BEFORE ANY TICKETS WENT ON SALE. Those tickets did not exist! They did not have them!

If you already bought a ticket, you were paying them in hopes they would snag tickets today and then pass them to you for an upcharge. The same goes for any tickets listed now; at best, you're making the seller an interest free loan which will probably not get refunded until the day before the concert when they are forced to admit they don't have tickets for you.

So how can I get a ticket?

From what I can tell, the Ticketmaster fan to fan exchange usually opens a week or so after tickets first go on sale. To get tickets, you'll need to keep an eye on your venue and watch for tickets to drop as people realize they have a conflict and need to sell their tickets. Yes, this may make it harder to find a ticket in supply, BUT you will only end up paying face value plus the TM fees.

————

*Not including New York and Colorado, who have laws that keep venues from restricting ticket resales

**I don’t know about the non-Ticketmaster venues, but they likely have a similar fan resale policy in place.

#Hozier #Hozier tickets #unreal unearth #psa #please let me know if any of the above info is incorrect #but I’m pretty sure it’s all accurate

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turvi · 2 years ago

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THE LOVE OF MY DREAMS-3

Series Masterlist

Y/n glanced at the wall clock. The clock hands showed it was 9:15 pm. She grew breathless as the clock continued to tick. Colin is usually home by 8:00 pm. She looked at the kitchen counter where the dinner was getting cold as time passed.

She ran her hand on her again. She had lost count of how many times she has run her hand against her hair. She paced her living room as her stomach grumbled from hunger. As she picked up her phone, she heard the garage door open. Y/n opened the door watching Colin come up to the door with a sullen look.

“Is everything alright?”

He didn’t even look at her and went to their bedroom slamming the door, causing Y/n to yelp. She starts fidgeting and it got harder to breathe. Y/n doesn’t know how long she has been standing there. Afraid that if she makes even a slight movement Colin will not like it. So, she just stands there waiting for him to come out.

It was 10:40 now. Y/n opened the cabinet and glanced at the packet of biscuit. She was about to reach for it but immediately retracted her hand and closed the cabinet. She walked towards the bedroom door her feet devoid of the slippers.

She took a deep breath and knocked gently on the door. “Colin. May I come in?”

She felt like a stranger in her own home. Nothing here felt hers anymore. Home. This place she calls home doesn’t feel like a home anymore. When was the last time she truly relaxed and let go of her worries? When was the last time she felt like she was not a burden for merely existing.

She was brought in the reality when Colin finally opened the door. His blue eyes didn’t look bright like they always did, his face paler than before. She stood by the door waiting for his permission to enter. He moves aside and she takes it as a sign to enter. She waits for him to sit on their bed before she sits beside him.

After a few minutes silence he speaks “did you eat?”

“No, I was waiting for you”

He nodded and was silent again, staring at the wall. There it was again that sound mocking her. The sound of clock ticking.

“I got them sales from the Zabini’s but that fucker Adrian still gets praised”

Y/n opened her mouth but immediately closed it. She knew his work ethics but was also smart enough to not point it out. Colin’s voice interrupted her train of thoughts again.

“If this goes on, he will snatch the position from me. I can’t let that happen. Not when I have worked at this shit hole for 5 years.”

Y/n distanced herself a bit from him. He had started to show clear signs of his temper rising. She learned this was the best way to avoid him lashing out at her. She hoped whoever was working under him had enough patience for him.

Remus felt like his whole body was on fire but there was no fire. He heard a feminine voice calling his name. He isn’t sure she really did but that voice felt familiar. He felt her hands on his chest, it was so dark he couldn’t see her properly.

He saw her e/c eyes laced with tears, her eyes gracing the moonlight. He couldn’t see the rest of her face but felt the pressure of her hands on his chest. She looked so vulnerable he wanted to comfort her but he couldn’t get up. He couldn’t even lift his hand.

He felt his throat burning and woke up with a gasp. This was a dream. He gingerly got up from his bed and went to his kitchen to get water. He sat on the floor after he poured water into his glass. The cold floor sent shivers up his spine.

