#and have amazing mirror remain its own thing

[startistdoodles]

Do you ever wish the mirror world was explored some more in the kirby canon? Like there could be whole adventures we could go on in there but all we get beyond the amazing mirror is dark meta knight cameos

I think there's potential for more stories in the Mirror World, but the Kirby series isn't known for making sequels to their titles (especially in the modern era), so I don't really see it happening outside of little cameos or easter eggs.

The closest thing we got was Triple Deluxe involving the Dimensional Mirror in its plot, as it is the reason Sectonia is the tyrant she is. It's cool to see the mirror's affect on Dreamland still persisting roughly 10 years later, even if the mirror itself and what it did to the queen remains in the background of the main story.

[iznsfw]

Lucid Dream

IZ Days of Christmas 2023: Day 7 - Kim Minju

IZ*ONE's Kim Minju x Male Reader Smut

8,525 words

Categories | married man!You, wife!Wonyoung, daddy kink, degradation, rough sex, OC is not a good person

Content warning | cheating, humiliation, Wonyoung slander (it hurt to write but I read "Gone Girl" by Gillian Flynn recently so I guess that went into the whole wife-hating thing)

Skipping again a bit (still will do Chaeyeon and Chaewon and everyone because IZ*ONE best girls). Expect a commission and an IZ Days of Xmas fics this month again <3 I love you all, you make me happy. And as always, sorry for the inconsistency!

Wonyoung is beautiful.

You stare at her as she undresses in front of the full-length mirror. She’s the kind of woman whose vanity seldom rolls eyes because her adoration for herself—smoothing down her dark hair, strictly adhering herself to that keto diet, doing her skincare with the dedication of one who prays nightly to god (pick any)—is wholly justifiable. Look at her. Anyone would understand.

The dress she wore for her hosting show slips off her body. Her abs reflect in the mirror, the result of hard work in the gym. Wonyoung’s waist is impeccable. Magazines have written over and over tips to attain it but it seems that the signature Bratz doll feature can only belong to Wonyoung. The makeup was cleaned up by her stylist but her eyes still shine, her lashes are still long, and her lips are still plump.

Wonyoung is standing there in nothing but her underwear, an attractive set of lace. 

Wonyoung is the perfect female form, a goddess from above choosing a man from below.

Wonyoung is beautiful, a feat that no matter how amazing besides true, she remains the same old fucking bore.

“Did you like my MCing, babe?” she asks.

“Uh-huh.”

Her legs, long and thin, move in planned strides down the room. To the bed. You know where this is going.

Your feet are killing you. Recline, welcoming yourself into the softness of the expensive mattress and pillows your wife paid for all in all. “Wonyoung, I’m tired.” 

She’s a celebrity. Of course, endless days filled to the edge with schedules chase after her. She ought to understand. The nights are her only rest hours, yet with this energy, it’s like Jang Wonyoung never gets exhausted. Always bubbly, always sweet, always so seductive. 

All these are positive traits that any other man would adore and own had you not married her. 

Wonyoung makes an adorable sigh. “But you say that everytime,” she replies sullenly.

She’s pushing her lips out into this cute pout while her brown puppy eyes beg you to give in like you used to. Once upon a time, you were putty around Wonyoung. Never could give an answer without your voice shaking. Never could come near her without blushing. 

She’s the prettiest woman in the world.

You’re the most awful, undeserving man in the world, for all you could think, as you look at her, is: Fucking bitch. 

“Well, maybe it’s because I’m always tired.”

“How about,” she puts a finger on her chin, “I do the job for you?”

Her knees are bruised. You notice this when she drops to them so she could pull your pants to the ground. So she’s been doing this for so long? Lowering herself for you? Sucking you off? You thought that she’d get the hint by now: you don’t want to have sex with her.

So instead, she uses her mouth. Better than her pussy anyway. What are you saying? She’s a tight woman. But it’s the same thing everyday: she gets on your cock and you hear her annoying voice straining as she rides you. Her cunt, soaked and useless, makes you want to call her its name. She’s always needy. It isn’t flattering when you don’t reciprocate it.

It’s a goddamned chore. Wonyoung’s throat welcomes you. The other way around, actually: your cock welcomes a claustrophobically closed passageway and has to deal with it until you cum. It’s an unwanted visitor. She rang the bell, said hi, and you let her in. Doesn’t mean you like her there.

“Doing so good, baby,” you say. Oh, yeah, doesn’t mean you mean it either—although you do feel Wonyoung smile happily. She’s happy when she makes you happy. When she makes you give her the illusion that you have any happiness in this worn-out marriage.

Her lips seal around you. You can feel them suckling. Your knees are tense. The moans are forced, though. Hearing them come out from your own mouth makes you want to place a pillow over your face and press it down as hard as you can.

She slides you down her throat. Admittedly, you love the way she chokes. Her eyes get all watery, like she’s crying from pain. That sounds appealing. 

You’re a critically messed up man, you know. But they’re what make the world go ‘round. Why do you think they write romance books about them—the bad boy, the mafia boss, the killer? Plus, one of those “terrible” people inspires the biggest Korean celebrity to continue hosting, dancing, and singing. So who’s so terrible now?

To conclude, if anything, you’re the one responsible for Wonyoung’s success.

To conclude, you groan as desperately as you can then release in her mouth. Wonyoung gags. Another pretty sound. Her eyes look up while she attempts to swallow. Saliva sticks to her chin. Semen floods up to the roof of her mouth. It reminds you of how it ends up there more often than in her womb.

You would’ve made beautiful children with Wonyoung in another world where she wasn’t famous and you actually loved her. You would have been a softer, kinder man. She would have been a person who’s easier to love and make love with.

“Wonyoung, Wonyoung, that… was incredible.”

If you weren’t a director, you’d be the one on camera. You’re a great actor when it comes to your wife. Your incompetence in the house is masked by husbandly exhaustion; an artificial gaze of attentiveness hides your indifference to conversation. 

She smiles coquettishly. “I try.”

The wide closet parts. She chooses a pair of silk pajamas that hang around her thin frame. She climbs onto the bed and wraps an arm around you. Her skin is always cold to the touch. Like she’s dead or something. How interesting.

You stroke her hair. “I’d return the favor but… I’m actually gonna pass out. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” She kisses your forehead. Wonyoung’s a sweet girl. “Good night.”

You smile. Say it back. Her eyelids flutter closed. Her palms are flat against each other and are placed under her cheek. Cute, you guess. She sleeps. 

You don’t. 

You should have—nothing good ever happens after midnight.

-

2:05 a.m., more specifically.

-

Amazing how time slips through your grasp like air. You reach and reach, desperate for a return, desperate for a flash to the past. As always, your efforts aren’t fruitful. The seconds pour through the pinched waist of the hourglass and you can’t stand it on its other head. You’re unable to revert back to the moment you took your arm from underneath your wife’s skull. The moment you opened your phone. If you hadn’t, maybe things would have been different.

But it’s past two, and you’re resting your back on the pillowy headboard with your phone in your hands. The circumstances just play right into danger: Wonyoung’s asleep, the night is eerily quiet, and the screen is there, awaiting the secret routine. Which girls would you cum for today? Why aren’t your thumbs clicking over censored sites?

Your feed shows a naked woman, her eyes staring up and her mouth wide. Scroll past that—you prefer the amateur videos, where the expressions balance between exaggerated and naturally provoked. A ton of videos could help in the bathroom where you take your nightly “shower,” and it’s not one of those.

Maybe you need the real thing.

Look at Wonyoung. Perhaps you should have let her ride you just so you could cum in a warm pussy again. After all, it’s the least you could do when you were once a fan of her. That’s how everyone starts: puppy-like adoration. But she doesn’t have the star quality she once did onstage; the coy thoughtful princess you envisioned her as. That’s why you haven’t fucked her in weeks. 

You’re about to wrap your hand around your cock and ready yourself for another night of conflicted pleasure. This video is perfect for that already. You could jerk yourself off then get a good night’s sleep. Simple. This is the safest option for a dangerous want. By just watching, you’re not cheating on your wife. It’s just porn. Jerk off, cum, cum again probably, then sleep. Nobody gets hurt.

“Fuck me… please,” whimpers the woman in the video. Her legs are spread open. Her partner’s swiping his cock at her lips while she looks at him with equal hunger, equal desire. “I can’t take it anymore.”

Then, a text message notifies you, peeking from the top of your screen. It dares you to click it.

And it says the exact same thing.

fuck me please, i cant take it anymore. 

i miss you 

You look around, like you’re afraid someone might see it. There’s only the dimness of your bedroom that greets you. It’s safe, but this message isn’t. 

The number is familiar. Has one of your friends gone crazy? Or did they send a text to the wrong person? Take it for spam, a perfectly coincidental one, or a scam, a typical, preying-on-the-married, pwning message.

But why would a contact spam you at a time so strangely perfect?

Don’t bother. Your fist works on your dick as you watch the video. The woman’s so wet that although she isn’t squirting, her juices start to stick to the man’s thighs. Her mouth is wide open as he finally pounds her. 

What you’d give to have good sex like that again. 

XXX-XXX-XXX sent a video message.

Fine. Click it, you’re curious.

Oh, so apparently, the answer is your marriage.

The video shows a face that’s more intimate than familiar. The ebony-black hair already tells you who she is, as does her body. Her form is encased in a floral tank top and nothing else. Although her chest is covered, she’s still a little daring with how her nipples stamp the fabric. She turns herself around to let you admire the curve of her wide hips and her round butt.

There’s only one woman with a body so perfect. And she’s the one and only Kim Minju.

There are reasons for everything. This is yours for why you didn’t give this number a name: 

No one needs to know just from a text that you cheated on Jang Wonyoung.

That was so long ago, back when you were still boyfriend and girlfriend. You were drunk and missed Wonyoung’s old self. Why did she have to be such a bitch? Why did she dedicate herself to work and leave you dry? It’s not like the industry would go bankrupt without her. Minju came over, listened to your complaints—every little whine about Wonyoung being busy, every little jab at her workaholic character—then said something along the lines of, why don’t you have a little fun while she’s away. 

And you thought… yeah, that was a really great idea. 

That was the beginning of the end. After multiple secret meet-ups and raunchy sex in alleyways, you didn’t contact Minju again. You forgot her. You thought she did, too. She should have understood that your infidelity, albeit alluring, would be a thing of the past. 

But here she is, in your messages, with a pornographic clip of herself in a round-cornered bubble. She’s waiting for a reply. 

Although you’ve long lost your aspirations to be a better husband, you type what a good man should. This man is proper, faithful, and loving. He loves his wife only and the only other people he loves with this deep of a bond is his family. 

Stop texting me or I’ll block you. 

It’s not enough. You’re not a good man. You aren’t proper or faithful or loving or any of that shit. You were about to masturbate to an internet celebrity after turning down sex with your wife. What about that makes you a good person?

:( you miss me sooooo bad it’s pathetic, Minju replies.

You look at her again. You may not be able to turn back time with your metaphorical hourglass, but you can turn this hourglass body into any position you want. You could push her against a window for all to see, perhaps fuck her to the floor, or slam her on a desk like a teacher would to a test paper. Minju would let you do anything to her.

Stop it.

She really has to. As much as you dislike Wonyoung, she’s your wife, and you vowed on your wedding day to only have eyes for her. 

But you’re only one man against a body like Minju’s that curves in every right place.

Three circles float up and down in a contained bubble before she texts you back:

alright…what a pity :( i’m already outside!! i guess ill have to go back…

You’ve never bolted out of bed so fast. 

You look back at Wonyoung as you stand in the doorway. She’s still in deep slumber. Now, are the curtains closed? The entrances locked? Scan the house thoroughly, until you inch your way to the front door. 

Hesitate. You didn’t know you had a conscience but here it is. It tells you to wonder if Minju really is behind it, like she said. She knows how to use the privilege of being Wonyoung’s close friend. That’s how she came to your house like she used to with no worry for paparazzi or suspicion. Best friends don’t fuck their best friends’ husbands, right?

Open the door. This one did.

Minju grew more beautiful in her absence. Her hair is silkier this time and her shy smile is brighter. The long coat is smoothed by her fingers, and you wish you could be the brown piece of fabric her pale hands run down. What makes you guilty for thinking it, even when you’ve done it, is the fact that she looks so innocent. It’s like it would be a crime to even buy her a drink. 

How could she be innocent with that photo she sent? The time you spent together: you folding her over a table and promising to fill her up? Fucking her while Wonyoung is busy and counting on you to welcome her home? Sending nudes like there’s no tomorrow? Nothing about Minju is pure, yet she acts like she could do no wrong.

“Minju,” you say. Your voice sounds fragile. She has a way of breaking you befote you’re breaking her into breaking another bed. 

She blinks theatrically. Everything she does is angelic. “Glad you opened the door.”

The knob is cold in your fist. It chills your animalistic brain and urges you to consider the consequences. Right, it says, here’s what a human—a good one—would think. If Wonyoung wakes and sees you with Minju, she’d have a lot of questions. If paparazzi are somehow hiding in the forest that extends to acres before your house, everyone would know you’re cheating on her. Most of all, you’re married, monogamy and everything. 

So what will it be? This is your last and only chance to send her away.

You know what you have to do. Take a few breaths. “You have to leave. I’m not joking, it isn’t right.”

In response, Minju unravels the ribbon of the layers sealed around her waist. It falls apart. You do, too.

She’s a real danger. As it turns out, the girl isn’t wearing anything underneath that trench coat. She’s an artist’s naked muse—bare long legs, wide hips, and a sizable bust that has sculptors carving something else.

The cold hardens her pink nipples. You notice how her breasts are much bigger than your wife’s. How her hips are more tempting to grab, so you do. How her body is meatier, a lot more enticing that you wouldn’t refuse a day without touching it.

Minju fuels your infidelity, and you won’t stop for it if it kills you.

She simpers, fingers curling into your work shirt. “Still wanna make me leave,” she asks, “when you can breed me all night long?”

You laugh, huffing it out as you pull her inside and close the door behind her. Minju looks gorgeous pressed to it. She looks gorgeous in whatever situation, actually. Her thighs squish against the carved design and look thicker as a result. More reasons to dive into that shaven cunt and abuse it.

“You’re not leaving until we make a fucking mess, Minju.” You take your shirt off. Throw it on the ground. “And we better make it quick.”

“Of course.” She nods. She’s slyer than a fox, but she submits to you without a second thought.

You lean in to kiss her. The heat is unbearable. You can feel it from Minju’s body transferring to yours. It’s the effect of her natural skills as your personal slut: trying to fit her tongue deeper in your mouth while you pull her close like she’d dare to run away. 

You haven’t gotten this hard for anyone else. It’s always been Minju you fall for. You miss the way she kisses, the way she roams her hands all over your torso, the way she’s goddamned insatiable. Feeling it all now in one, heated moment makes you dizzy. You’re taking in too much of her, but without her, you’d go thirsty again. 

Your fingers are in her hair; hers are on your waist. Your teeth are clamped down on Minju’s bottom lip; hers are apart and allow soft moans to pass through—one, two, three. You fit each other in so many wicked ways. They did say misery loves company.

Open your eyes. The dream doesn’t stop. Minju’s still pushing her mouth in your face and you’re letting her. You don’t know if you ought to be relieved or downright horrified. You’re cheating on Wonyoung again with a woman whose body is just a bit nicer. You should be furious at yourself. You aren’t.

You’ve made out with each other on the way to the dining room. You and your wife worked hard for its designed walls and sturdy, well-furnished ornaments. A lot of money was raked out to make this house the best place to call home. So, why do you want to ruin it?

Well, because of her.

Minju leans on the dining table with a funny smile on her face. “She really doesn’t do it for you, huh?” she asks.

It makes you wince how you know who she’s talking about. Who else is she referring to other than poor Wonyoung? Poor, skinny, ugly Wonyoung?

Nibble at her earlobe. Hear little gasps come out of her. “Don’t talk about her,” you say.

You don’t want to have any afterthoughts about fucking Minju. Besides, being reminded that you’re disloyal to a woman who loves you very much is painful, even to a man like you.

Wonyoung is an angel. Minju isn’t—but you run after her to darkness.

“Ohh, come on, I know I’m better than her.” Minju squirms with erotic moans. Your kisses are going south, and she loves their little detour. “You don’t fuck her like you fuck me.”

When was the last time you worshiped Wonyoung? Like what you’re doing to Minju now? Your lips haven’t passed over it in ages that you probably wouldn’t know where the bigs and smalls of her body are. Like there’s anything to know. 

“Actually,” you snort, “I don’t fuck her at all.”

You stop chuckling. That was the wrong thing to say. That was the wrongest thing to say out of the millions of other cocky phrases you could’ve thrown to Minju. The look on her face, the one that’s of pride and submission and dangerous knowledge united, tells you to watch your mouth. 

You’re five seconds minimum too late to listen. 

Minju grins. There’s the answer she wanted. “That’s how it is? Just looking at a girl and thinking you wanna stamp a divorce approval on her forehead? Jesus. This is why I never got married.”

“First off, nobody put a ring on you because you’re a slut, Minju.”

“That’s only the third reason.” Her fingers drape the sides of your face and tugs you in. You’re invited to the sight of her infallible tits. “These are the first two.”

The girl isn’t as busty as that woman Wonyoung likes to call her industry mom, but you bet they’re better. No, it’s a matter of truth. Minju’s boobs aren’t too big or too small; just the perfect, filling size to hold onto when you’re railing her from behind.

You choose to suck on them for now. It’s like a trip down memory lane when you kiss down her neck and collarbone. You remember how good her smooth, soft skin feels beneath you, how her moans are a favorite tune. Minju bites her lip while you do so to her shoulder.

It’s crazy to think that she just so happened to be born with this. She was born to be a pretty face with a sex-defined body that you pull and push and pry apart. Best thing is, she’ll lay back down and beg for more. It’s like she knows her purpose, which would’ve shot down her dignity and humanity.

Her nipple pops in your mouth. Your sucking guarantees its hardness, and Minju starts whining. She arcs her body, wanting something rougher. Thus, you seize the span of her hip to rub her pearl with fierce speed.

“Oh, fuck, god—” What others might take for blasphemy, you take for praise. Minju’s already soaking wet. She would have had embarrassing laundry to do if she wore panties. Maybe it’s a good thing she arrived wearing nothing.

She’s still so sensitive. You caress her clit after a few kisses down her midriff. She fidgets needily like you aren’t already touching her. You’re nearly right—this touch is nothing when she needs something harsher. That something involves you treating her less than a human being, putting her down and tearing at her hair. 

“Please just fuck me,” she whispers. “Breed me, breed me, breed me—”

Yeah, that’s what she wants.

You don’t need further motivation, not when you’re presented with the prettiest pussy you’ve ever seen. Her fat lips are soaked. They frame the clitoris you’ve been stimulating that shines with slick. Then there’s the tiniest hole below it that begs to be used.

Your digits shove past all tightness. Her wetness allows a deeper exploration, so you curl your digits like you’re beckoning the orgasm forward. You know how easily you can get it out of her. All it needs to get Minju cumming around you is a slap, roughness, and giving her what she wants anyway. You know your methods, she knows hers. It’s a recognizable cycle that despite this, you can’t break.

Part your fingers widely to spread her. She’s so wet that she soaks your knuckles. There’s an ocean inside her waiting to be waved to shore. A storm, too, brews from the base of her throat as Minju whimpers. Her body lifts off the table but you force her down on it. She isn’t going anywhere, not without a fight.

Oh, and fight she does. She was an idol before an actress, so her muscles still memorize the circling motions that repeat on your fingers rather than move onstage. She sang once. That was a long time ago yet her voice sounds perfect as it strains her moans. Every little thing she does is a reflection of her past. 

That’s why when she leans back, pupils dilating north, and says “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” you get deja vu.

Your palm hits her clit, adding impact to your strokes. “There you go, little slut,” you snarl. “Are you happy now? Maybe even a little grateful?”

If Minju’s ass isn’t pressed down on the glass mantling your dining table, it hovers so her pink little hole receives you better. It’s not without the help of her weak hands clinging to the table for dear life, but she seems to be losing her balance. Her hips are shuddering. Her beautiful face is squeezed up into a blissful wince. Her breaths are becoming blunt little gasps that say none of the gratitude you want to hear.

You slap her boob. Red blooms from her pale skin that deepens when another impacts her bosom. The recoil dizzies you. If anyone’s getting the impression that you’ll slap her bouncy tits until you hear a proper word of thanks, they’d be right. First impressions are right just for once.

“T-thank you—” Her voice cracks, breaking like her. “Fuck, shit, thank you, thank you.”

Squeeze her cruelly and pull on the perky nipple. Your thrusts become mindlessly paced. Your hand returns to your cock while the other ruins her pussy. The pleasure is telepathic. It’s connecting you; her screams and squirms make you do the same. The electricity firing up in your veins is a shared network. When you point your fingers to her spot, she arcs her back in the same direction. How beautifully fucked up is that? 

“That’s not enough. You didn’t come here for nothing. What do you want, Minju?”

Minju babbles. You got your gratitude but not a proper answer. To be fair, she can’t speak when you’re fucking her like it’s your dick inside her, and when your lips are all over her collarbone. 

“And you better keep quiet,” you add, curling your thrusts, “or Wonyoung‘s gonna hear. Do you really want her to know her precious friend is a big slut?”

However, despite the rumors she starts, Minju could be a very good girl when needed. 

“Need you to make me cum,” she whispers. Her midriff is fluid as water with the way it rolls, showing off the hourglass shape of her waist and a soft tummy. “Do everything to me you can’t with Wonyoung. P-please, I can’t take it.”

Even if she can’t (wrong by the way), you’ll make her. She asked for it. She walked up to your house with a purpose: to be used, to be treated like less of a human being. So it’s understandable that you slam her down the table and seal a hand around her neck. 

She’s so light that the forceful push doesn’t break the fragile glass. But there’s something of hers instead that’s going to be broken.

“Oh fuck! It’s so–” Minju’s eyes roll back. “Ohh… oh!”

Little sparks of wetness shoot in the air. Your pace turns merciless. With just three fingers, you puppet her body. Strings are pulled—her arms raise and her long legs strain to pull you in. You push and she keens, you pull and she yells. You’re making her desecrate the place with her water.

“C-can’t breathe.” A squeeze of her beautiful features—eyelids wrinkling, mouth parting, cheeks filling with scarlet—occurs before she squirts again. She whimpers pathetically, sounding so pitiful you want to laugh. “Ah, fuck, daddy—”

Something stirs inside you. When men hear that name, it ought to feel purely platonic and familial. They’d hear it from their daughter and feel compelled to protect them from men who’d do to them what you do to Minju. But you much prefer hearing that two-syllable word when it comes from a naked woman squirting all over the floor, from whom once you register it, you’re urged to pin her down, tie her down, hold her down.

Ironically, you release her. That isn’t because it’s over though. “On your knees. Follow me.”

Minju releases a gasp, grateful for the oxygen. The color returns to her face yet she barely has the energy to get off the table. You’re a generous man, and hey, it still counts as helping. So you yank her hair and force her on the ground. She fucking moans, a feat deserving of a healthy spank to her ass.

You walk to the living room. She follows you withher hands and knees bearing the cold tiles. You lead her to the place where you spend your time watching movies, rehearsing, and hanging out with Wonyoung if she’s ever home.

Speaking of, glance at the door of your bedroom. It’s still closed. It’ll stay that way.

Look down after wondering why Minju’s noisier. She’s playing with herself on the floor with no care for the cold chill of the tiles or the little dirt wedged between them. She lightly rubs her abused clit, quivering at the contact. You expect that from her—she’s corrupted, an irredeemable cause. She’ll get herself off anytime anywhere.

But what’s unexpected is what those watery eyes are focused on: you, in a framed picture on the wall. You look younger, happier. You’re in formal garments standing next to Wonyoung in a church.

It was you on your wedding day.

You spit on Minju. “Filthy cumslut.”

The drool slides down her cheek like a tear. She darts her tongue out and licks it. One could’ve thought it was candy considering the lift of a smile. 

“I’m sorry, daddy,” she says resolutely. Her fingers still toy with her entrance. They won’t serve her well when there’s a bigger, better thing behind your pants to do it for her.

Your pants are already off. “Get up. Get the fuck up,” you command, but you do it for her. 

You grab her neck and force her up. The look on her face is addicting, the way the shock turns into carnal need, the way she bites her lip. You press her to the wall, right under the framed wedding pictures, and finally plunge yourself inside her.

“Oh, oh, oh!” 

What did Minju do to get this tight? Her walls are squeezed closer around you than you remember. They’re still wet from her squirting, easing your burden of fighting against the tautness of her core.

Her groans are pitched just like how you pitch yourself in her and make her fight for it. She tries everything: gathering the strength she has to push her ass into your crotch, rolling her body, looking back to watch your cock disappear between her lips. 

“So big, daddy!” she cries. With a lick of her lips, she turns to face you. “Mmm, d-do you ever get this massive when you’re fucking Wonyoung?”

That seals it. There’s no restraint in using her body. Her plump ass leading to her toned back is a temptation by itself. You’d burst all over it (maybe in it) if you weren’t already firm in breeding her. But dear god—it rises and descends into your angled pumps so effortlessly that you aren’t afraid to spank it like you’re angry at her. 

“Keep your whore mouth shut.”

Spank after spank you bestow and you realize, oh, you and Minju are really made for each other. The more her ass reddens, the more hot pain sparks on your palm. She throws herself back hard, you piston her harder. 

Your puzzle pieces stick together so perfectly that it’s a shame you didn’t meet under different circumstances. She could’ve been an adorable girl next door and you could have been a guy looking to slip her a love letter. She would’ve been your loving girlfriend, a beautiful wife, someone you’d actually enjoy touching, so different from the woman asleep in the bed upstairs.

But that’s never happening. Minju’s a slut through and through, and she’ll forever be a sin you won’t go to confessions for. She was made to be fucked then discarded of when she’s no longer of use. You see it in the way she’s in a mantra of craziness, the way she yells, the way she looks back at you like she’s daring you to hurt her.

You choose the dare rather than to tell her the truth. You curl her hair into a fist and pull her into you. 

“God, I’m so close.” Minju’s trembling body grows warmer in your touch. “I’m gonna cum all over your big gorgeous cock. I can’t hold out longer, daddy.”

Your teeth dig into her earlobe. You could make her bleed and she’d still find a way to make the pain heavenly. “I thought I told you to be quiet. Is Wonyoung waking up and ending your life worth it for this?”

“What if I say yes?” 

“Fuck.”

“Wouldn’t that be nice, making her see you’d give her away to get a night with me? You’ll give up all this stupid shit t-to be my daddy. Because Wonyoung’s just sooo worthless, isn’t she?”

Savage her cunt and shove your fingers down her mouth just so she could shut up. You love this. Minju’s always so ready for you. 

No, actually—now that you think about it, you hate it. You hate how she’s curvier than your wife, how she’s more alluring than she could ever be, how she moans despite the blockage in her throat. Everything about her is so sexy that the sound of her choking up spit makes you throb. 

This is the wrong time to have a conscience. You’ve already split her apart. You’ve already got your fingers in her hair that pull hard to the point that damage is highly likely. You’ve already—

—got Minju screaming, biting down on your skin as her legs spread. What a strange thing to have as a natural reflex. That’s all she knows to do: spread her legs, hope her innocent face attracts a guy into her home and his dick into her pussy. Her skin, white as snow, has become impure with red blemishes. You see her purple-bruised neck flex when she yells into your hand. 

“Daddy! Daddy!” Minju yells. Her fingernails leave fine scratches on the wall. “Fuck, I’m squirting so much I don’t know what to do—oh fuck!”

You bump the manic girl up on your knee before spreading her legs. A godless squirt of her juices hits Wonyoung’s face, the savior being the glass protecting the picture. Others bless their homes with water blessed by esteemed priests; you like to stand out. Choose to have Minju’s unholy juice flood the photo you once held dear. 

Did something possess you? An evil spirit, a god of fertility? All are clichés but you can’t help but think so when you notice how fast you’re pumping Minju. It’s like greed’s finally reigned you. It’s difficult to resist. Minju just wrings your cock perfectly dry with her tight cunt, keeps you speedy with her desperate moans. You’re vandalizing her with your climax and she doesn’t want to be clean ever again.

“You think you’re special, Minju?” You press her to the ruined picture. Her side profile mashes on the glass. “You’re nothing, only a useless hole, just like that bitch. Now clean it up.”

Her eyes light up in shock. Excitement? “What?”

You pull her head back in order to have her full lips pressed against Wonyoung’s face. The clear squirt is still dripping from it. Minju’s face is red, and although your cock left her moments ago, she insists on tensing like it’s there. Is that how she lives? Her way of bonding is riding on the high she got the night before and the night before that. She always has sex in her mind that thoughts of it occur to her as they would to an animal. 

That’s right; she’s an animal. Perhaps even a dog would have more self-control than her, ironically. 

“Lick your mess,” you command. “Now.”

Minju whimpers. You bury your fingernails in her scalp until she loses her fake hesitance. Her tongue glides on Wonyoung’s face and relieves her of the mess. Her lips part and close, taking in her own taste. 

She looks like she’s making out with your wife. Her pretty face smudges the other pretty face in the picture and it’s so much hotter than it’s got the permit to be. Wonder how it’ll look if she’s actually kissing the real Wonyoung—picture them with their legs locked together and tongues coming out to play—and you’re hard enough for another round.

“That’s right. You want to be Wonyoung so bad? You want to be the one I drive into the bed everyday? So fucking make out with her.”

“Y-yes, daddy. Oh.” Minju’s moans fog the glass. “I taste delicious.”

 It’s probably a hygienically reprehensible thing to do. But her mouth is dirtier than the picture anyway. You force her lips deeper into it until you pull her away, satisfied.

Not quite.

Rub her clit a few more times. Hose her squirt all over the floor. You’ll have a mess to clean up. Oh, there’s all the evidence: her squirt on the floor, her lipstick in the shape of a languid kiss on the picture frame, the mess she made in the dining table where you ate her rather than your food. 

But it’s all worth it. An evil idea plants and sprouts in your mind. “Bedroom.”

Minju pants. Her hands are flat on the wall. She turns to you, saliva and lipstick smeared on her chin, and asks, “W-which one?” 

“You know exactly where.”

Her wide eyes tell you wordlessly that she got the point. She’s well aware of what room you want to use her body next. It’s not even supposed to be a question given the ways and moments you fucked her there.

“But daddy—if, if she hears us?”

You grin. “Then you’ll have to be pretty fucking quiet.”

The best thing about Minju besides her body is her passiveness. She may act up sometimes but she still needs your cock, and she’ll do anything to get it. So when she hangs her head to hide her smile, you spank her. It speeds her steps to the staircase. Continue doing so all the way.

It’s funny how she struggles to even lift a foot. Streams of your cum and hers slide down her legs, staining the carpet. You’ll have to wash that out, too. If you have the maid do it, she’s likely to put two and two together. 

Even from the back, Minju’s body is beautiful. Her reddened ass twists from side to side and brings attention to her wide hips. The deep line on her spine is a path you trace your fingertips on. She quivers. 

“Daddy,” she whines.

Hit her butt. Let it fill your palm. “Keep on walking.”

It’s borderline dehumanizing. You’re treating her with a ferociousness a woman like her should never have to go through. The eyes of the painted men and women on your walls lock on her. It’s like their hard stares are real. Minju bears the blows to her cheeks during her walk of humiliation up the stairs. Tiny yelps are caused by each one. It’s in her to be quiet now that Wonyoung is quite near, although not as close as she is to another heavy orgasm.

You slap her pussy, making her shake, then lead the juices mingling in it up to her asshole. She chews on the inside of her cheek to hide her moan. She reaches the last step with a huge sigh of relief. 

The finality of the torture doesn’t last long. Fuck, it doesn’t even exist. You collect the semen and wetness from her legs, then drag it right back to her pussy.

You shove your fingers deep in her cave. There. Now your cum stays inside her. After that, it’ll drip all the way to her womb. She screams through pursed lips. 

Push her hard against your bedroom door. Her stomach’s flatness goes up to the point that it’s the only thing engendered into the wood. Minju’s tiny gasp is already loud for you. Her beautiful side profile is mashed deep into the solid barrier between the two women.

Minju whimpers. Is she scared or heavily turned on? The thing with her is she likes both. So, yeah—she’s wet at the thought of being caught with you, being fucked within a distance of your wife wherein she could finally pin down your infidelity. 

The little angel closes her eyes when your words hover near her prone ear. “Shut up,” you warn, “unless you want to lose your career. Or this dick.”

You slip your shaft between Minju’s shapely thighs. A friction is nurtured and grown into rough, pant-accompanied humping that leaves both of you breathless. Her pussy lips splay warmly on you and you’re allowed to rub yourself on her clit. 

Minju tenses up. Her breaths are kept to a hummed volume yet their huskiness gets you to fuck her legs faster. The core between them is so warm and you haven’t even welcomed yourself in it again. 

You carefully open the door. You don’t know what you’re expecting: Wonyoung crying with her face in her knees? An anger you never knew she could have? But what shows calms you. There’s your wife who remains asleep on the bed. From the soft snores, it’s easy to tell she’s deep in a dream.

“Wonyoung’s so pretty, daddy,” whispers Minju. You push her to the footboard where she holds on tight. “Do you think she’ll want to join if she wakes up? Or she’ll leave you for me?”

“Are you sure you want to act like that?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugs. “Depends on what you’re gonna do to me.”

Everything. You’re planning on doing everything to her. 

Push her to the small pole of the wood. You’re forced to shove your fingers in her mouth again to keep her from yelling. The contact it makes to her clit is already overwhelming. But she’s all for overwhelming—she wants the kind of sex that leaves her beaten and bruised, the kind that leaves her sore and not knowing if she should tell you to keep going or halt. 

You know what she’d choose.

Minju grinds on the pole. She’s dancing her hips again. Somehow, things of the past don’t leave her. Her idol days still leave an impact on her. The guy she made cheat on his wife a long time ago returned to her life to cheat again. 

No, you’ve never been one for sentimentality, but things have somehow stayed the same. The slut that is Minju today was a slut all those years ago, too. 

Grab her hips and force her to hump the ball of the pole. She soaks it instantly. Minju is corrupted to no hope of return. There’s your cum, leaking from her pussy and to the bedsheets. Her juices wet the pole and increase the creaking noises that would wake Wonyoung up if not for whatever dream she’s having.

“Oh, daddy! Oh, daaaddy—” she stammers, words bitten and broken in the major need to be quiet.  “Just… fuck me. Please?”

“As long as you—”

“Be a good quiet girl, yes. I’ll do anything, daddy. Anything for this cock.” 

She kneels down. Her tender mouth seals around your left testicle. You nearly shout right there and then. Minju’s running her lips on the underside of your swelling dick. She feels so good, and she is so good. She has all the tips and tricks to keep you hard memorized, if her brain wasn’t too full of other dirty thoughts.

The rasp in your throat materializes and makes her squirm her legs together. She puckers her lips then slips your cock through their joined entrance. Her almond eyes look wider tonight. Your tip pokes the back of her throat. She lets it rub there for now. You find pleasure in the texture that makes you leak. No, you can’t cum. Not yet.

Take a last look at Wonyoung before diving your rod to the depths of Minju’s throat.

It’s funny that the girl still has a gag reflex. Sucking dick is second nature to her. So is getting throatfucked. The walls of her oral hole flex to keep you in. She makes sharp inhalations only to take in the musky scent you thrust on her. In her?

Choking comes after. The orifice grows tighter which makes you fuck it harder. Saliva’s slick liquid state sheens your erection. Minju’s lost her breath a long time ago but she’s lost more than that now. The regular beat of her heart is gone. You can’t search her face for any color other than the palest white. 

“You have to stop gagging, Minju,” you say. Don’t help her though; keep ruining that throat. “Maybe you really do wanna get caught. Makes you really wet, doesn’t it?”

She nods. Your hard tip bobs in her mouth as she does. Her pretty eyes, with their long lashes and big pupils that always seem to gleam with innocence, fill with watery tears. 

“How cute.” You’re surprised that her hair is intact to her scalp after you pull it back. “But I make the rules around here. And I need you to seal that mouth shut and use it for good.”

There’s a possibility that, like Minju, you’re a dancer as well. But the upward grind of your body has no grace in it. It’s a rough, punked up beat that renders the girl humming and screaming.  This roughness is nowhere close to natural.

You dip your cock in her just to see how far you could go, how far is needed to keep her quiet. Feed her more than she could suck. Every sensitive spot of yours is on fire thanks to Minju’s dutiful tongue and hard sucking. Your sack slaps her chin so hard it’s surprising it doesn’t hurt. 

But, like you iterated, Minju isn’t normal. She takes the pain for pleasure and doesn’t give a damn if she gets wounded because of it. 

The tears finally fall from her eyes. 

The lines blur. Who is she—the woman asleep on your bed or the woman you fucked to be disloyal to her? Minju’s beautiful; so is Wonyoung. Jang Wonyoung is beautiful but there’s a category of beauty wherein the girl you’re destroying right now falls in. That’s the section for women who look pretty when they cry, who’ve accepted they’re as fucked up as whoever finds them and takes them in for who they are.

Your wife is pretty. You guess. But Minju is a beauty who lets you do everything to her, and that makes her a little bit more important.

Defile, defile, defile. Wonyoung wouldn’t let you get cum in her hair—(”I have a photoshoot, babe, you can’t!”). Semen sticks to Minju’s locks right now. Wonyoung wouldn’t let you be this rough with her—(“And what if they see? I shouldn’t look dirty to the fans.”) Minju is sitting there taking it like she’s just a cum dump. Wonyoung wouldn’t let you tear off her clothes because “they’re couture so it’s not really mine.” The coat Minju wore coming here lies discarded on the first floor.

Wonyoung doesn’t let anyone defile her. It’s her most fatal flaw. It’s the flaw that makes her husband see all the tiny imperfections she doesn’t allow the camera to see and chase highs in another woman’s throat.

So when Minju cries, gags, chokes—you realize it’s all so simple.

Slip out of her. The delusions clouding your head make you steal a look at the bed. Oh, now it’s unbelievable. Wonyoung is still asleep.

Not that it’s any inconvenience to you.

You prop Minju up to the vanity table. The counter carries the heave of her small chest. She can barely lift her head up. It makes her carry a look of humiliation that’s not at all true. She’s the most shameless woman you’ve ever met.

“Daddy… daddy…” 

Twist her chin so she can look at herself in the mirror. Her body is amazing despite the handprints and bruises peppered on her stomach, butt, and neck. She flusters but your finger presses on her lips before she can look away.

“Not a single sound,” you remind her. 

She nods. Good girl.

Minju’s a capable girl. Well, mostly. She offers those amazing dicksucking lips, shapely curves, and sometimes, her ass for ruining its own tightness. But nothing beats the feeling of her cunt. It’s all the right things: wet, tight, and perfectly quivering as they wrap around your shaft.

Minju closes her eyes. Bites down on her lip. She fights to be true to her promise of silence. Being a good girl and bad girl simultaneously is one of her versatile traits. The table creaks louder than expected. You would’ve shot another look at your spouse again, but Minju’s pretty face is in the way. Her cheeks are scarlet and her brows bead with sweat. She really is a beauty.

Your strokes are ceaseless. The thing that shocks you the least is the fact that her legs look as if they spread wider and wider. She splits while you split her apart. Place a hand on her tummy to muffle the sounds of skin colliding and wood creaking, and reach a better end: your cock is hitting her guts, making a bobbing print on her flat stomach.

“Look how deep I am, Minju.” You grin wickedly at her reflection. “You call me daddy anywhere, don’t you? How about I become a real one?”

Minju bounces herself on you. That’s a yes. A definite, enthusiastic yes. 

Your penetration is rougher, gliding on places she can’t even imagine. If you cum right now, and this far in, you’ll live up to your name of “daddy.” Minju isn’t the only one who has to keep promises.

Corner a pulse point on her neck. Her core squeezes and although its resistance is tough, your pumps are more so.

“You’ll be my secret good girl. Daddy’s gonna put a fucking baby in your stomach, and no one has to know it’s mine. No one has to know you’re mine.”

Minju pouts, not out of sadness but of the orgasm that’s creeping from her feet to her center. It’s so close she could reach for it, taste it like a strong wind. You allow the tiny breaths and pants that leave her to be exemptions from your bedroom law.

“Wonyoung would be so happy for you.” You lick the sensitive spot behind her ear. “‘That’s so great, unnie! Come on, tell us who’s the lucky guy.’ And you’ll have to stop yourself from telling her that I did it. Can you do that?”

Minju emphasizes each repetition with a responding throb and push of her cunt. “Yes, yes, yes—”

Allow that, too. Burst inside Minju. Flood her insides with cum that shall infiltrate her fertile womb. Soon, that tummy would be round rather than flat. It’ll be your baby. 

Minju got what she wanted in the end.

-

The next day, Wonyoung will wake up crying. 

It’ll happen early in the morning, when the moon is still up and sheets still wrap your exhausted form. But she’s sobbing so loud that it’ll rouse you. 

“What’s wrong?” you’ll say. 

She’ll tell you about a dream she had. Wonyoung’s going to narrate a complex dream of Minju, her beloved former member and best friend, seducing you. It happened right in the house and in front of her. You dared to do it to her while she was sleeping and thought she didn’t know.

And you?

You’ll take her in your arms, kiss the inside of her trembling wrist, and say, “Oh, honey—it’s okay. I’m here, baby. I’m here. I’m here.”

[foreingersgod]

omg I saw you wrote for pb and I was wondering your take on her comforting a reader who struggles with mental health or anxiety? Tysmia && I love your work !! ❤️🤗

for any of you struggling out there, i’m here with you! if you ever need, my inbox is always open :)

Anxious . PB

pairing: paige bueckers x reader

synopsis: you’ve struggled with anxiety your entire life, but you never told anyone, including paige. during one of your bad anxiety attacks, she finally finds out.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

since you were young, about starting middle school, anxiety controlled the entirety of your life. every decision, every breathe, every moment, anxiety was driving you. it was so suffocating that you fell behind the other kids. you didn’t play sports or join clubs, nor did you hang out with friends because you feared the worst. those voices in your head, that twisted feeling in your gut made life almost unlivable.

when you graduated high school and moved away for college, the anxiety lessened. you think in some ways college helped you find yourself and for a little bit, you were living freely.

in that time, you met your girlfriend paige. you had met her through one of your mutual friends at her birthday party. paige had spotted you from across the room, completely captivated by you. you were beautiful, had the most adorable laugh, and had the most unique style she had seen. she couldn’t help but ask for your number.

the rest was history. you and paige hit it off immediately and became inseparable. when you were with paige, you felt amazing. anxiety was the last thing on your mind. talking to people became easier, leaving your house was no longer scary, life was good. your days of anxiety and panic attacks were well behind you.

but about a year into your relationship, things started to fall apart again. that particular year, you were facing a lot of hardships and it was hard to manage it all. your mother was rushed to the hospital for a minor respiratory problem, she was recovering well, but the financial burden fell to you. school was beginning to pile up as well, it felt like you were drowning in school work. things at your job had been getting worse too, you were understaffed (and underpaid) and practically running the whole place. and on top of that, it was paige’s last year at uconn and she was so stressed about the upcoming season, and you were finding it hard to balance being her support system and the rest of your life.

it was hard.

when things started to go down hill, you felt that familiar feeling creep its way back into your mind. you found that your heart was pounding more and more when you left your cozy apartment, that your thoughts weren’t your own, and that you were always worried about the future. you couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t function properly at all. but you stayed optimistic, thinking that this would run its course. because you were getting better, right?

you kept all of this from paige. you were worried that she would worry and you didn’t want to make things worse. after all, you had never even told paige about your struggles with anxiety and mental health in the past and you wanted to keep it that way.

on one saturday night in june, one of paige’s teammates hosted a small get together at a quaint little restaurant with the team and their partners. everyone was stoked to see one another and catch up. normally, you would have loved this sort of thing. you used to love those types of settings, but now you were struggling to act excited about it. when paige had told you about the invite, you immediately became apprehensive.

“you excited?” she asked, telling you the details of the event “it’ll be fun”

“stoked” you managed to croak out.

when 6:00 pm rolled around, you were dressed and ready to go. paige was downstairs, keys in hand, awaiting your arrival, but you remained in the bathroom. you stared at your reflection in the mirror, trying to talk yourself down from a panic attack.

you can do this, YN, it’s gonna be ok you told yourself.

“YN!” you heard paige holler from the bottom of the stairs “we’re gonna be late, babe! are you ready?”

touching up your hair and fanning the tears out of your eyes, you rushed out of the bathroom. paige greeted you by the front door with a kiss, hands finding the small of your back and leading you out to her car.

the drive was dreadful. all you could think about was going home, thinking that something was going to go wrong and ruin your night. it had you discretely biting your nails as you looked out the car window. paige, oblivious to your agitated state, was telling you about the restaurant the get together was held at and how she was exited for you to try it. you nodded along, trying to keep yourself distracted.

after a painfully long drive to your destination, you were being escorted to the table where your party sat. you were met with toothy smiles and cheerful greetings from paige’s teammates as you arrived. paige pulled out your chair for you and sat down next to you while conversing with a few of the girls.

you were doing fine at first, only sparking up conversation with a few girls to keep your anxiety at bay. you were managing. even when the waiters began taking orders, you got through it no problem. laughter filled your small corner of the restaurant as everyone joked and talked with each other, there was absolutely nothing to be worried about.