He exhaled as he ran his hand over his face. The same dream kept haunting him. The woman with e/c eyes and h/c hair trying to save him from plunging into darkness. He doesn’t know her yet she feels familiar. He feared closing his eyes now. He didn’t want to see her if he couldn’t even hold her.

These were the moments he felt alone. Not that he is surrounded by people. He has lost touch with his friends and didn’t have a lasting relationships. Not when that woman keeps reappearing in his dreams. He is not sure if he has met someone like her yet she is the one he dreams about a lot. It seems like even his subconscious brain is taunting him for his loneliness. He just wanted to be held

He saw the digital clock sitting on the counter. The red glow of the clock showed it was past 2 am. Remus begrudgingly got up from the floor. He had to go to sleep because he had a long day tomorrow. He carefully walked on the cold, creaking wooden floor as he made his way towards his bed.

As he sat on his bed his lower back ached again. 4 days until the full moon. He missed his friends dearly, and he regretted moving out of his hometown. He missed his best friends, and he thought taking this job and moving out will make things better for him. Although he was getting the work done, he still missed his friends. He held his pillow and cried himself to sleep hoping it gets better.

@ell0ra-br3kk3r @milivanili99 @fieldofsecretss

A/N: REBLOGS AND COMMENTS IF YOU LIKE THIS

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undercoverwizardfanfiction · 2 years ago

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Title: Carry (2022 rewritten)

Verse: ROTTMNT

Summary: A visit to a local convention goes wrong when Donnie gets overstimulated. Now it’s up to Leo to get to him and get him home

For: Helle.Horse who helped me proofread all these!

Characters: Leonardo, Donatello, Raphael, Michelangelo, Splinter

Pairings: LESS THEN NONE

Warnings: Overstimulation, Meltdown

Leo is undeterred when he turns from the novelty drink booth and sees the snack court filled with cosplayers, hipsters, and exhausted parents. He’s been going to conventions since before he could blink, so Leo quickly finds a path between the giant catbus, the five stormtroopers, and twelve vloggers talking into their phones. He weaves his way through the crowd until he catches sight of Raph’s waving hand at a corner table. “Nice spot, hermanos! Upwind of the nerds and the least amount of stains,” Leo exclaims before dumping the hotdogs, nachos, sandwiches, food, and drinks all over the table. He snatches up the large novelty cup that looks like an upside-down Jupiter Jim helmet before Donnie can take it, “Nope, sorry, Don-Tron. I called dibs.”

“Fine, whatever, I hope it was expensive.”

“Oh it was! Thanks for treating me by the way!” Leo tosses Don’s wallet back to them. They juggle it between his hands before glowering at Leo as he takes his place by Donnie. “Did you get your autograph from the Rupert Swaggert Celebrity Impersonator of the Rupert Swaggert Celebrity Impersonator,” Leo asks Mikey.

“Yeah! Just before he got into a fight with the original Rupert Swaggert Celebrity Impersonator! It was awesome!’ Mikey hugs his new autographed (slightly torn) photo to his chest before he takes out his autograph binder and places it in its new slot. While not part of the official circuit, New York Not Comic Yes Con was a pop-up convention they had heard about a few years ago. With no warning or flyers to announce it.

The con would randomly appear in back-alley hotels and convention centers and draw in nerds like moths to a flame. How they managed to have any vendors at all with such short notice (Donnie's convention algorithm gave them five hours notice at best) was beyond him, but it was full of reclusive celebrities and rare items that made Leo drool in his sleep. Finally, Raph stops chugging his walking taco and, after choking a moment, gasps for air. “Alright, men, we’ve hit the Sci-Fi Alley, the Fantasy Alley, and the Sci Fi Fantasy Alley. What’s next on our list Dee?”

Donnie, who had been counting through his wallet and shooting glares at Leo, pulls up his tech gauntlet, “Well, there’s always the Fantasy Sci-Fi Alley. And the Science Fantasy Fictional Alley. There are a few celebrities I signed up for ahead of time, you’re welcome, but there’s also Artist alley, and the Hot Gazpacho and Cold Soup live show cook-off in three hours.”

“They’re doing that again,” Leo asks. “Last time they let those two in the same convention, they-”

Before he could finish, Mikey put a hand over Leo’s mouth, “We don’t speak of it.”