20 minutes passed, discussion was still alive and you were getting through the night like a champ.

until the food was brought out.

the second that plate was sat in front of you, you felt the pace of your heart pick up. you didn’t know what was going on, but for some reason, the thought of eating your food in front of all of these people set you off. you hadn’t had a history of this, normally you didn’t mind eating in public. you assumed it must of been the stress of keeping food down. you stared at the steaming meal in front of you like it was some sort of extraneous creature. just the thought of lifting up the fork had you spiraling about every possible thing that could go wrong.

what if you threw up?

what if the food was raw?

what if everyone saw the way that you were eating? they’ll probably think you look funny.

your eyes welled up at the thought of it all, your head hung low to hide your dampened mood. your legs were bouncing uncontrollably to try and balance your nerves, body practically shaking from fear.

as you attempted to reserve yourself, praying no one would notice. you felt paige’s hand rest itself onto your knee, gripping it gently to halt your bouncing. she tapped the inside of your thigh, leaning in and whispering into your ear.

“hey, what’s the matter baby?” she muttered just enough for you to hear “you’re shaking”

you bit your lip harshly. fuck

you shook your head. it was all you could muster, couldn’t find the ability in your throat to produce any words. the urge to cry out for help gnawed at your chest.

before paige could question any further, you abruptly stood out of you chair. the wooden legs scraping against the black and white tile of the floor. as your back turned, rushing to the bathroom for any sort of isolation, you felt eyes burning in the back of your head. you heard paige call out for you faintly, but it was no use, you couldn’t sit at that table a moment longer.

the bathroom felt miles away as scurried past other tables. tears were streaming down your cheeks, most definitely taking your mascara with it. finally reaching the single occupant bathroom, you shut the door and locked it behind you. you were careless of the germs as you sunk to the bathroom floor in despair. knees hugged close to your chest and head buried into your arms. sobs racked your body and trepidation coursed through your veins. you were losing control of yourself.

out of the blue a knock sounded at the bathroom door. assuming it was another diner of the restaurant, you ignored it hoping they would move along. then you heard her.

“YN, are you in there? are you ok, what the hell is going on?” paige’s voice rang through the door.

“i’m fine” you hiccuped “i’ll be out in a second, i just need to pee is all”

“don’t lie to me” she said “you were shaking and sobbing when you left the table, the hell you just have to pee”

you continued to cry, loud enough for paige to hear.

“baby, please, what can i do? what’s going on, i want to help” she pleaded.

past all the pain your mind was putting you through, you yearned for paige. she made you feel so safe, the whole reason you were able to battle your anxiety in the first place. you didn’t want to rope her into this, but it was far past keeping it a secret now.

with hands still trembling, you unlocked the door and let her in. without wasting a second, she was at your side, locking the door behind her. her arms wrapped around you protectively, rubbing your back to comfort you as you fell to the floor again. she sat with you as you crawled into her. your head tucked into her chest as you cried, tears soaking into her shirt, fingers clinging to the fabric. paige tried to move the hair out of your face to get a better look at you.

“you’re scaring me, YN” a worried expression washed across her face “what can i do? who do i have to fight, huh?”

she tried to cheer you up, accepting defeat once you cried harder.

“i-i don’t-” you were struggling to speak still “i don’t even know where to start paige!”

she pulled you closer to her chest “just try baby, take your time. i’m right here with you, we’ve got all the time in the world ok. just get it all out, you’re safe”

and that was all it took for you to completely break down if front of your girlfriend. every detail from the last few days, from your past, everything about your anxiety came spilling out.

“before i met you, i had chronic anxiety. like so bad i could barely leave the house. then i moved away for school and it got better, and when i met you it pretty much went away. but you know with my mom? and school and work and now you’re in your last season with your team? it’s just been getting to me and the anxiety has started to get worse again. i can’t eat or sleep right and i feel like i’ve been losing my fucking mind, paige”

she was such an amazing listener, sitting there on the dirty bathroom floor as her girlfriend bawled into her shoulder. the whole time her eyes were glued to you, gentle fingers carefully wiping your tears away.

“why didn’t you tell me all of this? tell me about the eating and the sleeping? YN, it makes me sick imagining you going through all this alone”

“because i didn’t want you to worry and i was too embarrassed to say anything”

“well i’m worried now” she said “and embarrassed? baby…”

“i know, it’s silly, but i was just scared you’d think of me less if you knew what a mess i am when i get anxiety like this”

“i could never think less of you. ever. please know that”

“but i-”

“no, listen” she interrupted “just because you struggle with your mental health or have a hard time dealing with your anxiety doesn’t mean i’ll think anything less of you. you’re my whole world. this life and in the next, you’re my entire soul. i want nothing more than to be here for you and to help you overcome things like this. if anything, it only proves to me how strong you are and how i’m so lucky to have a girl who’s able to get through all this”

you sniffled, tears stopping as she continued “i love you, more than you know. and i’m sorry you felt like you needed to do this on your own”

you really had the best girlfriend out there. someone who loves you even through your own insecurities.

“i love you so much” you kissed her with your lips salty from the tears “thank you for being here, i don’t know what i’d do without you”

“get through all this just the same because that’s how strong you are. i’m just here to help in anyway you need” paige leaned in for another kiss, this time deeper, strong hands cradling your jaw “how about i go tell the team you’re not feeling well and we’ll go back home, eat some ice cream and watch anything you want?”

you nodded, wiping your cheeks with the back of your palm “even new girl?”

“yea baby, even new girl”

moments later, you were back in the comfort of your home. snuggled in bed next to paige, bowls of ice cream on your lap, the tv buzzing in the background.

you could finally breathe again, you just needed your girl.

[choerypetal]

Princess / Logan Howlett ༄ ‧₊˚

summary: logan's variant in wade's world is indifference of the one you were familiar or heard about. until he proves you wrong on the rumors being spread about him.

ps; i apologies if there is a few grammatical errors, as english isn't my first language.

enjoy!

Logan’s heightened senses drove him to madness, fixated on what he considered his. Though his other selves shared similar traits, his obsession was a love language all its own—a twisted devotion that everyone recognized, and no one could forget.

Meeting him felt vague, yet endearing—at least in Wade’s eyes, especially when he caught the slight stutter in your voice. Your frame was just a bit smaller than Logan’s, something Wade couldn’t resist teasing you about, loudly enough to draw Logan’s protective gaze. “Will you leave them alone? I’m still amazed you have any friends with that loud mouth of yours,” he quipped, his tone half-joking but fully defensive.

Poor thing—a nickname he’d mostly outgrown, reserved now for special moments. Like when you struggled to reach something just out of your grasp. He’d watch you for a moment, scoff softly, and set his journal down before his shadow loomed over you. With effortless ease, he’d retrieve the item, a smug smile playing on his lips. “Poor thing,” he’d murmur. “You could’ve just asked the man for help.”

A pout formed on your lips as you rolled your eyes at his remark. Was he always such an asshole? You wondered, though it was hardly surprising after the stories Wade had shared about their first encounter. Searching for one variant was challenging enough, but finding the one in Wade’s world was something else entirely. Despite initially hating him—just as he harbored a slight disdain for you—you eventually outgrew your disdain for Wolverine, outgrew the man you never imagined you’d feel safe with.

After just a few months of living together, it was Logan’s feelings for you that began to deepen. A man of tradition, he’d often help you cook for Wade and anyone else who joined, a gesture you were slowly getting used to. But Wade, ever the tease, would sneak in during Logan’s absence and whisper, “If he doesn’t confess, I’ll make him confess.” His remark usually earned a smack on the chest, just as Logan would walk into the kitchen, eyebrow raised at the two of you. Wade, unfazed, would lean in and quip, “For my sanity, and everyone else’s.”

Later that night, Wade went out with Vanessa, giving you and Logan some rare time alone—a move you knew was just an excuse. As you washed the dishes, a comfortable silence settled over the room. Logan’s soft whistling filled the quiet, bringing a sense of calm that made you chuckle. He raised an eyebrow at the sound. “What’s so funny?” he asked, not looking your way as he finished the last of the plates.

You remained silent for a moment, a soft smile playing on your lips as you savored the peace. After a small shrug, you finally spoke. “Nothing, just enjoying this moment…” You paused, your eyes meeting his. “With you.”

Your quiet confession was enough to make him flustered. Though he hated feeling this way, he couldn’t deny the truth: your company was something he enjoyed, something he wanted to hold on to for as long as possible. Mirroring your smile, he saw you waiting for his response, so he gave it. “Me too,” he said softly, his voice calm as he set the towel down on the counter and turned to face you. Another moment of silence passed before you felt his thumb graze your chin. “And maybe spending even more time together…”

Your lashes fluttered, a detail he couldn’t help but admire—so much so, it drove him wild, igniting the possessive need to claim you as his own. Worthy of him, and only him, to love and cherish. “May I kiss you?” he asked, his voice low. The question wasn’t really an offer, not when you felt the same way. With a simple nod, you answered, “Anytime, Logan Howlett.”

Hearing his full name from your lips made him smile, envisioning a future where his name was etched into your heart. It was enough to fuel his desire, the need to make you his. He leaned in slowly, savoring the moment, though the hunger in him grew as your lips brushed against his. His strong fingers gently cupped your face before sliding to your waist, lifting you effortlessly into his arms as your legs wrapped around him.

He walked over to the couch, his hunger now transformed into a fervent passion. He wanted you, and as he sat down, with you nestled on his lap, it felt perfect. With a teasing smirk on your lips, you lightly brushed your hips against him. His head fell back, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment. His voice came out rough, curses slipping through as he muttered, “You’re driving me insane. Come here, baby girl.” The nickname carried a shift in his tone—Logan had become the Wolverine, his wicked smirk and darkened eyes never leaving you. Finally, he confessed, “It’s a shame Wade isn’t here to see what I’m going to do to you tonight… to claim you as mine… Princess.’"

[madbard]

I don’t think I’ll ever get over how perfectly “this is the home of the sun god” mirrors “this is the home of the wind god,” while also showing exactly how much has changed.

Looking back to “this is the home of the wind god” you can hear the sense of wonder there - maybe even a little hope. Despite all the horrific things that have happened, Odysseus suddenly finds himself in this beautiful, magical place - a mythical floating island; it must have felt like stepping into a childhood dream. Certainly, he was apprehensive but at that moment it was almost like he remembered just how amazing life could be. Eurylochus, on the other hand, remains grounded and concerned for his captain, his crew. He’s struggling to do the best he can and Odysseus disregards him, caught up in his own tenuous hope and desperation to return home which leads him to take any risk, which would later lead him to make any sacrifice.

Then we have “this is the home of the sun god.” The hope is gone, the wonder, the magic. He finds himself on this strange, dreamlike island and he can no longer see its beauty. He sees the cows and realizes that they have made a full cycle, but this time he doesn’t have the support of his friends, his crew. He is injured, betrayed and powerless to get home. All that is left is this deep, endless exhaustion, this mounting terror as he realizes what is about to happen, reliving Polites’ death, begging Eurylochus to listen to him one last time. Eurylochus, on the other hand, is so desperate to survive and protect the crew; he suddenly finds himself alone, isolated as the leader of a crew who has endured so much suffering - and for what? They can’t make it home. If the crew must die, then they will do so with full stomachs. They will have that final moment of comfort.

AND THEN THEY SWITCH PLACES IN THE DUET AND HCVHHDHSCHVHBUB

[ophanum]

' MISS CONNECTIONS ! - Niragi Suguru

ft. sub yandere! Niragi Suguru x f! insecure! reader

synopsis : You have seen him talking with another girl, so unsuspected and he's so chill with her. You saw this scenario not only once but twice. Now he's banging on your door.

tags & tw/cw: Slight OOC, angst.

❝A rib cage breaks in many ways... I'm told the best way to do it is take the heart out, is take the heart out...❞ — Miss Connections by The Keystones

It was her.

"Bunny," he called out, a name that used to send shivers down your spine, now dripping with a sickening sweetness.

The crowd blurred, a sea of faces except for one. There he was, the black hair a beacon. But it wasn't him that stole the air from your lungs.

His smile, the one that used to be yours, was plastered on her face too. It felt like a theft, a violation. As her smile mirrored his, a crack formed in your heart, widening with each passing second. The warmth you'd built around your emotions crumbled, replaced by a hollowness that echoed in your chest.

Tears pricked your eyes, blurring the scene further. You wished, with a desperation you hadn't felt in years, that he could see the wreckage he'd caused. The love you'd poured into him, now a shattered reflection staring back.

A ghost of a smile played on your lips, a bitter parody of amusement. You didn't need to stay here, a spectator in your own heartbreak. With a final, resolute turn, you walked away, leaving the shattered pieces behind.

"Hey babe," he chirped, pushing open the door. His adoring gaze swept the room before landing on you. Your back was turned, but he didn't miss the way you stiffened at his arrival. His grin, wide and boyish, seemed at odds with the way he swayed towards you, arms outstretched. Despite it, they landed softly on your hips, pulling you closer.

You remained unresponsive, a statue in his embrace.

"Just wait," he murmured, nuzzling his chin against your shoulder and squeezing tighter. "There's another game we can play, right? You and me? What do you say?"

"Sure," you replied, your voice flat. "I'll play."

Niragi, usually oblivious, caught the undercurrent in your tone. Maybe it wasn't your best day. He forced a smile, trying to inject some lightness into the air, even if it clashed with his usual bravado.

"Perfect! How about we head to my room?"

Silence stretched, thick and heavy. Finally, you spoke.

"No. Actually, I don't think I'm in the mood."

His eyebrows shot up. "Hey, what's wrong?"

A humorless chuckle escaped your lips. It sputtered out before fully forming, like a deflated balloon. Though you remained, the lightness had vanished from your laughter.

"Just not feeling it, Niragi," you sighed. "Honestly, sleep sounds amazing right now."

The clink of metal echoed as you dropped your utensils, the clatter a stark contrast to the quiet simmering on the stove. You turned and walked away, leaving Niragi rooted to the spot, his hand reaching out as if to grab your arm, then retracting just as quickly.

"Okay then," he mumbled as you reached the doorway. "Sweet dreams, babe."

The door shut with a soft click, your reply lost in the silence.

That's how things had been. Maybe a little childish, you thought. But the tone of his voice, laced with a vulnerability that resurfaces ever since you two admit each to one's feelings, sent your mind spiraling. A flicker, a spark – not broken, but…dented.

Liar. The word echoed in the empty space where your laughter once resided.

You love him more than you can handle. It's a suffocating weight, this affection, a burden your heart wasn't built to carry.

Love, in its purest form, terrifies you.

A tear welled at the corner of your eye, threatening to spill. But not this time. No, please, not today. Not when you're already teetering on the edge. Sleep, blessed sleep, became your only solace, a refuge from the storm brewing within.

Then came the next day. And with it, the sight that ripped the fragile peace you'd cobbled together. There he was, again, with her.

Why? What twisted game was this?

Jealousy, ever the venomous serpent, coiled itself around you, its icy grip climbing from your toes to your very core. It squeezed, injecting its poison into your veins, turning your thoughts to ash. Your fingers clenched, knuckles white. The world blurred with a haze of hurt and anger.

But then, a flicker of something else. A ghost of a smile played on your lips, your eyes drooping half-closed. The raw shock morphed into a mask of weary acceptance.

"Maybe..." you whispered, voice barely audible, "maybe they are better suited..." You squeezed your eyes shut, a strangled sob catching in your throat. "I can't compete with that..."

Defeated, you turned to leave, each step heavy with the weight of unspoken hurt. But just as you were about to slip back into the shadows, a hand clamped down on your arm, halting your retreat.

"What were you mumbling about, babe?" Niragi asked, his voice laced with concern.

You turned your head slowly, meeting his gaze with a wary caution. A flicker of movement behind him caught your eye – the woman he'd been with, now engrossed in conversation with someone else. His eyes, however, held a different story, a story you could almost decipher from the worry etched within them. He must've caught a word or two of your whispered defeat.

A smile, fragile and uncertain, touched your lips. In those depths you saw reflected the memories you shared, the very foundation of your love for him. And you knew, with a pang of truth, that his love for you brimmed over, a constant overflowing cup. Yet, even a cup overflowing with red wine can be refilled. He was the one who'd take his last breath for you, you knew that.

So why this sudden doubt, this crippling fear? Because love, you understood with a bitter clarity, was a fickle thing. And you, you were weak. You couldn't hold out forever, no matter how much it tore you apart.

Even for him?

But wasn't this for him, too? This agonizing self-preservation? A selfish act, a mantra echoing in your head – selfish, selfish, selfish. But what other choice did you have? Did you..?

"Are you okay?" Niragi's voice, laced with genuine concern, snapped you back to the present. You looked at him, the weight of your unspoken turmoil a heavy burden in your chest.

Your eyes snapped open, the daze momentarily forgotten. You forced a closed-eye smile, hoping it masked the turmoil within.

"Hey! Didn't see you there. What's up?"

Niragi wasn't fooled. Something was terribly wrong. "Y/n," he pressed, his voice firm. "Talk to me. There's something bothering you..."

You let out a shaky breath, a sliver of your exhaustion finally reaching the surface. Your eyelids fluttered shut, revealing the dark circles beneath. "Just...tired, Niragi. All these games are catching up, I guess."

You started to walk away, seeking solace in the quiet corners of the room. But Niragi's hand clamped onto your arm before you could disappear.

"Let me help," he pleaded. "Babe, I hate seeing you like this. I want to fix it."

A sigh escaped your lips, heavy with unspoken words. "Maybe later, Niragi. I just need some space."

You retreated once more, leaving him standing there with a furrow in his brow.

How many times? How many walls had you built, only to have him break them down with his unwavering concern? It had happened just yesterday, hadn't it? And the week before that? A month?

Now here he was, practically begging on the doorstep. Knees scraping against the floor, knuckles rapping a frantic rhythm against the wood.

"Y/n, please..." his voice choked with emotion. "Tell me what I did wrong. Tell me, so I can hold you again. I just want things to go back to how they were..."

An hour had passed, measured by the deepening purple of his knees and the puffy red of his eyes. Yet, he persisted. You, in a way, had molded him into this new Niragi. A man in control, seeking validation through love, not violence. Rid of the bloodlust, the madness, the insecurity. You'd sculpted him into something better.

Perhaps that's why he hadn't just barged in yet. But the raw desperation in his voice hinted at the calamity simmering just beneath the surface, barely contained.

The weight of his debt was heavy – his life, his future, all tethered to her. But if this was the end, then so be it. He'd unleash the monster he kept caged, just to keep her by his side.

Yet, a question gnawed at him, a relentless echo in his mind. Why? Why was this happening?

Just then, the click of the lock sent a jolt of hope through him. He lifted his chin, a desperate plea mirrored in his puppy-dog eyes that twisted something in your gut. He sank to the floor, clinging to your leg.

"Please," he rasped, the word a desperate plea through hiccups. "Please, just tell me what's wrong..."

"Come inside, Niragi," you sighed, leading him into the room.

You settled on the bed, the air thick with unspoken tension. Niragi remained standing, a storm brewing in his unstable gaze. He craved answers, and he craved them now, even if it meant forcing them from your clenched fists. Even if it meant laying waste to everyone around him for your sake.

"So?" he finally barked, his voice tight.

Silence stretched between you, your eyes refusing to meet his. He searched your face, desperate for any explanation.

A groan escaped your lips as you buried your face in your hands. "It's me, Niragi," you confessed, a wave of misery washing over you. "I'm not strong enough for this."

"No, you're not weak!" His laugh, a harsh, hollow sound, sent shivers down your spine. Unhinged, desperate, teetering on the edge. "You're the strongest person I know, stronger than me even!"

"That's not what I meant," you clarified, your voice barely a whisper.

His gaze locked onto yours, a frantic plea replacing the desperation. Like a cracked glass, he seemed to hold onto the last vestiges of control, preventing the torrent of emotions from spilling over.

"I don't think I can do this anymore," you whispered, the words heavy with defeat.

"What?" The single word broke free, laced with disbelief.

"Find someone else, Niragi," you choked out, tears stinging your eyes. "I don't deserve you."

A tremor ran through him, a crack splitting wide within. The dam holding back the monster was on the verge of breaking.

"Wait!" he cried, scrambling to his knees before you. He cupped your face in his trembling hands, his grip gentle yet firm. "Why? What happened? I...I don't understand! Y/N, please, please, tell me..."

The dam within you finally broke. Your lips quivered, and a tremor ran through your body as the raw vulnerability of his touch cracked the carefully constructed facade. Tears streamed down your cheeks, your hands limp in his grasp.

"I...I got jealous," you confessed, the words choked out on a sob.

Niragi, overwhelmed with his own emotional turmoil, could only listen intently, his hold tightening slightly with every shaky word you spoke.

"I know you didn't mean anything by it," you continued, voice thick with despair, "but it hurt so much, Niragi. So, so much. I felt like I couldn't take it anymore. I'm such a terrible girlfriend..."

"No! It was me!" he roared, desperate to absolve you of any blame. "There's nothing to apologize for! I'm the one who glanced over, like an idiot! It wasn't anything, I swear! I'm so sorry, Y/n, so sorry! I'll never do it again, I promise! You're the only one I see, my love, the only one I'LL EVER SEE!"

You shook your head, the memory of that single glance, a mere hairline crack in your relationship, amplifying into a gaping chasm in your own mind. This was your weakness, your flaw, laid bare.

After the torrent of emotions, an exhausted silence descended. You took a shuddering breath, a tired smile flickering on your lips.

"No, Niragi," you said softly, your voice drained. "Don't you see? Can't you see how weak I am? How flawed?"

"No, they're not flaws! They're not!" he cried, his voice thick with choked sobs as he cupped your cheeks. "They're not... how can I make you understand that?"

You shook your head again, the movement barely there. "There's no need to explain anymore, Niragi. I won't listen. It's...irritating, isn't it?" you whispered, your voice barely audible over his sobs and the muffled thumps of his fist hitting the bed beside your leg. "I'm not trying to blame you...it's just the way things are. Can't we accept it? Fate practically screaming at us. Let's not try to ruin it all."

"I DON'T CARE ABOUT FATE!" he roared, his voice raw with desperation. "I don't care about anything at all! I ONLY WANT YOU, Y/N! WHY CAN'T YOU JUST GIVE YOURSELF TO ME?"

His words hung heavy in the air, a desperate plea laced with a terrifying undercurrent. He was at the end of his rope, teetering on the edge, willing to become the monster he held at bay, all for a chance to keep you.

At this point, his hair stuck to his face in damp strands. His sobs had slowed to ragged hitches, his eyes red and puffy. He hiccuped, clinging to you like a lost child. And amidst the wreckage, your heart, if it even existed anymore, shattered into a million pieces.

You'd questioned its existence for a while now. Was there even a flicker of sympathy left within you, for him or yourself? You'd cried yourself dry days ago, the tears a testament to your own pathetic state.

"I don't know how to fix this, Niragi," you whispered, the words a hollow echo in the room. "I wish I did."

"I would never," he hiccuped, wiping his face with a wet sleeve. He slumped down, laying his cheek on your lap like a defeated puppy. "I would never do it again, Y/n. Put me on a leash, tie me to a chair, lock me in a dungeon with starving dogs – losing you would be the death of me."

His voice dropped to a near whisper, his eyes losing their spark. "Don't...don't make me a grave."

Your lips quivered. Maybe you were the monster. Not the monstrous being Niragi conjured in his mind, but perhaps the architect of this pain. Maybe you were the one inflicting the hurt. And the thought of it repeating… you tilted your head down. It would repeat, wouldn't it?

"Niragi, it hurts so much," you choked out, the words thick with despair. "Why does it have to be this way?"

"Y-You're asking me?" he offered, a ghost of a smile flickering through his hiccups, only to melt back into a frown.

You cupped his chin, forcing him to meet your gaze. "Cuddle with me?"

2.4k words...

[thisgirlnamedblusy]

I absolutely love your story’s!

What about one where the reader is has the tendency to just ignore their own emotions? Especially the negative ones. Like they’ll just pretend and act like they don’t exist until it’s some random Tuesday and they’re trying to stop crying in the kitchen cause they did something really small and stupid but it just happened to be the last thing they could take before being forced to cry? If it’s Donna’s emotions they try to be comforting and understanding, trying to encourage her to reach out for comfort and support and it’s just the exact opposite when it comes to their own emotions lol

Yesss!!! Here it is!!! Thank you for your request!!! I hope you like it and sorry about the language mistakes :)))

Emotions

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Fluff, hurt/comfort, mentions of depression,angst, mental health problems...

Word count: 3,931

Summary: You were not able to say what you feel, and it was getting worse

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!! Oh, well, just a reminder: if you feel sad, talk to someone, look for help, in this world there are a lot of amazing people wanting to help you :))) Requests are open!! I love you all!!!

You opened your eyes. It was just another day.

You could say that you had been lucky in life. Your family was never rich. It was never more than just one more in the village. Nothing special, nothing remarkable. Get up, work, pray to Mother Miranda and so on constantly.

Why could a routine like that be called luck? Very simple, you found a way to get out of that monotonous and boring life.

You probably wouldn't have been so lucky if you had approached the Beneviento estate that cold winter day.

Meeting Donna was a refreshing change, the discovery that the Lords were also human.

Monster, psychopath and reclusive. Those were the names the villagers referred to her by. You had no way of knowing if it was true or not. You feared her like the others, until you met her.

She was a woman with problems, mysterious, shy, and above all, very far from the concept of monster. It was almost like looking at yourself in a mirror: emotional problems, real rejection of any human relationship. That two antisocial people like you, soon could not live without each other was curious.

How you fell in love didn't matter, it was just fate, or so you thought, or so you liked to think.

Your new life was much better than the previous one, but, just as they told you when you were a little girl: when you try to run away from your problems, you take them with you.

A truth that was difficult for you to understand, due to the feeling of being happy with the woman you loved. The ghosts of your own tribulations appeared to torment you soon.

You were never particularly good when it came to understanding your own emotions. Pain, sadness, anger... Everything that your mind considered as something negative, as something that could prevent people from appreciating you, loving you, were always hidden in a dark corner of your feelings. If you hid them, you couldn't feel them. Or so you thought.

Perhaps that constant joy and the apparent desire to live and enjoy the moment were what caught Lady Beneviento's attention. A wandering soul, with its own emotional problems, could find light in someone like you, in someone who, apparently, didn’t suffer, didn’t hate; someone who was happy, even if it was just a facade.

With a sigh, you sat up, letting your feet dangle over the edge of the bed. You were alone, Donna wasn't sleeping next to you and you wondered why you didn't miss her, or why you didn't need to seek some comfort in her arms. You still denied to yourself that you were going through a bad time, an existential crisis and the negative feelings that were taking up more and more space in your mind.

“Angie, where is Donna?” You asked the doll, who remained next to you, as if she could know that there was something wrong with you, that something was going through your head, torturing you.

“She's gone to take a shower,” the puppet answered, studying your expressionless look, that serene look that you naturally forced yourself. You were so used to doing it that it didn't even take any effort.

“She hasn't woken me up?” You asked, rubbing your eyes. Why hadn't she woken you up? Didn't she want to have to put up with you? Why?

Again paranoia and fear took over your thoughts.

Angie simply shrugged, getting off the bed and leaving the room.

No, you couldn't think that somehow you were to blame. You were always happy. In front of her you were always happy. Was she ignoring you? It was very unlikely, but your thoughts were far from reality.

After staring at the wooden floor for longer than you'd like, you got out of bed, looking at yourself in a mirror. Smile: ready, tears: hidden.

You walked through the dark hallways, listening to the characteristic noise of a shower. At least Donna was there. Why were you thinking that she had left you or something? You hadn't done anything for it. That depressive state you had been living in lately was getting worse and worse.

“Donna?” You asked, opening the bathroom door.

There was no response, just a sob.

The woman you loved was there, but she was not well. Her body was curled up under the water. Poor Donna had suffered another crisis and you hadn't even noticed. Once again, you had to put aside your own problems. She needed you. She needed the cheerful and understanding (Y/N). It's not like you needed her comfort, or so you thought.

“Donna, my love...” You whispered, approaching the shower and crouching next to her sad body. “Honey, what's wrong?”

“(Y/N),” the doll maker sobbed, looking up a bit. “I… I don't…”

You sighed, kneeling next to her and letting her throw herself into your arms. The scratch marks on her skin betrayed a panic attack, one of the many that poor Donna frequently suffered.

“Hey, darling... Come on, calm down,” you whispered affectionately, turning off the tap and letting her body settle into yours. “Have you suffered another crisis?” You asked, with your clothes soaked, but without stopping hugging her.

She nodded embarrassedly, clutching the fabric of your nightgown.

How could a stupid existential crisis be more important than Donna's problems? You felt selfish, you felt like you were putting problems typical of a 22-year-old woman ahead of you, instead of hers, instead her own emotions that tended to get out of control.

At least she showed her emotions.

“Come on, that's it, honey. It's okay, I'm here with you, do you hear me? Nothing and no one can hurt you. Come on, Donna, stop crying...”

You hugged her silently, starting to feel cold because of your wet clothes. Donna cried inconsolably, for no reason other than the demons she was born with. How ironic. She cried for no reason and you, with more than one, were incapable of doing so.

“Come on, honey, let's shower and have breakfast, okay?” You said affectionately, to which she nodded erratically, letting herself be carried by your arms.

Most days were like this: a small crisis always solved by your eternal patience and then... Then the tranquility of that life full of love, silent gestures, kisses and caresses.

You didn't understand what exactly the reason for your regret was, but it became more and more present in your emotions. At least in the ones you wanted not to be seen.

The cold of winter washed over your body as you left the house, resting your cup of coffee on the porch railing. If it was winter… That meant you had been with Donna for at least a year. You were so happy that it barely seemed like a sigh, but repressing your sadness or your worries so much had taken its toll on you.

“(Y/N),” a soft voice interrupted your lost gaze towards infinity. Suddenly the cold became much more present. How long have you been out there?

Your expressionless face gave a fake smile, one that you were already an expert at.

“Donna,” you sighed, letting yourself be hugged from behind and closing your eyes. Her hugs were relaxing, calm, although your problems began to cloud the emotions you felt, the positive ones, the only ones you were capable of showing.

“What are you doing out here, tesoro? It's very cold,” she asked in a soft, tender tone, as if she hadn't just been crying uncontrollably in the shower a moment ago.

No, in no way you envied the ease with which Donna cried, showed her sorrows or her weaknesses. But you wondered how she could feel after having let out everything that tormented her, why she had no problem talking to you about the things that made her sad, that made her shake and lose her mind. Surely you had the real problem.

It was time to smile even wider.

“Oh, well,” you said, gently grabbing the hand around your waist. “This morning it was very difficult for me to get up,” you lied, letting her body sway yours slightly.

“I know, you were so pretty asleep that I didn't want to wake you up,” the woman in black whispered, kissing your cheek. There was certainly nothing to tell you that she had suffered a terrible crisis not long ago.

You laughed fakely knowing that, although you had wanted to get up, the invisible chains of your emotions prevented you from doing so. You wanted to never get up, to spend your life in the warm embrace of the sheets, where you wouldn't have to pretend, where maybe, just maybe, you could cry, you could be able to cry.

“Is there ever a time when you don't think I’m pretty?” You asked trying to joke with the naturalness you had learned to fake.

“Mmm,” Donna murmured, kissing your neck innocently, like she always did. “No”

You laughed, this time genuinely, letting your sadness and anguish camouflage themselves again with ease. Maybe it had just been a bad time, maybe you had the feeling of being sad when in reality you weren't, you never were.

If you had stopped to reflect, you would have realized that this was impossible.

Time continued to pass and your desire to get out of bed decreased more and more. There was something inside you that was dying to come out, but you were unable to know what it was, unable to seek comfort that you yourself didn't think you needed.

And so another week passed. Tuesday the 24th, that's what it said on an old calendar. You and Donna were happy. That weird feeling had was nothing to do with her, but everything to do with you. Sadness turned into anguish, anguish from not knowing what to do with those negative emotions, from not being able to express them properly. The smile and your apparently calm and happy attitude were still the protagonists of your life.

“Do you like it?” Donna asked, unsure as always that her food wasn't good enough for you.

The day had started like many others, but, for some reason, that pressure you felt in your chest had grown out of proportion.

“Well, of course, you know I love the way you cook, Donna,” you said with a tender smile, oblivious to the pressure you felt in your body.

She smiled and lowered her head, embarrassingly pleased. You looked at her for a moment and continued eating.

“Oh...” you said when you went to get the jug of water that was always on the table. “I forgot to get water,” you said, without giving it importance but with a knot in your stomach. What was happening to you?

“It's okay, honey, I'll go down and get it,” Donna said softly, wiping herself with a napkin.

“No!” You shouted, without knowing why, making her turn the head sharply towards you, her eye wide open. “I... I... I'll go down, it's my fault,” you said to try to fix that shock that came out of nowhere.

“Don't worry, tesoro. We all make mistakes," she said, with an understanding smile.

You tried to control your breathing. You were nervous, upset about something.

“Yeah, but I make them more than anyone else,” you whispered, as if the truth, a truth that was tormenting your mind, suddenly left your lips.

“What? Why do you say so?” Donna asked, with an air of concern as you walked past her. Her hand stopped you, settling on your arm. You shook your head, not quite sure why your throat was stinging.

“Oh, no, it's nothing, Donna. It was just a joke,” you said, taking a deep breath and flashing a sincere smile, heading to the elevator.

You walked slowly through the dark hallways, aware that something inside you was dying to come out.

“Okay...” You murmured, placing the jug under the faucet. The solitude of that kitchen gave you a contradictory feeling of tranquility and melancholy.

You were thirsty, so before lifting the jug you poured yourself a glass, with the bad luck that your thoughts distracted you enough for the liquid to overflow.

“Oh, shit,” you protested, pushing the jug away, which made it even worse, causing your clothes to become soaked with the liquid of life. “Fuck!”

You screeched, making your voice bounce off the rickety walls of the old kitchen.

“Fuck!” You screamed again, hitting the counter with your fist, hurting yourself.

It seemed stupid, but suddenly the burning in your throat increased to such a point that an unfamiliar moisture began to be felt in your eyes.

After so much time, so much repression, empty mornings and strange thoughts… Finally, you were crying.

The reason? You didn't know specifically.

You were happy. Your life was going well. Donna was a sweetheart despite her problems. She loved you, you loved her. No, Donna Beneviento was not the problem. You were the problem.

All your life you had been wondering what you contributed to the world, what the meaning of your life was. You never knew how to answer. Why did you live in that village? What would have happened if you had been born somewhere else? Would you have been happier? Would your life have been better, or worse? What would your life have been like if you had never met Donna?

They seemed like stupid questions, which came to light with the simple act of spilling a glass of water. Maybe that's what was happening to you. Negative emotions filled your soul, until, like that water, they ended up overflowing.

What was it that made you special? What virtues did you have? How serious were your flaws?

That existential crisis followed you throughout your life almost like the B side of your own shadow. Present, but barely visible. Did you really deserve the life you led? What had you done to deserve it?

No, you didn't deserve that life. You hadn't done anything memorable, you didn't think you were an angel, a good person who cared about others. No, you weren't special. You were a villager like so many others, a strange villager, attracted to women, considered a freak by your own family.

Yes, everyone despised you for the way you were, for being different from the rest. Since your emotions were not predisposed to come to light, you were not able to realize that this was the reason for your depression.

Everyone despised you, except Donna. She loved you, she understood you even though she didn't know she had to. Your cheerful attitude and tireless smiles surely made her believe that you were always a happy girl, that suffering had not happened in your life.

But that wasn't true, it never was true. You had realized it too late.

You had no talents, no great aptitudes for anything. You didn't know how to paint, to work wood or to care of flowers. The only thing you knew how to do was exist and you weren't even good at that.

 That sudden revelation made you unable to stop crying, making everything that you were hiding inside appear in front of you like a tornado ready to destroy everything. Crying wasn't something you did, something you wanted but at that moment, you couldn't stop doing it.

You turned, hands covering your eyes, the emotions you had so repressed eating away at you from within. You wanted to stop crying, but you couldn't.

Your body leaned, lowering itself to the floor with your back resting on the counter. You didn't want to move. You couldn't do anything but shed tears tirelessly.

“(Y/N)?” Your lover's voice reached your ears with difficulty “Is everything okay? The food getting cold...” Donna stopped talking when she turned the corner and saw your pathetic crying on the floor.

“Donna, leave me alone, please,” you said sobbing, not wanting to look at her face.

She remained silent, watching you as if she were seeing something extraordinary.

“Why are you crying, tesoro? I had never seen you…” She murmured confusedly, approaching cautiously.

“It doesn't matter, okay? Go away, Donna, please,” you continued sobbing, looking away from her.

The woman in black approached slowly, putting a hand on your shoulder and studying your eyes hurt by crying.

“But, but tesoro. If, if something happens to you I want to...” Donna insisted, crouching down next to you and caressing your cheek.

Not even her innocent comfort could stop the horrible feelings passing through your body.

“Donna, please, I don't want you to see me like this, go away,” you said again, pushing her hand away from your face, which made her frown with a confused look.

“I want to help you,” she said, with a pleading tone, unable to calm your discomfort even in the slightest.

You shook your head. Another rare feeling, anger, shot through your nerves.

“Help me? I don't want your help!” You shouted abruptly, unpleasantly. “You're not even able to help yourself! So, no, Donna, go away.”

The doll maker stood up frightened by your words, looking at you with sadness and deep pain.

Your nerves calmed when you realized how unfair you had been to her.

“Donna, please go. Go before I say something stupid again,” you said in a low tone, your voice broken by crying.

She shook her head slowly, nervous but calm at the same time. No, she wasn't going to move from there.

“I'm sorry, (Y/N), but I'm not going anywhere,” she whispered, bending down and sitting next to you without speaking, with her gaze away from yours, but without separating from you.

Time passed slowly. Your sobs wouldn't stop, no matter how much you wanted them to. Donna was still there, sitting next to you without speaking, not saying anything that would cause your pent-up anger to explode against her.

Her hand moved slowly towards yours, which had left your face to press tightly against the floor. At first you resisted her hold, but the softness of her skin against yours immediately relaxed your muscles.

You opened your eyes for a moment, looking at your clasped hands. Donna was there, silently, with you. Despite your harsh words, she was still willing to help you. You didn't know whether to feel better or worse about it.

You searched her gaze. Her head was leaning against the furniture, tilted up, seeming almost inert, caressing your hand without even moving or trying to get closer. You couldn't tell if it was because she really didn't know what to do, or because she was giving you the time you so needed.

“I lied to you, Donna,” you said when your crying slowed down enough for you to be able to speak clearly.

She turned her head towards you, but her expression remained unperturbed, although you noticed some nervousness in her breathing. Surely she had to control herself at those words. Miraculously, she did.

“I'm not the person you think I am...” You continued talking, resting your head on the furniture in the same way as her, shaking it and looking at the ceiling. “I was never… I was never happy. I didn't have as many friends as you think. I didn't have any friends. I've never been good at anything I've done. I tried to be a useful girl and I just failed and failed...”

She nodded, but looking away from you.

“I always... They always told me that a smile is the best weapon against sadness, that if I smiled and pretended to be happy I would end up being. I've spent my life pretending that there was nothing that could make me stop laughing.”

Donna nodded again, listening patiently to a confession you didn't even know you had to confess.

“I have, I have always had problems expressing my emotions. I know it doesn't seem like it but... That's right. It's not that hard for me to laugh when I feel like it, or... Even to love you or show you that I love you, because that, Donna, is the only thing I'm sure of.”

The woman in black looked at you, a sad smile appearing on her face, not wanting to interrupt, not wanting to let your hand go.

“I've been repressing my sadness, my anger and... and I feel I can't take it anymore,” you said, sobbing again, leaning your body towards her shoulder, which she gladly offered to you, bringing your body closer to hers, sighing deeply.

“Tell me, (Y/N), what makes you sad?” Donna asked, with a tender voice, with the softest voice you had ever heard, putting her other arm around your body, to not let your demons take you with them.

“I... I...” You stammered, letting yourself be calmed by her lavender perfume, letting her arms protect you from everything bad that harassed you. “I don't feel like I worth it.”

Donna sighed again, kissing your head lovingly and hugging you even tighter.

“That’s not true.”

“Is not? Tell me Donna, why would you love someone like me?”

“Why would you love me?” She asked back, her lips glued to your hair, her arms giving you the warmth your trembling body needed. “I'm not... I'm not fine... I'm just giving you problems.”

“At least you can express what you feel,” you said, lowering your head to her chest, comforted by the beating of her heart.

“I wish I couldn't do it that way,” Donna whispered, her voice breaking too, tormented by her own problems.

“I wish I were able to say what I feel,” you whispered, adorning that phrase of hers with your own, with those problems so disparate and so similar.

“You’re doing it now... (Y/N). You’re doing it with me, and you can always do it,” Donna said, lifting your chin so that your teary eyes could look at her.

A sincere smile crossed your face as that revelation, hidden by your negative emotions, made its way into the darkness of your mind.

“I can always do it...” You repeated, changing crying for a smile, changing sadness for joy. Not a fake joy, a real one, a genuine one. The pressure in your chest decreased as if by magic, as if a few simple words contained your negative feelings. But this time it was different. It wasn't an armored door that enclosed them, but rather one that was open, that would let your torments out whenever you needed it.

You remained silent and moved a bit to be at the level of her lips, kissing them tenderly, with gratitude.

“You are the best thing that has happened to my life,” you said in a low voice, merging into a hug with Donna, letting both of you show what you felt.

“You are the only thing that has happened in my life,” she said, smiling, with the moisture on her face revealing a tear that ran down her cheek.

“Donna...” You sighed, separating yourself a little, squeezing your eyes tightly, feeling a comforting release.

“Listen to me, (Y/N),” she said, with a more serious tone, cupping your face in her hands. “Promise me that you will always tell me what you feel. It doesn't matter if it's a bad thing or a good thing. I... I will do everything possible to always help you. I will always be with you, my love...”

You nodded, feeling the need to cry again, but this time, with joy.

“You will always be with me...” You whispered, repeating her words.

“Always,” the woman in black reaffirmed.

[miss-tc-nova]

Faults to Light - Eraqus x Xehanort

This is my piece of the @shatteredestiny-zine which I'm ever honored to be invited back to. It's really a hit to the imposter syndrome with how many amazing people worked on this. But enjoy my angst!

Art by our our amazing bishop and knight mods: Triton and Saphy!