“ANY WAY, it's a full schedule. We have time for a quick bite, but we gotta get back to the floor again. So, men, consume!”

With the ferocity of middle-aged coyotes attacking a pre-black Friday sale, the brothers dived back into their food. It was only after Leo tore into his fifth Korean hotdog that he noticed a distinct lack of movement from Donatello. Instead, his brother had pulled off his headphones, twisting the ear clasp and making minor adjustments. ‘You ok, Dee,” Leo asked, “Are your headphones on the fritz?”

“Yeah, they’ve been acting up ever since Yokai Mart,” Donnie looks them over, “I've fixed them in every way possible, but they keep malfunctioning at the worst time.”

Leo sits up more, looking back to the convention and its sea of noise and overstimulation, “Um, do we need to head home or..?”

“Don't you dare. New York Not Comic Yes Con only pops up once a year, and I’ll be Splinter's hairy elbow if I miss it.” Donnie gives the headphones one more twist and puts them back on. He must have noticed the concerned look on Leo’s face since he rolled his eyes, “If you’re really concerned, you can rub my shoulders. I got shoulder-checked by a Boba Fett cosplayer an hour ago, and I’ve lost feeling in my neck since then.”

“No problem!” Leo stuffs the last of his food in his mouth and scoots closer, his fingers already set to work on rubbing Don's neck. Despite Don’s nonchalant attitude, the soft shell visibly sighs and relaxes more, which is enough to let Leo know he’s doing a good job, and he focuses on that for a few minutes.

Until Mikey suddenly spits out his milkshake and points back into the convention, “THE DIRECTOR OF JUPITER JIM SAILS THE SEVEN GALAXIES IS HERE!!!”

“WHAT NO WAY!” Leo turns to see a Convention helper putting up a new sandwich board. He immediately jumps up, picks up the signal (despite the worker shouting after him), and runs back to the table to read it better. “Steven Stephen Steinburg is doing autographs in five minutes?! He never shows up to conventions! Last I heard, he was sky diving into volcanos to do research for his next film!”

“I heard he was going undercover as an undertaker for his next big movie, Undercover Undertaker!” Mikey reaches over and yanks the sign for him to show Raph, “We’re going, right? We have to! No one has seen him in public in twelve years! Not since he got into that fish slapping fight with Marcus Moncreif!”

As Raph goes to answer, there's a loud and distinct “A-HEM” that comes from the other side of the table back to Donnie. Who reaches up and waves off Leo’s message, “In case you forgot what I told you exactly twelve minutes ago, we have a packed schedule. That is when the line to the Jupiter Jim screenings opens up. They're supposed to be showing the entire Jupiter Jim prequel movie with two minutes of never before seen footage that will forever explain the toe sock debacle. And I warned you before we got here that every time you break the itinerary, I get to pick the next movie we watch, and so far, I get to pick three,” Donnie says with a smirk so villainous Draxum would be proud.

The three looked at each other in a mild panic, knowing Donnie had just bought the “science of socks, a twenty-part series” he was dying to watch. But, as usual, in a true crisis just like this, Raph and Mikey look to Leo desperately for a solution. Leo, always having a plan, gives them a grin and a wink, “How about this, Don, two of us wait in line for the screening, and the other two go meet the director?”

Donnie gave him a hard look. Despite his grin, Leo felt bad for breaking the schedule so often. Conventions were not always the most manageable landscape for Donnie to traverse. Especially one that gave them no real time to prepare for, and breaking the schedule only added to that stress. Finally, Donnie lets out an overly dramatic sigh, “Ok, fine. I know this is important to all of you, and whoever stays with me with will complain, looking at you Leo, so how about I’ll hold our spot and you three can go-”

Raph hops to his feet, “THANKSDEEYOU’RETHEBEST!! Mikey! Periscope mode to find us the most direct route to Steven Stephen Steinburgh!” Mikey scrambles up Raph’s shell and holds his hands to his eyes as binoculars.

Leo looked at his brother, “Remember Dee, if you need us, text us. Ok? Let us know if something goes wrong with your headphones.”