Triton: @princess-triton & princesstriton

Saphy: @saph-y & SaphySushi

Premise: Sometimes the light is just as bad as the darkness

Words: 2,540

Music Inspiration: So Much (For) Stardust by Fall Out Boy

~~~~~

               Gray eyes gaze into the mirror. Lungs rattle his chest in spite of efforts. A white-knuckle grip on the porcelain sink relents to shove the black hair from his face.

               He didn’t imagine it.

               Across his cheek lies skin welting where the stone struck him. That’s not unusual—a common hazard of keyblade training. But the gash weeping liquid light is not.

               Fear seeps into his brain. He frantically wipes the anomaly from his face and presses a patch against the wound. There. Peering back at his reflection, all appears as it rightfully should. A practiced smile slips across his lips and the young man ventures out to go about his day.

               There’s nothing wrong.

               Black boots meet the white stone, clicking step by step through the citadel on his way to greet his master.

               This place of light hasn’t changed at all, still just as wearing on a wayward heart as always. While he can’t expect a world to alter its ways in a single year, Xehanort’s views have changed a lot. Worlds vast and varied revealed their secrets as he traveled, yet one thing remained the same everywhere he went: darkness masquerading as light. Such a familiar farce frustrated him to no end, but he couldn’t blame darkness’s tricks beneath light’s overwhelming existence. That didn’t make the dark bad or the light good; that turned out to be a false notion of those raised in light’s influence. Rather, these forces must exist together or not at all. So in the end, Xehanort returned with fewer questions than he had when he left, but gained one far more existential.

               What was his purpose?

               Those uncertainties aren’t borne before his teacher, left instead to fester in his own skull. Still, he’s praised for his journey’s outcome and instructed to rest until the day of his Mark of Mastery exam. Now row upon row of honorary stones pass him by until, finally, he comes across the collection of names he meant to find. He’s surprised to find lilies adorning each one, but only one culprit comes to mind.

               “About time you came to visit.”

               Further along the path strolls the man he was most eager to see. Gray eyes spark with delight, the usual fool’s grin stretching wide on his face. However, in spite of his elation, pulses of distress crash against Xehanort’s heart. There’s something wrong with Eraqus.

               Still, Xehanort lets a smirk twist his lips. “I had things to do, unlike some slacker I know.”

               His friend feigns insult. “Slacker? Me? Never!”

               Painful laughter rings between them. The catch up isn’t as easy as it should be. Though they speak freely, Xehanort’s thoughts are clouded with conflict.

               “So yeah, mom says once I pass the Mark of Mastery exam, I’ll inherit grandpa’s keyblade.”

               “That’s awesome. I’m sure he’d be proud.”

               Eraqus beams. “Man, I hope so. What about you? Did you find what you were looking for out there?”

               Xehanort’s eyes avert, his mind struggling to answer that particular question.

               “Are you still blaming yourself?” At Era’s new query, Xe’s eyes focus, reading the name of the blonde they used to know. “It wasn’t your fault.”

               He knows those useless words are true; there’s nothing Xehanort could have done to change the outcome. Even so, there’s more to the story than what they suffered.

               Not to Eraqus though. “If anything, what happened was because of the darkness.”

               Musings slip from Xehanort’s mouth. “I don’t think that’s true.”

               “Huh?”

               Xehanort hesitates—this conversation won’t be easy. “The light is just as much to blame as darkness.”

               That frown was inevitable. “No. It was darkness that possessed Baldr.”

               “Because the light left him vulnerable,” Xe retorts. “We were taught that the purpose of a keyblade wielder was to destroy darkness. So how do you think he felt knowing he had darkness in his heart? That he was weak? How could he not give in?”

               Xehanort searches for the right words that might finally convince his best friend to open his mind.

               “Do you think that made him a bad person?”

               Ebony brows furrow. “No. The darkness did.”

               Pain pricks at Xehanort’s heart. Perhaps Eraqus would never understand.

               “After all that happened, are you telling me you would trust the darkness?” Eraqus demands.

               His answer is honest. “Maybe.”

               Eraqus’s look of betrayal is like looking at a stranger. “I thought you were supposed to be the smart one.”

               “What?!”

               “Darkness killed our friends! What part of that don’t you understand?!”

               A wince contorts that fair face, palm pressed against the bandage. Though in the midst of an argument, Xehanort can’t help his concern.

               “Are you okay?”

               He should’ve expected Eraqus to swat away his attempt to reach out. “Don’t touch me!”

               Obeying his wish, Xehanort lets his hand fall. “Look, all I’m trying to say is that maybe the light isn’t as noble as we were taught.”

               Eraqus’s eyes burn with a hatred never seen before. “And the darkness is?! You want me to let it into my heart?! To let it take over and kill people like it did my family?! Because that’s what darkness does! It takes and destroys and it ruins lives! Is that what you want me to be?!”

               “No. That’s not what I—”

               His words are cut by the keyblade slicing the air. Though it misses Xehanort by the smallest margin, it cracks the concrete it meets instead—that swing was lethal.

               “I’m not weak like you!”

               Eraqus swings again, this time parried by Xehanort’s own keyblade and bringing about an instinctive retaliation. Xehanort’s weapon falls across Eraqus’s shoulder, sending his opponent to the ground. A wave of regret immediately crashes against Xehanort seeing his friend clutching at the injury.

               “Era—!”

               It drips between clenched fingers. Glimmering liquid collects on the pavement, each drop adding to the horror that this is coming from Eraqus. There’s something wrong with Eraqus.

               Xehanort’s voice comes out hushed. “What is that?”

               In stumbling to his feet, Eraqus keeps his head down. “It’s nothing.”

               He tries to walk away, but a hand snags the white fabric.

               “Wait!”

               “WHAT?!”

               Xehanort stutters back. Beneath his friend’s voice lies a monster’s. In Eraqus’s eyes sparks a light, seeping through and consuming every fleck of dark pigment in the gray.

               “WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!”

               This time Xehanort’s voice fails.

               It starts in the roots, the light sprouting in Eraqus’s hair—intent on erasing everything dark about him.

               Unlike Xehanort, Eraqus has plenty of words. “If darkness didn’t exist, we wouldn’t be standing among our friend’s graves! They would still be here and you wouldn’t be deluded! There would be no more wars, no more suffering! Everything wrong with this world is darkness’s fault! And if it’s the last thing I do, I’ll destroy it!”

               Another grimace leaves him clutching at his head. Light from the open wound surges, enveloping Eraqus and leaving Xehanort to shield his eyes.

               What’s left behind when the light fades still resembles the young wielder yet somehow angelic and monstrous at the same time. Alabaster skin stretches across a gnarled, hunched frame, gangly arms dragging knuckles across the ground. Golden veins appear like cracks in porcelain, perfect skin. Draped around a gaunt waist sits ivory fabric while chains of gold wind around the creature like the memory of a victim. An ornate halo, just as a crown too heavy to bear, hangs above a bowed head. However, by far the most intimidating feature of this massive being are the triplet pair of wings, raised high in all their glory.

               Molten gold in place of silver brings a violent intensity to that placid face. As it stares him down, primal fear rattles Xehanort’s compromised heart—he just knows that this beast exists to extinguish sins.

               “The darkness must perish!” That is no longer Eraqus’s voice. “THE DARKNESS MUST DIE!”

               The demon is fast, nearly bludgeoning Xehanort in the head. Keyblade raised, he braces to defend himself, but is sorely prepared for the sheer power behind that deceitful physique. The collision with a tombstone takes his breath away but another flying fist leaves him no chance to recoup. Somehow, Xehanort manages to skirt around the creature, finding his opening to strike with all he has. It doesn’t even stumble.

               An otherworldly cry splits the air as it turns to tower over him. With no other recourse, Xehanort bolts. Heavy, thrumming steps of pursuit flood his brain with terror, causing him to flee deeper into the city. In his way, people scream and scatter but still the crashing grows ever closer until he’s certain it’s right behind him.

               All goes quiet, giving cause to peer back. Racing boots slow to a stop. It’s gone.

               Then the shadow descends on him. His body seizes in fear and the monster’s full weight bears down on him. Caught in the angel’s clutches, Xehanort endures a thrashing worse than even the darkness that started this mess.

               One final swing sends the victim flying. Wooden planks of the dock crack, eager to pass Xehanort to the sea before they crumple under the force. Water hits like concrete, bouncing the man far from the shore before it swallows him up.

               Cool ocean water welcomes Xehanort into the dark, his resolve shaken. If that’s light’s power, taking to the dark really is the only option for the weak. Training never could’ve prepared him and even if it had, this was Eraqus. Putting down Baldr was hard enough, but Xehanort could have every chance and still be unsure he’d make that choice against his best friend.

               The light above wavers. A shadow reaches through his entombment to take hold of him. When the water breaks, clean air fills his lungs once again. Concentrated magic beneath his feet gains Xehanort purchase on the water’s surface and, when he’s able to hold his own weight, the grip relents.

               A man stands at his side—a stranger wearing a familiar black coat. Though that face remains unseen, there’s an air of expectancy about him.

               On ivory wings, the Sin Eater arrives. To his surprise, trails of light trace the demon’s face, dripping from those golden eyes. Though he may look different—though he may stand against Xehanort—this is still his best friend.

               Xehanort looks back to his savior. In solemn agreement, he nods.

               Another screech fills the air and the clash begins again. This time, Xehanort has the composure to remain calm. And the stranger—he’s strong. His fighting covers Xehanort’s every weakness and together they chip away at the angel.

               Narrowly missing Xehanort, another blow leaves him on the back foot. He braces for the follow up only for the attack to make contact with a barrier instead. Seething, the creature turns, knocking the surprised stranger back. Then it goes for the kill.

               Xehanort surges forward, his keyblade hooking the monster’s foot. It takes all his might, but he topples his foe. He offers a helping hand to his ally but it goes untaken. To his dismay, the stranger rushes past, intent on putting down the vulnerable creature.

               Xehanort reaches out. “Wait!”

               Without warning, light bursts from the beast. The ensuing explosion throws back the attackers and brings a new weight of power to the behemoth that, until then, had only used physical force.

               “How could you choose the darkness?” It speaks to Xehanort. Even as wings spread high in defiance, its head hangs low. “After all it did to us?”

               Xehanort’s shoulders slump. “I’m not choosing sides.”

               “LIAR! YOU LEFT ME!” A knurled fist meets the water’s surface. “I tried so hard to show you the right way, but I lost you too! I LOST EVERYTHING!”

               For Eraqus, continuing to be a keyblade wielder was meant to ease his own suffering. He sought light’s strength to protect the things he cared about, but in the end, it all slipped right through his fingers. And though Xehanort’s own heart bore witness to that truth, he chose to follow the fool’s lead and pretend all was fine.

               Xehanort is barely of the right mind to raise his weapon and stop that palm from taking his skull. Beneath his feet, the magic starts to give, but he holds his ground. Then those fingers curl around his weapon, ripping it free and leaving the defenseless wielder to be snatched into the air.

               “I’m sick of being a victim! I’m sick of losing people I care about!” Another shining tear drips from his face. “I’m sick of it!”

               There’s something wrong with Eraqus.

               And it’s gone on long enough.

               “I know! And I’m going to fix it!”

               The angel hesitates. Eyes slightly darker—slightly more Eraqus—peer up at him, filled with despair and conflict. It floods Xehanort with guilt that he didn’t act sooner.

               “No matter what it takes. I promise.”

               Acceptance sits weary on that face and the crushing grip loosens as it brings Xehanort lower.

               A black shadow flashes beside him, driving a hand right into the Sin Eater’s chest.

               “NO!”

               Blinding light pours across the fighters as the sound of pain shakes the air. Xehanort falls to the water’s surface as the demon writhes in agony. Before Xehanort can do anything, the stranger bars his path. He prepares for another fight, but first notices the change. Feathers float away on the ocean breeze. As sheer size begins to wither, color eeks across ivory skin. When the angel finally collapses, what’s left behind is wholly Eraqus.

               There’s no holding Xehanort back a second time as he pushes past to save his friend from the water. Like ink, the black bleeds through those wavy locks. The last of the liquid light oozes from the gash in his chest, giving way to the deep ruby it should be.

               Though Eraqus appears to have returned, there’s something different about him. It’s nearly undetectable, but it’s there: the darkness tainting his heart. Silver eyes slip back to the stranger. Without him, perhaps the last of his family would’ve been lost.

               “Thank you.”

               The figure shrugs, shoves his hands in his pockets, and strolls away.

               “Consider it a courtesy.”

               Memories of an old friend snare Xehanort’s heart. But that’s not possible. He must’ve imagined it.

               Pushing those thoughts aside, Xehanort lifts the unconscious man into his arms and hurries back to the city.

               Not a soul ever learned what happened to the beast that ran rampant through the city or where it came from. So Scala ad Caelum continued on with life, being a place where keyblade warriors learned the ways of light.

               Eraqus, too, remained the same, blindly devoted to the light. His foolish façade managed to survive the ordeal as well simply due to the coma that left him unaware of the terrible ordeal. Xehanort would keep it that way, if only to spare them both the burden of Eraqus’s grief.

               The one thing that did change, however, was the answer to Xehanort’s question.

               There’s something wrong with the world. The light held too much power. It warped the view of those it led and caused the darkness to lash out in fear. Balance was needed for a perfect world where peace was meaningful.

               And it was Xehanort’s purpose to fix it.

[prismaticpichu]

No trigger warnings this time, only feels <333

Parts 1 & 2!

~

“What the HELL is wrong with you?! Why would you SEND me to Modeoheim…?!”

An asphyxiating silence loomed like a ghost between them, thickening the air of the darkened ShinRa corridor, raw and humid and unbearably unbreakable as Sephiroth stood motionless in his grasp.

Blue eyes blazed, inextinguishable by tears.

“Answer me!”

Sephiroth’s chin remained dipped, a wilted spill of quicksilver bangs veiling his expression.

“ANSWER ME…!”

And the silence loomed, ghosts lingering.

“ANSWER ME! SEPHIR—“

“I thought you could do it.”

When the response came, it came coldly, like an arctic whisper that severed the silence with its bitter temperature, and Sephiroth slowly lifted his gaze with an unreadable light reflecting in the emerald ice.

Zack stared into them with all the fire burning in Ifrit’s blood.

“…Do—“

“I thought you could bring him home,” Sephiroth continued on in a merciless breath, the edge of his words honing into something of a snarl. “I thought you could save him, attempt to reach him. I thought you would care. I thought you would help him.”

And the man’s lips pulled back to mirror the growling in his voice.

“Instead you ensured that I would never see him again.”

What transpired in the following moments appeared in nothing more than blinding haze of red, his memory all but engulfed in the famished color’s embrace like an inferno that had swallowed his heart and mind whole. Noise only vaguely managed to penetrate; the nebulous echo of a skull slamming against metal rippled like a bloody current in water; the indistinct grenades of two roaring voices turned into a dangerous weapon of their own.

“I HATE YOU…!”

And his voice echoed, loud and free.

“LIKE HELL YOU’RE A HERO…!”

And echoed.

And echoed.

“YOU ARE NOTHING BUT A FOOL! NAIVE!”

And echoed.

“I should have let Ifrit KILL you…!”

And echoed.

“YOU COWARD…!”

And echoed.

“No…”

And echoed.

“You’re a… YOU’RE A—“

And echoed.

“YOU’RE A HEARTLESS MONSTER…!”

And another teardrop plunked onto the mattress, its echo silent.

“I… I called you a monster.” Zack’s voice had constricted into a watery, painful choke. “Even when we both knew that word was so terrible. I… I must’ve known that it would hurt you, somehow. Somewhere…” He bowed his head over the sanguine-stained sheets, his shoulders quavering with the weight of the horrible memory. “But I didn’t care. Not one bit.”

Seph continued to strain against the pillow, shifting and squirming as if lost to the mercy of a riptide.

Zack held onto his hand like an anchor.

“That was before, though, Seph… Before you showed me what an amazing, kind, loyal person you are…” Oceanic eyes continued to glisten and mist, now shamelessly shedding pearls that crawled thinly down his cheeks. “Before you came over that night… before I broke down into your shoulder… before you told me that you would be there for me now… And—and you always have been…”

“It’s alright…”

He felt the delicate, awkward, yet blessed warmth of a pair of strong leather arms wrapping around him, straining his eyes as he lamented uncontrollably into his shoulder.

“It’s going to be alright…”

Zack used his free hand to wipe at his eyes, clearing them so he could look at the painful sight more painfully clear.

“And now… now things are so much different. They’ve changed so much… haven’t they?” He tried his best to will a smile onto his lips, the slight curve quivering and teary as he squeezed his friend’a hand tighter. “We’re a team now… you and me. You’re my partner. My… my mentor.”

Another teardrop fell, dribbling off the stained rivers on his cheeks.

It’s going to be alright…

“My best friend…”

Sephiroth’s entire body tensed, convulsing tautly under the sheet and linen, an audible and sharp dirge of a sound cutting through his lips as he buried in his cheek in the pillow and convulsed even harder.

It was only seconds after that the tears began to trickle from his eyes.

Zack could only stand there and watch, the mirroring tears on his own visage continuing to crawl, feeling an engulfment of helplessness and agony unlike anything he had ever endured before.

“Hey… It’s okay… it’s okay…” Because maybe if he said the words softly enough, they would be true, reaching out to place his other hand over the trembling warrior’s. “It’s okay, pal… it’s okay… I’m here. I’m right here.”

The tormented dirge continued, a horrid choke cleaving through Sephiroth’s throat.

Zack laced his fingers through his.

“It’s alright, pal…” His voice was barely able to quaver, hardly afloat. “It’s going to be alright…”

[timeforafuckingcrusade4]

Gore Mod Review

Okay I'm not sure where to begin. Most of what I can say is just...wow. I'm going to be completely honest I installed this mod on a complete whim, I wasn't even really looking for a follower mod specifically, it was more of a I've experienced the mods I have repeatedly by this point. I'm not complaining I still love the mods I have and the followers I already have that being: Kaidan, Lucien and Inigo, but I kind of wanted something fresh and I got all that and much more.

Spoilers but extremely vague ones

Okay so when I initially met Gore I went in with the mindset of not comparing him to my other followers I already have grown to know and love because that would not only set high expectations, but its also completely demeaning to the mod creator.

When you first meet him I was just immediately drawn to him because he is just so easily likeable, but I think the moment that truly solidified that I'd never play another playthrough without him was during the climb to High Hrothgar. His presence and reassurance was just everything to me because thinking about it if I was truly the dragonborn I'd be terrified, all that responsibility in such a short amount of time is daunting (especially considering that it was only recently you were about to be executed) and he really reminded me to take a moment to prioritise myself and what I was feeling.

The small things really sold this mod to me as well as the amazing voice acting and story...he just feels so real? Not to mention that I sobbed his entire story because it was like looking into a mirror. I really resonated with him and I could really see him as my best friend.

Okay now for genuine spoilers depending on choices

His optional romance route was just utterly stunning. It flowed so so easily and didn't feel forced or rushed it just felt so natural. It all really hit close to home though his struggles with relationships and the concept that someone would actually like him for him and not be disgusted by his past. As someone who's never been in a relationship let alone been near another person in that sort of fashion it was just so comforting to both be in the same boat. The build up and everything was just so well executed from him trying to push you away by giving you reasons to end things to finally accepting that you do want to be with him even if it's foreign to him.

But whether you choose to romance him or to remain friends my favourite quality of his is that he is uniquely him; by that I mean he genuinely feels like a real person because he's humorous and he has his own thoughts, feelings and opinions and he will make them known and he stays true to himself and his beliefs all whilst growing as a person and learning to be better. Despite everything he's been though he's such a positive figure to have even if he thinks otherwise and its so nice to get to be apart of his journey and watch him learn to be content with himself as well as his past. I cannot sing his praises enough I genuinely have so much love for the character and the creator. He's become my favourite companion in such a short time and I could write for hours and hours about how much I love Gore and how much I appreciate your work but I won't...Just thankyou so much for making me and everyone who plays this mod seen and felt and much love to you! And I urge everyone to get the mod to experience this absolute treasure! 💞

[toomanyrobins2]

Our Manhattan

Summary: An orphan all her life, Y/N is simply too old to remain at The Bowery Home any longer. That is where an anonymous patron has swooped in to send her off to college and all he requires…a monthly letter of her academic progress.

Based off the book and musical “Daddy Long Legs”

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Reader

last part // series masterlist // next part

Notes: I'm finally getting around to updating this fic! If you would like to catch up and get more consistent updates to this story and others I would go to by AO3!

24th March, maybe the 25th

Dear Batman,

I don't believe I can be going to Heaven—I am getting such a lot of good things here; it wouldn't be fair to get them hereafter too. Listen to what has happened.

Y/N Abbott has won the short-story contest (a twenty-five dollar prize) that the Monthly holds every year. And she's a Sophomore! The contestants are mostly Seniors. When I saw my name posted, I couldn't quite believe it was true. Maybe I am going to be an author after all. I wish Mrs. Lippett hadn't given me such a silly name—it sounds like an author-ess, doesn't it?

Also I have been chosen for the spring dramatics—As You Like It out of doors. I am going to be Celia, own cousin to Rosalind.

And lastly: Harriet and Barbara and I are going to New York next Friday to do some spring shopping and stay all night and go to the theatre the next day with 'Master Brucie.' He invited us. Harriet is going to stay at home with her family, but Barbara and I are going to stop at the Martha Washington Hotel. Did you ever hear of anything so exciting? I've never been in a hotel in my life, nor in a theatre; except once when the Catholic Church had a festival and invited the orphans, but that wasn't a real play and it doesn't count.

And what do you think we're going to see? Hamlet. Think of that! We studied it for four weeks in Shakespeare class and I know it by heart.

I am so excited over all these prospects that I can scarcely sleep.

Goodbye, Bats.

This is a very entertaining world.

Yours ever,

Judy

PS. I've just looked at the calendar. It's the 28th.

Another postscript.

I saw a street car conductor today with one brown eye and one blue. Wouldn't he make a nice villain for a detective story?

 

7th April

Dear Batman,

Mercy! Isn't New York big? Worcester is nothing to it. Do you mean to tell me that you actually lived in all that confusion? I don't believe that I shall recover for months from the bewildering effect of two days of it. I can't begin to tell you all the amazing things I've seen; I suppose you know, though, since you live there yourself.

But aren't the streets entertaining? And the people? And the shops? I never saw such lovely things as there are in the windows. It makes you want to devote your life to wearing clothes.

Barbara and Harriet and I went shopping together Saturday morning. Harriet went into the very most gorgeous place I ever saw, white and gold walls and blue carpets and blue silk curtains and gilt chairs. A perfectly beautiful lady with yellow hair and a long black silk trailing gown came to meet us with a welcoming smile. I thought we were paying a social call, and started to shake hands, but it seems we were only buying hats—at least Harriet was. She sat down in “front of a mirror and tried on a dozen, each lovelier than the last, and bought the two loveliest of all.

I can't imagine any joy in life greater than sitting down in front of a mirror and buying any hat you choose without having first to consider the price! There's no doubt about it, Bats; New York would rapidly undermine this fine stoical character which the Bowery Home so patiently built up.

And after we'd finished our shopping, we met Master Bruce at Sherry's. I suppose you've been in Sherry's? Picture that, then picture the dining room of the Bowery Home with its oilcloth-covered tables, and white crockery that you can't break, and wooden-handled knives and forks; and fancy the way I felt!

I ate my fish with the wrong fork, but the waiter very kindly gave me another so that nobody noticed.

And after luncheon we went to the theatre—it was dazzling, marvellous, unbelievable—I dream about it every night.

Isn't Shakespeare wonderful?

Hamlet is so much better on the stage than when we analyze it in class; I “appreciated it before, but now, dear me!

I think, if you don't mind, that I'd rather be an actress than a writer. Wouldn't you like me to leave college and go into a dramatic school? And then I'll send you a box for all my performances, and smile at you across the footlights. Only wear a red rose in your buttonhole, please, so I'll surely smile at the right man. It would be an awfully embarrassing mistake if I picked out the wrong one.