Donnie rolls his eyes and brings up his tech gauntlet, “Puhlease, even fritzing, my headphones are at 76% performance capacity. But if you don’t bring me back a cool gift I’m picking out the next eight movies-”

“Thanks hermano,” Leo yells as he stuffs his souvenir cup back into his backpack and runs after his brothers, barely managing to wave back at Don before he hurries not to lose track of the others.

~~~

One thing to be said about conventions was that no matter what was going on, there was going to be a long ass line. But, thanks to Mikey’s expert periscoping, they could find the fastest route through the convention and see the new ‘Stephen Steven Steinbugh’ sign just as it’s set up, putting them only twenty places in line behind the front.

But Leo quickly sidesteps to keep another stormtrooper from stepping on his foot, ‘OW! Hey Mikey, you think you can share the perch or-” But Mikey had already given him a devilish grin and laid across Raphs shoulders like an evil cat, ‘Ok, you brat.” Leo says with no venom but smacks at Mikey’s foot.

“Hey!” Raph gives him a light elbow jab, “He got there first. So suck it up like a big turtle.”

“Yeah, yeah, fine.” Leo tilts around to peer at the time, then back to the line, “Do you think we’ll make it back to the movie in time? It wouldn’t be fair to Donnie to hold our spot the entire time.”

“Yeah, if he gets inside before we get back, he should see it without us. But we have an hour, so it should be ok?” Raph glances at him with an expression Leo recognizes a mile away, “I mean, I know he’s capable, but-”

“As long as he has those headphones, he’ll be ok.” Conventions had always been a big source of family fun in their family because they didn’t need disguises. Splinter had taken them to conventions ever since they were little, but because of the noise level, Don hadn’t always gone with them. During those times, Leo would stay home with him and have their own fun (or Leo would bug him so much that Donnie would beat him up with a pillow). But Don’s noise-canceling headphones allowed him to enjoy the conventions to the fullest without being stimulated or overwhelmed.

As the line shifts forward, Leo feels his phone vibrate in his fanny pack, but it’s already stopped by the time Leo pulls it out. Flashing the screen to see three missed calls from Donnie and frowns, “Hey guys, check your phones real fast and tell me if you have a missed call from Dee.”

The two of them look at him, confused, before they do as they are told, ”Yeah, from a minute ago,” Mikey says, holding it out for Leo to see. Raph has the same thing. But, of course, it wasn’t exactly a secret that conventions didn’t have the best cell service, and it could have easily been a buttdial.

But….

Without hesitation, Leo steps out of line, “Guys, I’m going to go wait with Donnie and check on him. If you can, get Stephen Steven to sign my Jupiter Jim Gym Towel,” and he starts at a quick pace. Ducking and dancing around cosplayers, his phone vibrates again, but before he can answer it, the call drops again, and he doubles his speed. He recounts the path back to the screening section and picks out the long line. Usually, it wouldn’t take too long to pick out a giant, green, soft-shell turtle, but come on. They were at a sci-fi convention. They had seen twelve turtle cosplays on the way to get pretzels. Thankfully, Leo saw his brother near the front of the line, before a teenager with gauges that would make the turtle tank tires jealous, and behind Eda, the Owl Lady cosplayer. His brother was jabbing furiously at his gauntlet, his headphones hanging off his forearm. His eyes were drawn in a panic that would have sent Leo spiraling if he hadn’t taken a deep breath and taken Donnie by the shoulders, catching his attention, ”Don, what's going on? What’s wrong?”

“Hey,” the guy behind him snaps, “No cutting!” But Leo ignores him, and thankfully Don does too. His brother’s gaze was a mile away, wrapped in stress lines, and at first, Leo was not sure if Donnie even noticed him when he went back to jabbing at his gauntlet.

But he started stuttering a response, “S-something went wrong. I-I tried adjusting the-the volume, t-trying to fix them, but-then they started letting out this loud noise and I-I couldn't take it. N-now there’s nothing but noise and-and-and-and-,” Donnie desperately tries to blink away his now rapidly filling tears, “I can't breathe-”

Leo opens his mouth to say something, anything of comfort that he knew would be hollow against Donnie’s now overstimulated mind, when the guy's voice speaks again, “Hey spaz, if you’re going to cry, get out of line.”

The red slider pivots hard, his fist twisting the teen’s shirt up tightly and yanking him close so that the now terrified teen could only see into his eyes. “If I ever see or hear you talking about my brother with anything lacking the same dignity you would give someone without a disability, I will send you so far into the earth, not even the Devil will be able to find you.” Leo released the teen. In his panic, the guys already white complexion fades to ghost-like. Once Leo drops his front, the guy takes several steps back out of line before turning and taking off like he expected Leo to chase him down.