We came back Saturday night and had our dinner in the train, at little tables with pink lamps. I never heard of meals being served in trains before, and I inadvertently said so.

'Where on earth were you brought up?' said Harriet to me.

'In a village,' said I meekly, to Harriet.

'But didn't you ever travel?' said she to me.

'Not till I came to college, and then it was only a hundred and sixty miles and we didn't eat,' said I to her.

She's getting quite interested in me, because I say such funny things. I try hard not to, but they do pop out when I'm surprised—and I'm surprised most “of the time. It's a dizzying experience, to pass eighteen years in the Bowery Home, and then suddenly to be plunged into the WORLD.

But I'm getting acclimated. I don't make such awful mistakes as I did; and I don't feel uncomfortable anymore with the other girls. I used to squirm whenever people looked at me. I felt as though they saw right through my sham new clothes to the checked ginghams underneath. But I'm not letting the ginghams bother me anymore. Sufficient unto yesterday is the evil thereof.

I forgot to tell you about our flowers. Master Bruce gave us each a big bunch of violets and lilies-of-the-valley. Wasn't that sweet of him? I never used to care much for men—judging by Trustees—but I'm changing my mind.

Yours always,

Y/N 

 

10th April

Dear Mr. Rich-Man,

Here's your cheque for fifty dollars. Thank you very much, but I do not feel that I can keep it. My allowance is sufficient to afford all of the hats that I need. I am sorry that I wrote all that silly stuff about the millinery shop; it's just that I had never seen anything like it before.

However, I wasn't begging! And I would rather not accept any more charity than I have to.

Sincerely yours,

Y/N Abbott

Bruce stared down at the check. He had barely thought about it when they had been out in the city and once Y/n had sent the letter, he’d dispatched the check without a second thought. 

Clark Kent, who had been present during the discussion about Y/N's shopping woes, entered the study with a knowing expression. "Having trouble with the whole 'helping' thing?" Clark quipped, a  smile playing on his lips.

Bruce sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I just wanted to make things a bit easier for her. She didn't have to return the check."

Clark leaned against the desk, crossing his arms. "Bruce, you know Y/N at this point. She's independent and proud. Accepting help might not come naturally to her, especially from someone like you."

Bruce frowned, the frustration evident in his eyes. "But I want to help. She shouldn't have to feel lesser than her peers."

Clark nodded, understanding Bruce's genuine concern. "Maybe it's not about the help itself, but how it's offered. Try sending her a letter with a short note explaining why you sent the check. Make it personal. Sometimes, a few carefully chosen words can make a big difference."

Bruce considered Clark's suggestion, recognizing the wisdom in his friend's advice. "You think that might work?"

"Y/N's a writer, Bruce. Words matter to her. A thoughtful note can make the gesture feel less like charity and more like a friend looking out for another," Clark explained.

Taking a deep breath, Bruce reached for a pen and paper. 

Miss Abbott, I go against my rules by penning this letter but I find myself unable to let this matter go. This check is not charity but a gift from a friend who wishes to see you excel in all matters. I wish you to be able to experience all that your peers are able to. I have never sponsored a woman before and I confess that I lack the knowledge to ensure that you are equal to your peers.  I kindly request that you keep this cheque as an apology for my own failings as your patron.  Mr. Smith

As Bruce sealed the letter, he handed it to Alfred, who was passing by. "Alfred, make sure this gets to Miss Abbott. And let's hope this time, she accepts it."

[pinkcowzz]

i wish i was able to accurately describe my emotions about the class 1-a. these students. they are. so.

okay. let's start with the very concept of my hero academia. this whole manga, show, is about how high schoolers are learning to be heros. not only learning how to control their powers, but what it means to inspire hope, to face fear, to save someone.

deku is the first character i wanna talk about because. yeah. he is the epitome of kindness. that's how we are first introduced to him and it remains at the core of his being throughout the entire show. him saving bakugo, him helping ida in hosu city, him looking out for kota during the training camp, his empathy towards each villain he faces, deku's heart is at the core of his character.

but the very thing that makes deku an amazing hero is the same thing that causes him the most harm. he cares too much about the people around him that he refuses to rely on them for help, he refuses to put them in harms way, he refuses to trust them to be able to protect themselves.

now bakugo. his character development should be studied. our introduction to him is his ego. (i assume) it's obvious that bakugo's general jackassery is caused by his insecurity. this issue is only amplified by attending ua. especially with deku.

i know sonnets have been written about their relationship but lemme write some more. the reason that they are as amazing as they are is because of each other. deku wants bakugo's drive, his unrelenting passion, his fierceness. bakugo wants deku's kindness, his altruistic nature, his optimism. they want to be each other so bad. they drive each other to be the best they could possibly be. in the heat of battle, they mirror each other. they pull from each other.

okay. moving onto todoroki. i think. his character and backstory, is one of the darkest there is in this show. endeavor using him to reach his own goals, the abuse he endured, fucking dabi, its. brutal. but he uses this to push himself. i don't think there is a single line in this show that sticks out to me more deku yelling at todoroki during the first sports festival "it's your quirk, yours. not his."

trying to live up to your parents expectations, trying to make them your own expectations, its not easy. its exhausting, its trying, its an unrelenting mission all in itself.

but todoroki not only shoulders it, but shoulders it well. he leads his fellow students, he learns to work with his father to learn from him. he is kind and empathic and reliable.

in the season two finally, there is a moment shared between todoroki and yaoyorozu that quite literally brought me to tears. todoroki supports yaoyorozu in her plan to beat aizawa. he's cold and calculated typically but in this moment he is so passionate and outspoken.

the belief and faith that each student has in their peers, its. heart wrenching. not only because they have to have this faith due to their circumstances, but also because of how. how pure it is. they all really believe that their classmates are the best heros out there. they have faith that their classmates will save them and have their backs in times of need.

and i think the character who encapsulates this this most is iida. he. god. he has SO much faith in his classmates. he always wants what is best for them. just like todoroki, he has so much pressure on him to live up to the mantle that his brother passed on to him.

iida's incident at hosu, i think fundamentally changed how he looks at heroing. i think that he is maybe the character with the most anger at the core of his being. watching his brother be paralyzed, i think this pushed him so much farther than anything else.

learning that his actions have consequences, learning that he can hurt not only himself but others, learning that he can't win every fight, it makes him such an amazing class leader. every move he makes, every word he says is done with the thought that it has to be perfect. it has to have the most impact. he has to be sure to shepherd his peers the best he possibly can. he is the conscience of the group, he has the strongest morals, because he learned the hard way what happens when you don't.

[dimpledcherry]

Buyers Wishes

for you my sweet love, I hope I did your idea justice!! ->

@yungadltfrictn​

Summary: the trio go on a deal and ends with some hurt / comfort Pairing: Steddie X Reader - poly relationship  Trigger Warning: panic attack / misogyny  Content Warning: previous high explanations / insecure reader / Steve gets a little assertive physically / Eddie is short tempered (kinda)

My master list :D

“I don't know,” you whined, exacerbated from the constant failed attempts at finding a new jacket. “Do yous think this is too long?” You turned from the mirror to look towards Eddie and Steve. One paying the correct amount of attention and the other distracted by the small trinkets dotted about the charity shop.

“No, I think it’s short enough.” Steve had walked over to pinch and pull about the jacket, “Suits your jeans.” His comment was matched with a little kiss to the top of your head. “You should get it.”

You looked around in the mirror to try find the infamous set of frizzy curls, “Eddie, where have you gone?” You couldn’t help the laugh, knowing the boy all too well.

He reappeared with a jacket of his own in hand, holding it up by the shoulders, jingling it “Look how metal this is!” If a jacket could’ve been described as Eddie Munson, it was this one. But the boy stopped in his tracks once his brain caught up, “Tell me you’re getting that?” His face was a bashful smile.

“I don’t know..” You’d tuned back to the mirror, moving around trying to settle your brain.

“Sweetheart, Babe, Love of my life, how can you not be sure?” Steve laughed at the boys dramatic nature. “Its amazing, and with the jeans! You gotta!”

“Steve said the same thing!” 

“So it’s a yes?” Steve was smirking at you, rested upon a structure.

Shrugging it off, you smiled coyly hopping off to the till. Eddie and Steve found themselves bemused by your giddy nature, like always.

Opening the door, Eddie glanced at his watch haphazardly “Oh shit, hurry your asses, I have business to attend.” Walking out under his arm, you and Steve cross your brows at him, he makes a smoking gesture towards you both.

“I aint done one of them in ages, lemme join.” Steve replied, wrapping you under his arm as you all walked to Eddies van.

“A smoke or a deal?” 

“Both.” Your head and eyes just followed between the two as you all go in and set off.

“Get your own hobby, man.” Eddie groaned, eyes rolling around the road looking for the right turn.

You both laughed at his blatant pouting, “Don’t be so selfish, Munson.”

The ride remained light as always, music on lower than Eds preferred, but only to hear yours and Steves conversations: pointing out people you knew - which ended in a mini bitch fest. 

Eddie pulled up to a lay-by unexpectedly. His motions of turning the engine off, getting his box from the foot well and getting out was so fluid the two of you didn’t seem to register. He opened Steves door and delivered rather cockily “You coming then?” 

The walk to Eddies place of shop was wordless to start with: Eddie leading a head, Steves hand in yours - which you swayed childishly, causing a little game filled with small shoves, tugs and giggles to form between you. 

All the metal head could hear was gasps, laughs, shrieks of Steves name, belly laughs from the as fore mentioned and an unnecessary amount of leafs crunching. But he also could feel his heart swelling at his two loves being so enticed by each other. If anyone had told Eddie he’d life would resolve with a prick ex jock turned gentleman and a forever sweetheart by 20, he would’ve swore blind you’d had the wrong Eddie. 

When turned to face his loves, he was met with the two of them linked by both arms, you practically being dragged by Steve from leaning over into his personal bubble, Steve had a hand on her cheek taping it. As they noticed him looking, they both blushed and stopped instantly, sending him 2 beautiful dandy smiles. 

“Okay,” He broke the ice, walking backwards, “I want: no funny business; no words; no sweet talking” He pointedly looked at Steve “And no handiness.” That same looking being directed over to you. Both of you nodded, he continued “I got a reputation to fill,” Eddie spun back around, holding a pointed finger in the air, as the tow of you caught up to him, “Cannot have my people think I’m soft.”

You laughed at his clearly sappy nature, bumping him slightly. Steve shook his head, “Eddie, when you used to sell to me, you opened a conversation without telling me how you used to choke on the smoke...”

“I was just a boy, Harrington.”

“Eddie it was 2 years ago!” 

He slung an arm over both of your shoulders, pulling you both into him, leaning into Steves personal space, “And look where you are now? Two of you is enough, I cannot handle a third partner.”

“Ow, I really wanted a girlfriend.” You joked from under them both. Steve rolled out a chuckle and Eddie knocked his head into yours, planted a little kiss to your hair. 

The rest of the walk was simply and sweet. It weren't too long until the clearing came into sight and he let go of your both. You could see the Eddie, the freak, Munson persona being draped on as he strutted up a head. 

“Better late than ever, Munson.” A deep voice bellowed.

“Time is relative.” There it was... his professional voice. Eddie had a talent of dipping and twisting his voice base on the person / environment he was facing. Any time it was brung up, he never seemed to notice he did it, but you and Steve could guarantee your butterflies were set off and your knee buckled every time. He matched the new louder, deeper voice with a cocky dramatic action of looking at his watch “And i’m just on time.”

“Harrington? y/n?” Great. Of course Eddie decided to bring you both to a deal with one of the Jocks. You smile, Steve salutes. “Didnt know you did group deals munson.”

“Nah, just training new staff.” The 4 of you took refuge at the picnic table. Eddie delivered his comment while shrugging off his jacket, lumping it onto the table. 

“Didn’t know a goodie two shoes like you did this sort of stuff.” The jock spoke as you all sat: you next to Eddie, and Steve opposite, next to the jock.

You pull a straight smile at the boy and shrugged. Both boys locking eyes, sharing a stare then glaring at the jock.

“We’re all full of secrets, aren't we?” Steve butted in, the threat coming from his protective side - tone lowered and sharp.

“$40 for a half” Eddie breaks the silence almost unaware of the comment, he’s slightly muffled behind the tin of his box, hand fishing around for the right baggy.

“Bit steep, Munson?”

“I dont like you.” He says beautifully bluntly face still in the box, you tried but couldn’t help the little laugh that slipped. The metal head had an awfully good skill at being honest. His tone was still professional. “But” He looked up batting his eyes, “Flattery works great on me.”He tilts his head up, holding his head up by one hand, twirling his hair with the other, face set in a cockily open mouth smile.

The jock gave him a disgusted glare, “Does that pretty little thing come with it?” He tilted his head over to you.

For the most part, you were sat minding your own business - not looking (the scenery seemed to grab your attention best) but still listening - feet locked in Steves, you absentmindedly fiddled with your hands. At the sound of the statement your eyes widened in shock and disgust - oh to be able to say things like that without any remorse.

“Watch it.” Eddie snaps.

“C’mon I bet you’re right fun high.” the athlete completely ignored Eddie, you cocked an interested ‘please do tell more’ expression out of instinct. “Bet you’re a right devil.” Eddie closes his case, the slight bang due the jock back him, “There ain’t no way in hell, a pretty quiet good girl like y/n isn't just as a bad any other girl in this town when she’s on shit.” 

Your brain starts looping. You knew you, Eddie and Steve had eye rolled and laughed at drunk teen girls at parties, often overly reenacted their movements with each other. You guys were renowned for cringing at them. The comment hit you right in the wrong place. Were you actually like them girls when high? Were you an embarrassing handful for your boys? Did you get too loud you made everyone too aware of your existence?

You didn't know why the comment laid to thickly in your brain, but it did. You squinted your brows as you skipped through every high / drunk memory you had of yourself. Steve saw you mentally dip out slightly. He broke his star at you and fixated on the teen next to him, “For a man that just had to tell Eddie he has nice hair to get half off, you’re doing quite a bad job at cheapening the deal.”

“I'd rather go see someone else than ever compliment him.” It was a scoff, but the boy of question rebounded with his usual ease.

“I see the way you look at me.” He winked, mood shifting as he picked uptake bag and waved it, spare hand rubbing your thigh, “But, you’re still here.”

“$30 and a kiss from little sweets over there.” Eddie couldn't stop the laugh from the jocks confidence. You were still  mindlessly playing with your hands on the table. With the mental knowledge of someone talking to you, you looked up with your normal small smile. And just as men typically were, he took your politeness for flirting. He winked at you “Always wondered if quiet girls were really the biggest-”

Eddie practically booted the kids shins under the table, and with his typical devilish smile ,he spoke sternly “$40, half, take it or leave it.” 

“A whole ounce.”

“70.”

“Thats fucking ridiculous-”

“You’re still sat down.” Steve butted in, grabbing everyone attention. His tone matched his patience: growing short. The whole time, Steve’s feet were still knitted in yours and Eddie’s thumb still rubbing your thigh. 

Eddie began waving the bag again. “My time is running out. Are you buying or not?”

“Thought time was fake- or whatever bullshit you said.”

You pitted the boys attempt to be smart. “Relative.” with a straight face, you corrected him, nocking your feet into Steves, and hand going Eddies on your tight. 

“She speaks.” His tone is condescending as he stretched forward and put the $70 in your hands “And it’s cute too.”

But just as his hands reached yours, Steve was quick to stand too. He pulled the buyer back down into his seat with a rough hand to the back of his jacket. But the money and sentence already in the air.

You propped your hand up, the money between your fingers. Eddie grabbed it, tossing the bag to the jock in one swift movement. “Don’t need to tell you how to roll, do I?” It was tongue in cheek, but that was the Munson humour. 

“Fuck off, Munson.” 

Eddie laughed and waved a bashful goodbye - batting his eyes again. “Bye baby! See you next week!”

The jocks turns back around to lunge at the metalhead. But Steve is up again in no time, hand on his chest - a pointed stare and cocked brow follow. The jock huffed at his match. Steve learnt he could do more with looks then he could his words.

The three of you back sitting, the air is a little tense. Both boys knew how you could get with unsolicited opinions. After a beat, “Ew men.” You announced, along with a short stiff laugh and pretend shudder. The boys met you with a joint head shake as they looked at you knowingly. “You two ready to go, or do I need to endure that again?” There was a tone to your voice that they know all too well - a faint wobble sitting under it.

“Y/n..” Steve was quiet, voice laced in care, his hands grazed yours as you stood.

“C’mon” You’re over compensating for a familiar feeling you tell is bubbling. “I've got a date with 2 studs, a sofa and a rom com. and I do not intend to be late.” You’d hoisted yourself up and out of the bench, walking back into the forest, arms and hands emphasising and filling in the gaps your tone failed to deliver.

On the walk back to the van, Eddie had an arm over you, rubbing your arm. Steve stayed behind you both, just looking. Eddie was rambling something quiet to you but Steve could only hear your brain ticking over.

With the 3 of you in the van, you fell into a comfortable silence. You could feel your breathing was more pointed. You’d desperately tried to stop your knees jumping slightly. But that alone confirmed to Steve you weren't relaxed. 

He looked over to you, only seeing the side of your face: tense brows, rolled in lips, eyes dotting between the outside structures, pupils focused on your inner monologue. Oh what he’s pay to wipe the look of your face. You card a hand through your hair, tugging it a little.

Steve knew he was right when your breath got heavier. “Heyyy” it was a quiet, loving sigh. At the lack of active knowledgement, you were pulled into his chest, the comfort of Steve let you drop. You wrap an arm around his shoulder, it was uncomfortable but it never couldn't distracted you enough from the sobs that fell. Loud, breathless weeping. It sounds painful, like you've experienced heartbreak, murder, everything awful. 

The sound made Eddie zone back in, the sight of you clinging to one of your boyfriends, face lost in his neck, his hands rubbing your back wasn't exactly what he wanted to see. “Wow, hey hey hey” Steve tried reassuring, Eddie put his hand is on your thigh - doing what he can. 

you just wept. Steve felt you getting hot, felt you shake, felt you tense. The sobs were mixed with gasps. ones that aren't refilling your lungs. At the sound of that, Ed opened his window the full way, pulling over on a random street. hand now on your back, “Can you look at me, bunny?” His voice wasn't big and loud.

You shook your head, but moved so you werere in-between your legs, hunched over. Eddie and Steve share a look. Oh no. --- I know. Abruptly, Ed got out, made his way to Steves side, and opened the door to lean over him and put a hand on your shoulder blades, “C’mon, let’s get some air.” Your reply was harder, heavier, louder sobs. They were akin to like muffled screams at this point.

“Hey, baby, no, c’mon.” Steve’s hand was the back of Eddies, adding a small amount of pressure to try ground you. “C’mon, listen to Ed.” The two of them sat patiently listening to your wailing, frowned upon their feature as they watched you, waiting for something to change. 

You sat up, elbows on your knees, face in your hands. The sobs were no longer screams but hearty nonetheless. “That’s it,” It was a huff but more a loving one than an angry one, the Ex Jock leaned in to undo your seat belt, moving your arms around so your untangled form it. “You gotta come stand outside.”

When you shake your head, sobbing more, Steve’s heart broke. Having you in tears over the voices in your head wasn’t a new experience for them both. They were verteraines for your sobs and panic attacks. But they’d vow no matter how often exposed, it never got easier.

Pulling you into his chest, he began stroking through your hair, “Oh baby.” Though talking to you, he was looking at and talking at Eddie. The others face was breaking, he had a sad expression. 

Steve’s expression the same, he tried again “Please try for us. C’mon we’ll get up together.” You give in and struggle out. Thankful for his chivalry, Eddie natural holds his arms out to guide you both.

They both big guys. Steve, you would say was wide - dense maybe. At no point was a bone felt on him and he was a force to be wrecked with. Eddie. He was on a league of his own. Someone you expect to be a stick ,was just big. In all aspects; big bones, big build, big hands. big big big.

There was a noticeable different feel when you got huddled into the latters chest. You were suffocated, lost, buried. His big shoulders huddling over you, protecting you. You knew that as your knees buckled and the sobs wept again, he’d catch you. And that he did.

“Lets take this off, yeah?” In reference to the jacket and your blistering body heat. “You’re a little warm aren't you?” You nodded - almost like a brainless child. He also held your hair up off your neck, blowing air on your forehead. anything to cool and calm you down. The felling was tickling you causing a little laughed to slip.

“Thats it, welcome back.”

When you let go of Eddie your knee wobbled slightly, Steve was there a hand on your back in a flash. There was the familiar embarrassment surrounding you. Looking a the floor, balls of your hands wiping your eye as your groaned, “God that was gross”

“No, talk to us...” Steve was leaning against the van, hands on his hips. Even though his stance was domineering, his tone and facial expression was so full of love you felt nauseous. 

You were airy, out of it and nickered. Looking up at your boys, you airy laughed at your expense. “Jesus.” Eddie smiled at you. You moved to fann out your t-shirt, now a sweaty mess. “It’s so dumb.”

Talking through a smoke, The metalhead started, “Absolutely not. Yaknow what is dumb though?” There was a pause as he took a drag, “Fucker gave me $100! agh gotta love rich bastards!” He closes with a daydreamy laugh, cut off quickly with “No offence, Stevie” 

You laughed at that, Steve eyed his man, “None taken, trailer trash.” Eddie eyed him back before directing the conversation back.

“Wanna talk? Or are we cutting into the two studs and sofa time?” His tone matched Steve’s previous: the love nausea was back.

You laugh again, they were small laughs but laughs nonetheless. “It’s dumb bu-” You began, you’d leant by now that you could say anything and the two would never judge you.

“Nahum” through the fag again, “$100 is dumb. your feelings, not.”

“Anyway” It was dramatically spoken, “My point” Steve moved over to put his arm around you, “It’s weird, the kissing remarks didn’t bother me - i’m used to that stuff. But like, the comments on how I act high-” the boys knew you struggled letting go of control at the best of times. It sunk for them then. “I just started, like, seeing myself from a third person, and get really embarrassed and-” You did a as-you-can-see type gesture

Eddie smiled, “You’re a lot easier to handle high than him.” He pointed at Steve. You both squinted at him, he explained, pointing his cigarette between you both ”Have you ever had to drag a pure bred Harrington up a hill at 3 am when he’s smoked his body weight? no? didnt think so? I've lugged lighter bears in my time.” The small story made you both laugh. Munson ad his dramatics.

“Sorry? I don’t recall you being any easier. Darling, he once stood in my kitchen eating soup from a saucepan, while cooking pasta and snacking through my cupboards. All while telling me about how he believes d&d id based off real life - which by the way, didn’t get a single word of.” 

“Oh sorry Mr I'd-rather-go-dancing-nude-outside-then-get-the-munchies-like-a-normal-person.”

“You really put you and normal in the same sentence?”

Their comical bickering had you chuckling into Steves chest.

Eddie threw the fag out, “Sweetheart, you and your little giggle fits are a piece of piss! I’d much rather see you laughing your ass off for a few hours than deal with him.”

“Or, when you sit n talk to your bears-”

“Steve!” You cut him off almost instantly but weren’t quick enough.

You noticed Eddies eyebrows fly into his fringe, “Wo-ho-ho-ho do tell.” He has had stupid playful smirk on.

“You said you wouldn’t tell him!” You grumbled in Steves chest, rolling in it to hopefully get close enough you’d fall inside, but he stood proudly above you, laughing.

“Nah-ah-a don’t do that to me, sweetheart.” Eddie pulled your out and twirling you around, “You’re so cute, youre gonna kill me.” The compliment fell like Ana after thought, as thought it slipped out from his accidentally. You blushed nonetheless, “Did they have anything juicy to share?”

“shut up-” Embarrassed, you shoved him off you. Eddie’s warm laughter grew; he pulled you back in for a quick kiss. 

“You feeling better?” The mood serious again, you just grumbled into his chest “Don’t like it when you cry.”

“im sorry.” There was a flat smile as you looked up to Eddie.

“Absolutely not.” You both turn at the sound of Steve. Who was stood with his hands on his hips again, “You’ve got nothing to apologise for. Ain’t your fault, ain’t anyones.” He looked over at Eddie there, knowing that mans brain better than him sometimes. “And apparently you’ve got a date or something to get it?” You giggle, snuggling into Eddie more. 

Tag list: @quietshyashlyn19​ @your-mom18-05 @se-thh 

[afreakingdork]

Weak Spot - Chapter 9

RotTMNT Donatello x Reader

Warnings: Aged-up Turtles, Romance, Meet Cute, Villain Donatello, Cussing, Crushes, Xenophobia, Fear, Intimidation, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Hurt/Comfort, Love, AFAB Reader, Vaginal Sex, Sex Rough, Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Creampie, Teasing, Scent Kink, Sexual Tension

Synopsis:  When falling in love is the easy part where does the difficulty lie? In a society where we’re defined by our job, it’s those little details as a relationship goes on that ends up setting a course for whether or not a couple can make it in the long run.