It takes Leo a moment to come back, and he takes a single deep breath. He turns his attention back to his trembling brother, who now has his hands clasped on the sides of his head. It's then Leo notices that the headphones hanging around his neck are faded. After a moment, Leo realizes they’re giving off a high-pitched noise that immediately makes him wince and hover his hands by his head. Before Leo can try and discern what's wrong with them, they give off a flicker and an audible electric spark. Leo quickly reaches forward and takes them off Don’s neck, not that Don notices. The blue brother is unsure how to turn them off and stop the noise, so he wraps them up in one of his convention t-shirts. Leo quickly puts them in his bag before they can hurt anyone. “Dee come on, let's go,” he says as he raises his hand, but Donnie shakes his head furiously.

“NO. I said I’ll wait, and I’ll wait-”

“You matter more than a stupid screening, Don.” Leo tries to recount himself and forces himself to take another breath before stepping back to Donnie. He gently puts his hands on Don's shoulders to ensure he has his attention, but not necessarily his eye contact (which he knows can be difficult for Don in situations like this). Unfortunately, Leo is more than painfully aware that Donnie is shaking so hard he could pass out. “Dee, I won't make you go. I won't take that autonomy away from you. But if you want to go, it's ok.”

He doesn’t rush Donnie for an answer. Instead, Leo forces himself to have patience through willpower alone. He had made the mistake of taking the decision away from Don regarding his mental health and meltdowns and promised not to do it again. Even if it hurt to see him struggle. Thankfully no one behind them in line is complaining or trying to move around them. Whether out of respect for the situation or fear, Leo was going to threaten them, too; he didn’t know. But Don finally looks up to him again and gives a small, barely noticeable nod.

Leo tries not to look too relieved. “Ok, bud, let's get you some air,” he says, wrapping his arm around Don's shoulders, who in turn leans heavily against him. It was far quicker to get out of the convention than it had been to get to Don in the first place, despite the fact they were not going against the tide of conventiongoers. But when they finally reach the cold New York night air, Leo first moves Donnie off to the side and out of the way of people entering the convention. As soon as they're out of the way, Donnie drops so fast Leo’s afraid he’s actually passed out. But instead, Donnie is now in a crouched position with his hands rubbing at his face. Leo quickly squats next to him, “Don, hands, hands. Remember what Dad said. Do something with your hands.'' Leo puts his hands out instinctively but stops himself from restraining Don’s hand. Thankfully Donnie starts fluttering his hands instead. When Leo’s phone starts ringing, Leo moves to kneel in front of his brother. If only to shield him from the scrutiny of people passing. He presses the back of Donnie’s head, so his face is safe in the crook of Leo’s neck as his free hand pulls his phone out and answers, “Raph?”

“Hey, what happened? Is Dee ok?”

“Don’s headphones are malfunctioning and he’s having a meltdown.” Leo gives Don a small, supportive half-hug.

“Should we come to you? We can meet you.”

Leo goes to answer but feels Donnie shake his head. Question answered. Leo starts rubbing Don’s shell, “No, Donnie wants you guys to stay and have fun. I’ll take care of him.”

There's a pause on the other side. Leo can only imagine Raph’s crestfallen face looking at Mikey's. He knew how much Raph struggled to let someone else take care of his brothers, and he knew there was a good chance Raph would ignore him. But after he sighs, Raph says, “Ok. Keep me up to date, and just look out for him. Ok?”

Leo allows himself a smile for the first time since Donnie’s failed phone call. “Of course,” he says before hanging up.

“Why?”

The voice is so alien and unlike Don that, at first, Leo is sure it’s someone else watching. But the voice came again, “I-I was so careful. I checked th-three times. B-But it still failed.” Don’s body tenses, his shoulders trembling like weakened floodgates before a hurricane of emotion, “I was careful,” his voice cracks as he hides his face again. Seeing his usually boisterous, loud brother so small was painful. Leo takes a few minutes to simply hold him and comfort him before he tips Donnie’s head down to rest his forehead on Leo’s shoulder and speaks quietly, “Dee, is it ok if we go home? We don’t have to if you don’t want to. I'll do whatever you want.”

Don nods quickly, which is more relief than Leo wants to admit. He takes Donnie gently by the shoulders and guides him back to his feet. Don’s movement is so slow, but Leo doesn’t have the heart to rush him. “Do you want to ride on my shell,” he asks. When Leo gets another nod, the blue turtle turns, crouches down, and waits for Don to climb up with his forearms wrapped around Leo’s collarbone. Had Don been more aware of what was happening, he would have beaten the back of Leo’s skull for robbing him of his dignity. But when Leo stands back up, he feels Donnie curl up with his face hidden by the back of Leo’s neck as a small sob escapes him.

Leo tilts his head back to touch Don’s for a moment before he sets off.

~~~

The walk home doesn’t take nearly as long as Leo expects, but it is still too long for his liking. The sooner he got Donnie home to a more familiar space, the better. Through creative thinking, Leo can slide down the ladder by placing a foot on either side of the ladder and using one hand to hold one of the sides and go down. (Actually, he would have been more impressed if he hadn’t been so intent on getting Donnie home.) Halfway home, Leo feels Don squirming and takes it as a hint to set his brother back on his feet carefully. He waits to see what Donnie will do, but when nothing happens, he reaches around and wraps one arm around the purple turtle’s shoulders, his other hand holding Don’s, and Leo guides him along.

When they reach the lair, they see Splinter at the entrance with one of Donnie’s hoodies and a worried look on his face (Raph must have called him ahead of time). When they’re in eyesight, Splinter hurries forward and takes Donnie’s free hand, “Purple, are you alright?”

Donnie looks at their father, and his eyes swell with tears again. He falls on his knees and presses his face into Splinter's robes, weeping long held-back pain. Splinter looks at Leo and hands him the hoodie. In turn, Leo kneels to wrap it around Don’s shoulders. Despite his desire to be more active, Leo steps aside and heads to the kitchen to ensure he’s not an audience member of Don’s low point.

He starts setting up tea, and as he waits for the water to heat up, he sits at the kitchen table. He pulls out his souvenir cup and looks over Don’s headphones. He didn’t have the trained eye that Donnie did with electronics, but he was good at picking out details. Before he could discern anything, the headphones spark, and a jolt shoots up Leo’s fingers forcing him to drop them in shock (pun intended). “Hey,” Leo snaps, looking at the headphones as though the turtle expected them to retaliate again. ”That's NOT what you’re designed to do,” he snarls. Leo picks up the novelty cup and washes it out just as the kettle starts whistling. He mixes some tea, and it's not until he pours the water into the cup that Leo notices his own trembling hands. The turtle flexes his fingers and lets out a small sigh before heading back towards Don’s room, where he had seen Splinter guiding him. He steps to enter when he hears, “Dad, I said I didn't want to.”

“I know Donnie, but I thought after tonight you might reconsider.”

Leo blinks. He knew better than to eavesdrop, but unfortunately, it was in his nature to snoop. So, he leans closer to the doorway and listens, “I thought you said you wanted to give me a choice in the matter,” Donnie questions with a bit more hint of his sass, but not enough to cover the pain in his voice.

“It is still your choice. I will never force you to do something you’re not comfortable with or ready for,” Splinter pauses, “Leonardo, stop being the busybody and get in here.” Oops. Too tired (and too ‘Leo’) to feel shame, Leo steps in with his tea. Donnie was sitting on his bed, wrapped in a weighted blanket, wearing his hoodie as Splinter sat by his side, holding his hand. Splinter looks to the cup and turns back to Donnie, guiding his face to look at him, “Please rest. If you need me, let me know. I love you,” and he gives him the smallest of pecks between Donnie’s eyes before standing up, “I’ll let Red and Orange know you two made it home ok.” Double oops. Yeah, Leo had forgotten to do that. Now that his adrenaline was fading, his sense of humor was coming back in full swing. As Splinter passes him, he pats Leo on the forearm, “You did good, my son. Thank you.”