The smut starts here 😈

Fem!Reader References: There are single line notes about bra and panties, a few cl*t mentions, a couple 'p*ssy's, but otherwise pretty GN

Also available on Ao3

First 💜 Previous

Last warning for the 🍋 under the cut. Minors DNI!

Checking yourself for about the hundredth time in a mirror, you flittered about the apartment. Without your roommate to distract you, you had only the ball of nervous energy in your chest to keep you company. Unlike the last time your date had been scheduled, you had no idea where this evening was headed. Donatello asked for your compliance and you’d been curious enough to give it to him. The kisses he’d plied you with while asking made the agreement a little too easy. It didn’t seem like he even did whatever little tests he had left during your last lunch. He did, however, not allow another mind-numbing make outs to take place. He, instead, had simply caught you off guard again and again with tiny pecks. It almost felt as if he were testing the waters. You had tried desperately to examine it, but the kiss he left to your knuckles in parting had left you further in a daze.

He was growing far too powerful for his own good.

Walking by the mirror in your pace and not because you were giving yourself another once over, you felt a surge of pride. It could have been the high of affection, but you looked amazing. All he’d given you was a semi-formal dress code and a time of pick-up. You’d gone all out and purchased new clothes. The few friends you had anxiously messaged all agreed with your ego and it made you think that, if nothing else, you could at least catch him off guard. There had to be a way for you to gain some leverage. You were whipping up your own experiment parameters when, from the kitchen, your phone buzzed angrily against the countertop. You clacked across the apartment in your dress shoes to catch it.

Don Juan: Five minutes remaining.

You: No reminder needed! You nervous?

Don Juan: I’ve done far too much preparation to allow such a trivial emotion.

You: Ah, got it. You’re excited then!

You watched as his reply bubble stewed and then popped. He had always been tactful in his non-responses, but as of late you felt like you were reading more into them than ever. Stirred by the idea that you’d cracked his façade, you did a final check for your most important belongings before heading out of your apartment. Timing it perfectly, you landed on your stoop at the exact meeting time to a sleek black sports car sitting at the curb. It reminded you of the usual cab so you watched it as you descended the steps. The window’s tint nearly matched the car’s color and meant you couldn’t catch a glimpse inside. Curious, you took a few edging steps closer.  

The back door opened and the purple neon that spilled out shaded the figure. It was the kind of audacious thing a celebrity would do and your posture snapped rigid. A leg swung out and a glossy boot tamped down onto the curb. You knew its owner instantly and wondered why you ever considered it could be anyone else. In a fluid motion that spoke of the many times he’d done it before, Donatello left the vehicle while buttoning his jacket. With a single crisp snap to his lapel, he stepped forward and you drank in his lethally tailored dark grey suit. It was painted onto him and gave you your first glimpses of the sculpted body underneath. An image of him working out, coated in sweat, appeared you felt your own mental perspiration bead.

Back in reality, it was hard to not feeling and an undressed toddler in comparison. Trying not to shrink, you moved to focus on his face. It meant another quick trek up his body, which was appreciated, but gave you some pause as you noted he’d chosen another high necked top as opposed to a button up. You had never seen his neck and it made you wonder why he felt the need to hide it.

Donatello cleared his throat.

Shame was offset by embarrassment as you realized you never did make it to your intended visual destination. Resisting the urge to gawk further, you found a smug gaze waiting for you.

“My attire is suitable then?”

“Is there anything you don’t look good in?” You tossed out the line in hopes of getting a hold of yourself.

He took the comment in and silently went through the motion of pulling something from an inner pocket of his jacket. “Something I wouldn’t be caught dead in maybe.”

“No turtle onesie?”

The teasing rolled off the impenetrable shield of his cocky aura. He instead got hold of something and held it out in a closed hand. “I scoff at tradition, but there can be merit in an upgrade.”

“You got me something?” You blinked down at the offering.

“To mark the occasion.”

“You didn’t-” The worry caught on your lips as he unfurled his fingers to reveal the tiniest box. Fascination brought you in closer to the cute object as his other hand came to lift the little lid. On a white cushioned bed was a dime sized delicate purple flower etched in gold. “Wha…?”

“Purple hydrangea.” He clarified and somehow picked the tiny object up in his large fingers with ease. It disappeared there and he stepped into your space. His free hand extended and a finger sliced a diagonal from the top of one pulse point to the bottom of another. It tipped your head back and shot radiating tingles thru your arms. With your eyes now locked with his, he split the time between watching you and his work as that finger tucked into your collar. His nail skirted your collarbone and your lips parted. His gaze seemed more and more hesitant to leave you and you watched in real time as his pupils expanded in murky curiosity. His other hand came up and did something to your shirt, but the whole act was too distracting for it to make sense. He came away from your chest and curled a digit under your chin. He then sealed his lips over yours and you felt the sway to press into him. He kept the move at bay with his hold and leaned back with a satisfied grin.

Your half lids fluttered at the look. “I have a feeling that will be the first of many tonight.”

You caught the way his pupils grew just a bit larger before hesitation pricked them.

“Hm?” You pushed your chin down into his hand. “See something you like?”

He was moving forward again and caught your lips with twice the urgency.

You returned it in kind, but he retreated with grit teeth. “We’ll be late.”

It seemed more of an excuse for himself than you.

Still sipping in dreamy appreciation, you watched as he pulled his hand away in a manner that said the appendage was fighting back. The street you were on rushed back to you and your apartment tugged. It would only take a few steps and one elevator ride to return. You couldn’t imagine him declining if you asked to ditch the preamble in favor of…

Your face went red hot and Donatello slowed, his pupils receding as his brow came down to study the change.

Breaking eye contact, you dropped yours to find the flower had been pinned to your top. “Oh!” You reached up and ran a finger over it. “It’s beautiful.”

 “It is.” It was a cheesy and you knew exactly what he was looking  at. The rush was still fed and playing out the cliché, you found his gaze lingering over you.

It bolstered the image he had mistakenly wounded to near where it had been before he arrived. Feeling a little flicker of that nervous energy and resisting the omnipresence of your apartment, you made the last few steps towards the car where the door was still open.

He moved with you. “I believed a token that would last and didn’t come with a cumbersome quality of care would best a bouquet.”

“Quite the upgrade.” You gave him a demure smile. “Thank you.”

It didn’t seem like the gratitude itself, but something about your delivery had an effect on Donatello. He rushed to take a position by the car. You watched him, amused, and he offered his hand as leverage for you to get into the vehicle. Sliding into the pristine leather, you tried not to dallying at the sight around you. Highly modified, the interior felt as though it were plucked out of the far flung future. It still had the typical accompaniments of a car, but they seemed to be crafted from varying materials you couldn’t place. The center armrest in particular caught your eye as a screen rolled over the top of it to the floor. Every inch of trim was lined with purple neon that skirted the line of ostentatious and instead shifted the otherwise black abyss into a mesmerizing other world.

You were about to voice your astonishment when Donnie slotted himself against you. Stiffening in surprise, you realized you never quite made it across the car and he’d simply sat in the little space you afforded him. You shifted to move, but his arm laid across the back of the seat and he closed the door. You turned away to frown at how the limb hadn’t caught you and returned to see your companion waiting.

“How is this real?”

“I made it.” He leaned in and forward which put him over your lap.

“You...?” The sound was meant to buy you time to respond, but instead all it did was turn Donatello’s head to you.

He was all the more closer.

Heart kicked into a higher gear, you flicked your gaze towards the front seat and found no driver at the wheel. “You made…?”

“Hm?” Amongst the many things vying for your attention, you somehow caught how he was mimicking your earlier move. “See something you like?”

Swimming in details, the tease brought you back where you caught him staring at your lips. “No, wait. Yes, just… You made… the car?”

“In a way.” Torn between something himself, he turned to bury the look as he tappd the armrest display. It came to life with an active response that floated purple pixels off from where he touched. Instead of bringing up menus, you watched as his moves instead activated an intuitive system. “I purchased the vehicle and then gutted it.” The neon accentuated the growing manic glee that you could just see etched into his features. The engine started and you again scanned the empty driver’s seat. “The mechanics and tech system were the easy. I built a new engine from scratch and the programming barely took an hour. The delicacy of the interior took the most time. The seats were the only salvageable pieces, while everything else had to go. I ended up making customs to suit my tastes.”

Settling back, that arm behind your head finally fell onto your shoulder. Confusion drowned out any excitement the move would have caused just a few minutes ago. “Hacking is one thing. What you’re describing…”

“Is the work of genius?” The sentence lapped at your ear and you were caught by how close he’d gotten.

“Genius isn’t the right word.” You felt breathy even though nothing significant had happened.

The was a gentle ping and the car pulled out from the curb. Fear shot through you and you slotted your body as close to Donatello as possible. His chest held a hum that read as a version of laughter.

“S-seat belts? We should be wearing some?” You searched and found one for either far seat, but not the one you were in. “Don!”

He held out for a moment longer before relenting on his haughty attitude in exchange for a softer one. “It’s ok. You wouldn’t wear seatbelt in the back of a cab.”

“This isn’t a cab!” You turned to implore him with anxiety wide in your eyes.

“Hey.” His arm shifted so he could grip your shoulder.

“There’s no one driving!”

“Self driving have existed for years now.”

“And how successful has that been?!”

He gave a huff and leaned into you until his forehead pressed against your temple. “Focus on me.”

“But-”

A noise came up his throat that acted as a repetition of his previous statement.  

You squeezed your eyes shut and felt the way the car smoothly came to a stop at something.

“I programmed this myself. I have full faith in its execution and have been using it for years when need be.”

“I guess I never asked how you got around.”

“I still use public transit relatively often. Parking is a nightmare in this city if there is no valet.”

You gave a laugh as small as the broach on your chest. Trying to find a focal point in it, you instead  found it was too light to distinguish from your clothes. “Hey, Donnie?”

He hummed the affirmation against your cheek.

“The pin isn’t a tracker, right?”

He gave an offended snort and shot away.

You gave him a chance to answer and when he didn’t you checked to find that he still had his arm around you. The fact that he hadn’t fully removed himself seemed to speak to some level of guilt. It was enough for you to make a gambit. “You thought about it, but didn’t.”

“You made me promise.” He seethed.

Feeling much more relaxed, you cuddled closer to lay your head against the lower seam of his shoulder. You felt the top edge of something there cut against your cheek. “A good call, I’m seeing.”

His nose wrinkled and he forced his gaze out at the passing buildings.

You shifted your chin along whatever the shelf was and gave in to your growing curiosity. “Can I touch you?”

He didn’t turn back, but came around just enough to glimpse you. “You already are.”

“A little more.” You shifted in your seat to right yourself. “Totally innocent, I swear.” You put your hand to your chest in a show of fealty.

His chin came into view. “You don’t have an innocent bone in your body.”

“Says the ‘evil’ guy.” You laughed.

He only raised a brow that seemed to question your point.

“So, ‘no?’ That’s alright too.” You settled back into your seat to translate that.

“Where?”

Your eye caught how the steering wheel made minor adjustments on its own. “Your chest and shoulders.”

“Why?”

“I keep feeling bits of your shell, but the shape doesn’t make sense.”

“How so?” He fully divested himself from the window to evaluate you.

“There’s like a point here.” You pointed to his chest. “An edge here.” You brought the raised digit up to around his collarbone. “And the sides are flat.” Instead of marking this spot, you simply let your finger fall.

He thought it over before relenting with minor hesitation in his lips. “Go ahead, but tread lightly.”

You nodded and tucked your legs up under you in preparation. You then reached out and first traced over that jutting part of his chest.

“The front is called plastron, while the back would be the carapace.”

Glancing at Donatello found him on high alert. You wondered if listing the terms soothed him in some way so you took the information in with a gentle nod. Making slow work of pressing your hand flat, you let your fingers hinge over protruding shape. You couldn’t feel a heartbeat through it, but the way he tightened up at the contact said he had a level of sensitivity.

“Pectoral scutes.” His voice was low and wary.

You absently bobbed your head and focused on trailing up to the edge. Tracing along it, you found the ridge went straight across his chest. It caused him to inhale sharply. “You ok?”

He gave a nod so taunt you thought his neck might snap under the pressure.

“If you can’t tell me, tap my arm and that’ll be my signal to stop.”

Another tight tug of his chin said he understood.

Curling your fingers around the edge, you found you could tuck them in farther than you imagined. Through his sweater, it skirted skin behind the plastron and, from where Donatello’s hand had been laying against your upper arm, he grabbed you. It caused your fingers to instantly disengage and you shot your gaze to his face. A wild look was waiting for you there which he assuaged by screwing his eyes shut. When they opened you saw a flash of fire before he surged forward to kiss you. You tried to melt against him, but the awkwardness of your hovering hands kept you at bay. He sensed it and retreated with a turn away. “You can keep going.”

“You sure? That was-?”

“Nothing.” He decided for you.

Your heartbeat echoed thick in your chest and you ghosted over the edge of his plastron again. The clench of his jaw was visible as the tightened muscles disappeared down his high neckline. You moved up from there to his shoulder and found the no connecting piece. Leaned in close to reach, you drew a line on his skin on the way to check his other shoulder. You found nothing there either, other than Donatello’s breath which had picked up into rapid little puffs. The realization hit you all too quickly.

He was turned on.

Resisting the urge to goad him, the bulk of thought shot southward in your body. There was a needy edge to his more passionate kisses, but you hadn’t seen him this unsettled. Suddenly very aware that one wrong move could stop that, you pressed your digits back into his rippled shoulder. “Can I reach towards your back? To the, what did you call it? Carapace?”

“No.” The command was clear.

You accepted and lowered your touch to translate that. “Your chin?”

“There’s no shell there.”

“I see that.” You tried to curb the sarcasm in your voice. “Still? Can I?”

His eye darted to you then away.

You reached up making sure your hand was just within his vision before curling your fingers under his chin. You then gently coaxed him to turn towards you. He did so and there was a twitchy nature to the little frown on his lips. “Hi.” The was a sultry note to the syllable that you hadn’t meant, but he took it with a flash of something dark in his gaze.

“What are you up to?”

“Not being innocent anymore.”

“It was only a matter of time.”

You smiled your agreement and, from where your thumb had landed below his lips, you applied a gentle force to tip him down. He kept his eyes sorely on you. “Can I trouble you for a kiss?”

 A single heady noise came from him as if a pressure was releasing and he dropped down. Your fingers skirted along his jaw line and you caught his lips first. He deepened the move and you kept your hands in motion until they cradled his head. Another primal sound emanated from him and he surged forward until your lips parted. He then bit down into your lower lip and pulled. It drew a deprived noise from you and he reeled you in to swallow it up. A beep sounded that seem to signify the shift as the hand on your arm moved to your waist. Another ping went off as you allowed yourself to drift back as he begged more from you. A third chime went off when your back laid across the leather and his free arm came around to lift up the legs you had left on the seat. Draping them over his lap so he could climb on top of you, a sharp volume shift accompanied the fourth sound.

Donatello growled audibly.

“What is that?” You mumbled.

“We’re here.”

“Where?” Your mind unhelpfully reminded you of the vehicle.

“The restaurant.” He slammed an angry digit into the armrest display.

“Oh.” The sound came out of you before you realized what it meant. When it finally clicked, you shot upright.

Donnie turned to you with irritation wafting off of him.

“Should we…?”

“We have a reservation.” He grumbled, tugging on his lapels as if that were his control panel.

“Yep.” You pulled your legs away from him and the shift made the heat pooling in your abdomen all the more apparent. “We should-” You dipped down, smoothing a crease and peering through the dark tint to see the glowing sign of a restaurant barely visible through it. “Go do that thing we said we’d do...”

He nodded gruffly and grabbed the door handle with enough strength that it clattered as he snapped it. He then nearly kicked his way out and disappeared onto the sidewalk. Blinking after him, you attempted to make yourself presentable before slipping out of the car with some minor hang-ups. You looked back at the vehicle and then forward to find Donatello already holding the door to the restaurant open.

“The car…?” You called out to him and he pointedly ignored you.

“I’ve got it.” A voice from behind you caused you to jump. Spinning around you found a valet near the driver’s side with a set of keys held high in hand. “I apologize, are you alright?”

“Yep…” You gawked at the jingling metal and again looked towards Donatello helplessly. He was still at the door, refusing to look, though he had reclaimed a portion of his persona. “Looks like we’re good…”

You heard the car door open behind you and headed toward your partner. He avoided your eye throughout the check-in process and all the way to the table. The restaurant was oozing romanticism with its dimly lit atmosphere, crushed velvet wall hangings, and two-seat tables. Your reservation was situated against a wall and gave an optimal view across the expanse of the place. You thought little of it until Donatello took the far seat. His tight posture made him seem like a king set in front of his kingdom. Sitting across from him, there was soon a flurry of various staff who offered menus, waters, wines, and a spiel from the chef. You struggled to keep up as Donatello’s refusal to address you cut deep. You had a feeling it wasn’t intentional as you were still coming down from the high in the car yourself, but it didn’t help that you were feeling very out of place somewhere where he was supposed to be your anchor.

When it was time to choose, you found the menu to be scant and Donatello made his choice in what felt like a matter of seconds.

“And for you?”

The waiter turned and you stared at the tiny font that paled in comparison to the size of the tablet. “Um…”

The struggling sound seemed to trigger something and, though your eyes were glued to the page, you felt Donatello finally look at you. You waited out the processing time and then caught the way he leaned forward in your periphery. “I ordered us a starter and got the trout.”

You gave a timid nod before turning toward the waiter. “The chicken?”

“A fine choice.” The man responded with an encouraging smile.

The waiter then took the menus and departed. Eyeing to make sure the man was out of sight, Donatello draped his arms across the table which landed his upturned palms in front of you.

You delicately placed your hands in his and he gave them a squeeze. “I have not been a good date.”

“The restaurant bit has been a lot… Before that was stellar though.”

He pinched your thumb.

“You disagree?” You looked at him through your lashes.  

“We’re making it through this date.” There was a finality to his voice that said he would stop at nothing.

You bit your lip to keep from laughing and leaned in enough to move your joined hands to the center of the table. “What a matter of principle.”

He didn’t seem to catch the joking tone to your voice and relaxed as he assumed you agreed. His gaze lowered and he became entranced by gently stroking the skin on the top of your hands with his thumbs.

It was unusual that he’d miss obvious sarcasm and you had to hide away your disbelief. It was like you’d been handed a gift you had no idea how to utilize. You allowed yourself time to plot until the starter arrived. Donatello released you to return to his side of the table as a plate of gorgeously crafted toasts with dreamy white dollops and various colored drizzles were set down. Your plan almost fell to the wayside as your appetite reared its head.

“Whipped ricotta toast with seasonal fruit.” Donatello hummed approvingly.

“Only one of each?” You looked over the six ovals.

“Unwilling to share with me now?” He bounced a question of his own back and picked up a toast with a golden glaze.

“Oh, I think I’ve shared quite a bit.” You hooked your elbows to the table as a platform for your chin.

He took a bite and the move in casually.

“Isn’t that up to me? What I’ll offer and all?”

Through a chew, the corner of his mouth turned up and he leaned forward. You watched his face closely and saw a flash of something before your chair moved. With your hands already close to your mouth, you clamped them over it to smother a squeak of fear. His gaze dripped lethal as you realized that with one hand he’d picked you by a single chair leg. He then smoothly carried you over to side in an insane show of strength. Finishing the move off with a heavy gaze, he held the toast up to you casually.

The rush of fear was mistranslated by your body as its exact opposite. You ended up staring at the bite dumbly.

“Don’t want to try?” He nearly cooed.

From where your mouth was slack, your teeth snapped together. Pushing against your mental resistance, you slunk up to the food. You opened your mouth wide for a clean insertion before plumping your lips out as you closed down around the toast. Donatello’s hand faltered and you used the move to pull back. You felt the whipped ricotta coat your lips so you pocketed your chew to one cheek before darting your tongue out for a luxuriously sweep to pick up the excess. By the time you swallowed and finally gave Donatello your attention, he was looking at you as if you were the main course.

You lined up a response with a smirk of your own. “Not bad.”

His gaze narrowed with understanding and he brought his own cocksure grin out to play. “Let’s compare then.”

So began a rapidly heated exchange of eating a simple starter. On the second piece, you took lead on feeding him and he swept his tongue over one of your fingers in the process. You counted that round as a loss as your stomach bottomed out at the move. On the third, he brought out a knife to cut the piece and you felt a confused edge when he didn’t offer you your half. Wary, you grabbed it and he popped his in his mouth easily. You were far smaller in comparison and ended up making the same mess on your lips with the tall toppings. Before you could consider repeating your tongue action, Donatello was there and with a flick of his thumb he cleaned the excess away. You then watched as he made a show of popping the digit in his mouth and showing his teeth off in the process. You hid your second loss in a row by chiding him about how he’d done that when you’d first met.

Feigning ignorance, he cut the fourth toast. You located a fork and swiped a dollop of ricotta off the top of your piece. You then licked it off in one clean swipe that caused him to accidentally crush his toast between the finger and thumb he had picked it up with. He cursed and you surged forward to top your second victory off with a third one by beating him to his napkin. He glanced between you and the cloth in an attempt at evaluating your strategy. You curled the cotton up as if you were going to wipe it clean normally, but instead twisted your hand around to make it a soft pedestal for his own at the last second. With a little maneuvering you pushed his two fingers together making a hole in between them and then pressed up through it with the napkin. You then expertly curled your finger up into the divot and scooped out the white debris there. The innuendo proved to be too much as his grip slammed shut, trapping your digit inside.

Seeing the glimmer of a fourth win on the horizon, you parted your lips and heaved your chest. “Ah, that’s tight.”  

He let you go all too fast and you snapped his napkin in a lauding of your success. You then set it to his side and he sunk back into his seat.

“All done?” You tempered your teasing just in case.

“I’d rather not fill up before the main course.” He adjusted himself. “You go ahead.”

It was your turn to cycle through what he could be playing it. Finding nothing concrete, you reached for the fifth toast. He was languidly perched, so you took a tentative bite that only seemed to reveal a too tart jam topping. Pulling back and chewing like normal to give him a break, you sensed how he leaned forward. Slowing down, you turned and nearly crumpled under the full force of an open leer. You hadn’t realized how much he’d been holding back. It made your hand shake under the sheer desire in his features alone. A corner of his mouth then quirked and the heat evaporated with it. It was his show of success and you shoved the rest of the toast in your mouth in one way too big bite. Turning away, you tried to chew it as the buzz pulsed in your loins.

You were fair if nothing else and being able to do that to someone with a look alone was something otherworldly. When you returned he was polishing off the sixth toast with an audible pop. Feeling coy about your lost, he sensed it by shifting from a gloat to a gentle gaze. He kicked his elbow out and tapped your arm with it. The considerate nature effected you all the same, but you managed to return the gesture while trying to cool the latent heat bubbling in your cheeks. He seemed like he would comment when the waiter arrived with your main dishes.

The man swung in with surprise at your new table position and you politely stood to return to where you should be.

“Oh!” The man was already making eye contact with someone. “You can stay if you like. Just give us a moment to adjust your place settings?”

“That’s not-”

“We’d appreciate it.”

You snapped your gaze to Donatello to find it watching you with a wicked air. Several people then swarmed the table and, in a blink, the two seats were now set at the far side of the table. They appeared cozy though they also overlooked the restaurant as a team. Your meals were then laid out and you sat next to Donatello who was oozing a self-satisfied aura.

“I don’t know how you’ll make fish sexy.” You held your head high as you adjusted your cutlery in hand.

“While I do enjoy a challenge, I’ll pass on this one.” He had his already ready and took a delicate bite where he paused to evaluate the dish.