Leo, who typically survives on validation alone, can only manage a weak smile as he pats his father’s hand in return before Splinter disappears towards the kitchen. The two were now alone.

Donnie quickly scrubs his eyes on his sleeve, but Leo does not indicate that he saw the movement as he sits on the edge of Donnie’s bed. “Made you some tea, bud,” he hands the cup to his brother, to which Donnie gives him a puzzled look, “I cleaned it out, and I owed you a souvenir, right?”

Donnie looks at it again. “I mean, I did pay for it,” he says before sipping from it, “Thanks.”

“No problem. Is there anything else you need? I can leave if you want,” Leo offers, though he’s hoping Donnie will tolerate his presence a moment longer. Donnie sips from his new souvenir cup, thinking, “Um, actually, the weighted blanket isn’t helping, can you..” he lets it drift off.

With a smile, Leo squirms around until he’s sitting behind Donnie. “Tell me if I squeeze too tight,” he says as he hugs Donnie tightly from behind. Though Donnie was the most touch-intolerant brother, it was discovered early on that pressure was one of the main things to help him lose stress. It worked the same way a massage worked for Leo, or a warm blanket worked for Mikey. And even now, Leo feels Donnie lean back against him, and some of the tension leaves his body. “How are you feeling,” Leo asks.

“Tired. Drained. Embarrassed. The usual.” Donnie sips from his tea, giving his new Jupiter Jim Novelty Cup a slight smile that Leo pretends not to notice. “Sorry, you had to leave the convention because of me.”

“Eh, don’t worry about it,” Leo says, tucking his chin over Don’s scalp to further his role as a pressurized armchair, “There were way too many Bakugo cosplayers this year anyway.” He pauses for a few seconds, waiting to see if his weak joke had any effect, but Donnie just sips from his cup, and Leo decides it's time to ask, “What were you and Dad talking about?”

“He,” Don pauses, “He wants me to go to therapy.”

“I…” Leo pauses as well, “oh.”

“He thinks I’ve been having a harder time lately and that talking to someone who isn’t as close to our situation might help. He was going to ask Hueso if he knew any Yokai therapists I could talk to, but….” If Donnie is trying to hide the resentment in his voice, he’s not trying very hard, “What no one seems to get is that it’s been a rough couple of months. And I’m not ready to lay on a couch and pay someone to tell me I have superiority issues or drug me up.” Finally, Donnie twists to meet Leo’s eyes, “You think I should go,” he says in a tone that dares Leonardo to agree.

“I didn't do anything! I’m just trying to be a living weighted blanket!”

“You didn’t have to.”

“I’m not-” Leo takes a deep breath. Then, to buy time, he squeezes Donnie tighter and rests his chin on Don's shoulder, “At least he’s giving us a choice.”

Donnie blinks back at him in surprise, “Us?”

“Yeah, Dad's been trying to talk all of us about going to some sort of counseling of some sort. He thinks it has something to do with, you know, the never ending insomnia. And the anxiety might have something to do with it, but I don't know. He might be reading too much into this. He only raised us and sees things about us no one else sees.”

For a moment, the two sit in silence. Leo hugs Donnie an inch tighter and rests his head against Donnie’s, who does the same. “Dee,” Leo starts, “I’ll make a deal with you. A twin pact. I’ll think about going to therapy if you think about going to therapy. Is that fair to you?” Leo’s not sure what to expect as an answer, but Donnie nods the best he can with his head leaning against Leo’s.

“Yeah fine, we’ll get a professional to tell us which one of us is more screwed up.”

Despite himself, Leo smiles, hugging Donnie as tight as he can, saying, “Deal, but it's definitely Mikey.”

#rottmnt fanfiction #hurt/comfort #overstimulated #donatello #leonardo #raphael #michelangelo #splinter #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtle fanfiction #rottmnt #brothers #undercoverwizardfanfiction

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