The way he could so easily turn the allure on was both infuriating and intriguing. True to his word, you both ate in enjoyable peace. After sharing details about the respective meals, you caught each other up on the past few days. Though Donnie was still aggressively vague about his work, he was pretty candid regarding anything else. Unfortunately, this came as a double edged sword where he also refused to expand if he didn’t feel the need. It meant that when you pressed him about the car, he simply said it was within his skill set. Sighing, you switched to joke about an elderly couple at a table a few off from your own. The pair seemed painfully disinterested in one another and you guessed at some salacious. He offhandedly mentioned he could hear them and explained that they were fighting because the woman had purchased a fourth Shih Tzu. You took the comment in without thinking at first before whipping your head around to your companion. Before you could ask, he simply explained it had to do with his mutant genes.

“That’s amazing…” You stared at him in awe.

He shrugged, finishing off his plate. “It can be overwhelming.”

“In New York, I can imagine.” You thought about the constant noise and grimaced.

“That’s not my only enhanced sense.”

“Oh?” You bounded out of your thoughts and took a bite of rice. “I’ll guess it’s not eyes since you have glasses.”

“My vision is fine now. It was poor when I was younger, but I took care of it.” He dabbed his mouth with a napkin and you could tell it was another maddening thing he wouldn’t expand on.

You rolled your eyes and added it to a long list of things you’d wring out of him one day. It hadn’t been an immediate thing and, you still had some reservations, but crating a future with him seemed possible.

“My sense of smell actually.” He was close and you offered him a bite of your chicken. He took it with an easy chew. “Hm, it’s fine, but I prefer my choice.”

“You should have had more of that caper vinaigrette.” You gave a dreamy look. “That means you have a more discerning palate then, right?”

“That is one enhancement, yes.” One of his arms found its way to the back of your chair as he leaned in close.

You steadied your nerves as took another bite under his examination.

“With years of practice, I’ve become adept at singling scents out.” He reached out with his free hand to  gently prodded your wine glass. “As one would pick out tasting notes.”

He was leading up to something, but you weren’t sure what. You were close to done with your meal, but set your cutlery down to give him your full attention. “That can be helpful.”

He took your move in with a pleased air. “Very much so.” His lips close to your ear, you settled into the tickling sensation of his breath against the sensitive skin. “Did you know no study has led to the isolation of true human sex pheromone?”

You refused to jolt, but your eyes widened.

“This is due to many factors, but one of which relates to the intended recipients ability to translate these scents due to the differences to how we perceive smell.”

“I guess...” You tried to steady your heart rate now that you were painfully aware he could hear the spikes. “One person’s natural musk is like perfume to some and garbage to others…”

“And that only takes into account the usual human sense strength.”

You nodded and he ghosted his lips just under your earlobe.

“I’ve found there is a much clearer indication that I can focus on.”

You were almost afraid to ask as an inkling tugged at the back of your brain. “What’s that?”

“The distinct rush of fluids produced from arousal.”

Again you had to steel yourself. Your body betrayed you as instead of steadying, the action translated in a sharp clenching of muscles deep within you.

He didn’t point it out, but the way he nearly nuzzled the underside of your chin to take a deep inhale said it he caught what had happened.  

“Don-“ You choked on his name as you remembered every single time he’d ever gotten to you run in a terribly embarrassing reel.

His hand found your knee under the table. “There is a secondary game you have been unknowingly playing all evening.” 

You wanted to give into his touch, but the chatter of the restaurant kept you in place.

“One where you have a physical response to me which I have to, in turn, withhold myself from acting on.”

“You say it like you’re an animal.”

“Am I not?” He removed his hand to take your chin and turn your face to him. “Take a look.”

Your eyes skimmed the green of his skin. “Is it hard? You seem in control.”

“In small doses, in the beginning, it is easy to ignore. Imagine it like passing a bakery when walking down a street; a few steps and the scent is gone.”

“But now?” You were prompting him. You were still in public and you were pushing him further.

“You-” His grip grew tighter and tighter until it stung. “The euphemism ‘poking the bear’ comes to mind except you have covered yourself in salmon and honey whilst screaming the bear’s name specifically.”

Reaching up, you made it clear you were going to take his hand and he loosened his grip. You didn’t pull him away, but tucked your fingers in between your face to keep him from pinching so hard. “You’re acting like the turtle is blameless.”

He opened and closed his mouth exactly one time.

“It was a good comparison, but how much more obvious do I have to make it until you realize I want to be devoured?” You yanked his hand down and lolled your head to give him your best bedroom eyes.

His hand clamped shut and you were glad you’d added a preventative barrier against bruising your face. “Check. Now.” He growled and turned away to flag down the nearest waiter.

“I’m going to touch your leg.”

“Pushing it.” He warned, seemingly unable to form full sentences.

“That a no?” You mused. “Can’t handle it?”

The indignity pulled his eye and he gave you a tight nod before resuming his quest.

You were sure he’d assumed you’d meant your hands. With him distracted, you carefully adjusted the plate in front of you while moving your legs. You wondered lightly how this would cause the scent to hit him while out of the corner of your eye he looked like he was one step away from standing up. You couldn’t have that so you twisted with as much grace as you could muster until you could hook one of your legs over his. It split yours and whatever guesses you had made about his nose seemed spot on as he jolted so violently that he bumped the table. You pretended to be concerned as the staff and patrons nearby looked on curiously. Humiliated, Donnie dropped all the way down until his forehead nearly touched his place mat. It was something only you could see, but his pupils seemed to disappear and his lips were parted as he panted openly like a wild animal.

That cocktail of fear as arousal shot through you and he turned his head incrementally toward the scent. He was indeed sans pupil as he took another whiff of your arousal. You shuddered at the thought as his fingers curled around the plump of your inner thigh.

“Is… everything alright?” A member of the wait staff appeared.

“Yes.” Donnie surfaced and looked the picture of someone about to snap. “Please bring us-”

“The dessert menu!” You chirped loudly over him.

Donnie shot you a look that somehow combined sheer terror with pure fury.

“Please.” You added kindly the server who watched with dismay.

“R-right away…” He took your used plates before taking off.

“What are you doing?” Donnie’s voice was teeming with rage.

“Making it through the date. Dates do dessert.” You put on your best tease though the thrill quickly becoming overwhelming

“If you keep this up, I don’t know if I’ll be able to hold back from destroying you.” Through his desperation there was an icy air of truth to his words.

You were aching from the near constant spasms. “Is that a promise?”

This time instead of acting out, his eyes closed and stopped breathing altogether.

As time ticked on, you became increasingly concerned until he returned with chilled features. “Dessert then.”

“Donnie, what was that?”

He didn’t respond and reached down to remove your leg from his.

Panic bubbled up and you went to voice your concern when a menu was offered. You gave a lingering look to your companion before taking it. Again there wasn’t many distracting options so you picked one at random. “The strawberry and vanilla mousse please.”

“Right away.” The waiter too back the menu and disappeared.

“Don.”

“I had no choice.”

You turned to him in a slow and careful way. “I didn’t realize there was an upper limit. I’m sorry.”

He shook his head.

“How can you just turn it off like that?”

He flashed you a millisecond look that haunted you. It was like something out of a nightmare that spoke of horrors beyond your comprehension.

“What can I do?” It got you mumbling and bowing your head.

“It’s not gone. It’s just set aside.”

“That can’t be okay…”

He didn’t respond and you didn’t push it. You sat quietly until the mousse arrived and while it looked decadent, your appetite was in shambles. You took the spoon accompanying it and severed the multilayered surface. Taking the smallest potion you brought it listlessly to your lips and took the bite. It was smooth and light in a way that made you felt bad for not enjoying it.

“Stop feeling guilty.”

“I broke you.” You shot him a look.

“It was a joint effort.”  

You meant to move back to the dessert but something in his face caught you attention.“Wait…”

He looked on with a flat expression.

“I know you.” You pointed your spoon at him.

He flicked his gaze down at the utensil and then back up.

“You’re the Donatello I met over sandwiches.”

The was a slight hitch to one of his brows. It was an exact micromovement you had seen before.

“Do you usually close yourself off? All the time?”

He reached out and grabbed the second spoon the dish came with.

“Donnie.”

He skimmed off a bite similar to yours and tried to dessert.

“Hey.” His spoon came back for another round and you used yours to keep him from the dish.

“It’s the other way around.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve been like this for years.” His eyes winced as if memories were assaulting him before he looked clearly on at you. “I haven’t had a need to account for any shifts.”

Your brow knit in careful confusion. “No, that… can’t be right? You were just opening up. Wouldn’t that mean how you’re acting now is how you should be…?”

He didn’t respond, but there were shreds that said he disagreed.

You allowed him another bite of mousse only after getting a large spoonful for yourself to eat while mulling it over. It was satisfying and the check appeared when you were both almost done. Donatello placed cash down and the waiter took it away with you only catching a glimpse at it.

“That… looked like a lot.”

Another mute response.

You frowned. “You said for years, how many? What were you like before?"

He ignored you but you caught the slight wince in his left eye. There was something significant there as if it was cracking through this exterior. Cleaning your utensil, s a percolating anger bubbled up from your belly to your throat. You hadn’t meant to conjure it; you had come to terms with the things he wasn’t ready to tell you, but there was something about how wrong this all was and how he accepted it as truth that infuriated you. As soon as he set his spoon down, you stood while taking care to keep your chair from loudly announcing itself. You then looked down Donatello with a glare from above.

He watched back, still sat, with a dull stare.

It cinched your decision to not let him get away with that.

You reached down and hooked your fingers into the top edge of his plastron. His sweater gave easily under the force and you shoved outward to graze his skin. His breath hitched and you yanked hard to bring him up to you. His arm shot out to stabilize himself on a chair and you were well aware he was only allowing the action as there was no way you could lift him alone. Still, you dipped down into his face. “Knock it off.”

“Or what, pray tell?”

“The dates over. I’ll leave.”

The first real crack came in the form of one of his brows shooting up in challenge. “The dog that chases me around?”

“Pretending you’re the exception when your tail wags the same?”

The corner of his mouth trended upward and a dozen fractures echoed in its wake. “That’s the best you got?”

“You hacked my phone because I left you alone for a couple of hours. So tell me which one of us has separation anxiety?” You were close enough that your nose barely brushed his.

He took the statement in and then licked his lips. You watched closely as he then carefully retracted himself and reached up to pull your grasp free. Unsure, a growing frown started to spread on your face until he tugged on his lapels. It was like a signal went off in your brain and he caught your hand in a tight snap. You were in motion before you could process it.

It was as if you were teleported outside and Donnie waved to the valet who jogged off. He then turned to you with his smug air growing like a thick cloud with each passing second. “I’ll rate that a C. I prefer way meaner.”

There was nothing exact there, but something about the way he said it spoke higher volumes. The deep throb was turning to a rapid necessity.

He caught the air and looked down at you. “Really? That got you?”

You tried to play it off, but your knees felt weak.

“You’re a lost cause.”

You pouted and he squeezed your hand.

“We both are.”

Your head shot to him and he kept his gaze away until the car pulled up. Some kind of exchange between the keys and tip occurred, but you were distracted by how quickly you were being ushered into the vehicle. Donnie gave you no time to scoot in as he nearly climbed on top of you to activate the armrest display. Within a few swipes he was satisfied and turned on you. You let out an excited squeal as he captured your lips in a fervor. In a push and shove, you managed to yank his coat off and he was working a line of hickeys into your neck. The car seemed to lurch, but the move only brought you closer together. Desperation scented the air and it was only when he hissed from kneeing the back of the passenger seat that you accounted for how big he was in comparison to the backseat. Despite his hulking form, he was adept at minimizing the space he took up when necessary.

That didn’t mean you wanted to make him suffer through this moment cramped the whole time.

“Where… we going?” You felt drunk.

He came up from where he was doing his best to stretch your collar out. “It’s set…” He swallowed hard. “… to return to the last destination.”

“Closest?” You reached up and waited for him to be aware before you grabbed his face to translate your urgency.

He used one hand to cover yours before reaching out with the other to swipe at the display. “My apartment, four minutes.”

Your eyes widened as you wanted to ask how he lived in such a nice part of town, but he was far from done with you. He jumped you and in a flash you were tangled limbs. Nothing felt like enough and clothes were rapidly getting in the way. You tugged on the material of his sweater but he swatted you away. Unsure if that was just where you grabbed or the touch in general, you stiffened. He caught the move and then your wrists to set them on the outside of either of his thighs. Underneath was carved marble and you instantly squeezed along the muscles cords underneath his trousers. He chuckled into your mouth before turning the move on its head by shoving his tongue inside. You accepted him with little resistance until you were starting to get lightheaded due to lack of oxygen. You forlornly left his legs to tap his chest.

He separated from you with a pop and you gave a glint of glee before shoving him. He seemed amused and sunk back into the seat as you climbed into his lap. It brought you a little above him and seeing him below you felt like a rush. You dipped down to claim him when a familiar beep went off. You halted just centimeters from his lips and turned around to tap a finger to the display as you had seen him do. When you spun back around, he was watching you with a look of complete surprise that was rapidly shifting to that feral hunger you saw earlier. He clicked the door open and nearly shoved you out with his coat before he disappeared back into the vehicle to do something else.

Pulling the coat tightly to your chest, you felt cold. Looking side to side you sort of recognized this area as somewhere you had once gone on a birthday crawl. The moment alone had given up a strange slice of clarity. “I think you live near a breakfast place I’ve always wanted to try. They’re supposed to have amazing twists on benedicts.”

Donnie emerged with little grace and kicked the door shut behind him. The car then immediately pulled out from the curb and drove away. You eyed it in surprise until he dropped down low. You imagined a football player barreling toward you and you yelped as he indelicately crashed into you. There was no force there, and he slotted a strong forearm underneath your butt. You were then airborne. With your torso pressed into his shoulder, a rush of the darkened street blurred around you up until he skidded to a halt at the door. He grumbled something that you caught was about keys and a jingling signaled he was struggling with the lock. You laughed, pulling his coat close and resisting the urge to wrap it around his head to blind him. As soon as he got the door open, he hefted you up a little bit more. You were inside and moving up the stairs as you tried to process what kind of building he lived in. Instead of taking steps, he took flights at a time and you scrambled to find a good handhold.

He’d been clear about his back and you didn’t want to mar his vision at his current speed. Settling for wringing out his jacket, he twisted and burst forth onto a floor. He then careened down a hallway and deposited you at the door. It might have been the surge of physical activity, but he seemed catch his own version of clarity as you had. He softened up and leaned into your space in affable way that made your stomach flip. His features were nearly open and an affection sat there that seemed to layer past the lust.

“You may, obviously, rescind at any moment, but I’d prefer it if you told me you’ve changed your mind now.” He leaned away long enough to take his glasses off. “There is a process to making coffee that should be started sooner rather than later if we were to partake in that instead.”

“I’m pretty sure the ‘come up for a cup of coffee’ line is almost always pretext.” You gave a lighthearted chuckle and pressed your back against his door.

He shrugged genially and pocketed his frames.

The casual nature of his interest seared the moment into your mind. It baked in a different way than the libido broiled and you found yourself overwhelmed with endearment. Needing a release, you reached up with hand in show and instead of allowing you to execute a touch, he set his cheek there under the barest nuzzle. It caused an overflow from where your emotions already had threatened to spill. “How about both?”

Not expecting that answer, one his brows rose.

“If it takes that long then I bet you have the good stuff: grinding your own beans or whatever.” His gaze seemed to agree and it gave you the cover to slip your fingers a little farther back. “Sounds like something to wake up to.”

Recognition shifted into a leer and you smiled sweetly as he inched down methodically. With your fingers already positioned, you cradled his head on descent. His nose ghosted over yours before wrapping you up in a tender kiss. In line with everything else about the paradigm shift, you were still reeling from the way it made you feel. Instead of being an all consuming fire, it felt more like a wrap in a warm blanket. Using your hold as a grip you tried to translate the feelings you couldn’t put words to through your lips.

You started with a gratitude, a gentle coaxing that you hoped told him how much you appreciated the candor. With a break for breath, he seemed to exhale a little more in response. When he came back in, you moved to show the depth in the well of your affection. It was a needy pull that you feared might skirt on clingy. Though you knew it was a joke, the way he poked fun at your feelings for him did nick a small part of you. Regardless, you were currently drowning in them and were desperate for some kind of relief. He shifted against you. It didn’t seem like hesitation, but he let you lead as if he were processing the emotions. A small mewl came from you and, as if on cue, it signaled his response.

It held a commiseration that brought your arms up around his neck as an anchor point. Not to allow you to one up, his hands traced around your waist and back toward the door. In a snug press, you were being held tightly. The pressure was just enough to hold you together from where you were bursting at the seams. It was almost maddening until it shifted. You couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment, but the conversation was left behind as the tinder ignited. Adoration was exchanged for hunger and the wood of the door creaked behind you from the shift in force.

What you were afforded was suddenly not enough and you groped for some kind of hold. Finding his mask tails, you tugged him off of you to find that he was already inserting a key into the door. You gave him an annoyed look which he retorted by a sharp turn of the lock. You shot for the handle and he beat you as his hand was already there. Scowling up at him, he caught your lips as the door opened and used a multitude of kisses to usher you inside. Stumbling without view, you felt him tug at your top until your bottom bumped another surface. It’s stiff but relenting nature said the arm of a couch though that was only a vague guess as your focus was rapidly devolving by the second.     

The intoxication of the make-out was in full effect as your layers were shed in needy pulls. Donnie only pulled back to admire his work once he’d gotten you down to your underwear. You watched the rapid dart of his pupils as he seemed unable to take enough of you in at once. Feeling very much exposed compared his fully clothed form, each look scorched marks into your skin. You squirmed from where you felt trapped. Hunching into you, his hands skimmed the length of your arm from wrist to shoulder without a full on caress. Heavy breaths fell out of your mouth as he continued that ghosting across your torso and down to your hips. Dipping ever lowering, you threw your head back as he brushed his fingertips down the back of your thighs.

He was crowding you to do his observations and it meant you were tipping further and further on the fulcrum you were sat. At any moment you threatened to fall and, though he was sure to catch you, you wanted some leverage of your own. Trying to focus on what you had available, you stared helplessly at the expanse that stretched out beyond his shoulders. He’d been both clear that the back of his shell and sweater were off limits earlier. With his not quite touches still trending southward, you had neither the ability to ask if that was still a factor nor the wherewithal to communicate it. It left you clawing at the couch and a whine choked out of your throat against you will. He snapped up at the sound, first looking you over in alarm before taking in your wrecked form. The last shreds of your mind remembered how much he liked to break you down with will alone. You clung to that coherence in an attempt to form a sentence.

“Kinda… uneven… right…?” You heaved, gesturing with your chin to his sweater.

He froze and for a moment you weren’t sure if it was actually him that had stopped or if you had just passed out from how overwhelming everything was. He broke the ice by dropping his gaze and you caught that he had slipped the mask back on in the time he’d hesitated.

“Oh… is that…?” Your sanity was rapidly coming back to you at the change.

The flared fear in his eyes said he wanted to keep that from happening so he stepped back. You watched as he made a face of mild disgust before turning to you with a veiled expression. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

It was an order and you couldn’t help but nod.

Shifting his weight nervously from one foot to the other, he finally relented and threw up an arm behind his head. He gripped the sweater there and in one swift tug somehow managed to pull the adherent fabric from his torso. Your lips parted as you took in the chiseled surface of his plastron. There were nicks and scars littering the surface, but otherwise it created a sharp stacked patchwork over his front. You trailed it up, noting one block that seemed a different color below the pectoral plates and skimmed the skin just above the top edge. Above it, the shadow under his chin slowly shifted in your eyes until you realized it wasn’t shade at all. You pushed off the couch and padded on bare feet up to him. You had no time to wonder how he’d also managed that when he turned away. It meant taking in the black wraps around his throat more obvious.

Transfixed at his throat, you reached out to steady yourself on one of his arms when the texture there felt off to your finger tips. Changing course, you found a similar set of bandages coiled from just above his wrist all the way until the bulb of his muscled shoulder. An odd purple square barely peeked out from the top and you wondered what kind of tattoo it was. There was a stutter to his breath so you hurried along to find his other arm in a similar wrap. Remembering his words, you turned your attention to Donnie’s face. He still had his expression tucked to the side, but a hesitance wafted off of him. You reached up within his eye line and he paused before reluctantly looking at you.

“Can I have one small question?”

“Veto power.” The clipped nature of his response spoke to how on edge he was.

“Sure.”

He gave a small nod.

“Does it hurt?”

In a blink he switched from looking up and then down before finally turning to you with his guard still up. “Always.”

You gave him space and your fingers curled up as you thought about how you’d grazed him. Worry brought your brows together and he gave a sigh that pulled your attention back.

“The fabric is unique and of my own design. They’re compression, which helps to an extent.”

You nodded slow at first as growing understanding quickly shifted to fascination. Modding a car was one thing, but creating an entirely unique cloth felt like something else. Whatever he did was rapidly growing out of anything you could fathom.  

“Hey.” His face appeared in your vision and caught you off guard.

“Sorry, that was it.��� You brought your hands up to show this and in doing so recalled why you’d you stopped him in the first place.

He seemed to read your mind. “Anywhere, but the carapace. Wraps and mask stay on.”

You lit up at the confirmation and immediately pressed your hands against his plastron. He gave a comfortable hum and kissed you back to oblivion. As soon as your responses became sloppy, he finally put his hands on you. The first was a grip to your waist that curled his fingers around your back and a moan escaped you at the first flex of force. He hitched nipping at your shoulders and took the sign in with an airy amusement. You clung to him, trying to find a solid grip against his constant moving while he explored your body with his mouth. The heat of his tongue trailed across your collar and then down the center of your chest in a way that you imagined he was probably listing the bones off in his mind. He bit down into the soft part of your stomach and you kicked up at the sensation which sent out over the edge of the couch.

As you predicted, he caught you in a flash of movement that put one of his hands around your head and the other on your back.

“May I?” He smiled confidently into your face.

“Hm?” Through your stupor you tried to conjure some suspicion, but barely managed to narrow your eyes.

He didn’t respond and the hand on your skull traveled down your back in a manner that had you arching. The other appendage that had been there disappeared before you felt it underneath your knees. The pair had been tucked together for awhile and his forearm thread the angle. You were airborne in a flash with your legs pressed to his hip and your head cradled into his shoulder. Confused, you got your first glimpse of his back. His shell was a dark mossy green that was pebbled with ridges. It took a great exercise in control not to poke it.  

You were close to giving in when you were sat on the edge of a soft surface. He retreated and you looked to find yourself perched on his bed. With a little wiggle, you tested the comfort of his mattress and then ran a hand over his sheets. The base felt supportive and the purple linens were of a high quality. Just as his appearance indicated, his indulged in luxuries. Satisfied with your findings, you looked up to find him staring intently at you with a glazed expression.

“Looks good?” You teased and made a motion for him to come forward.

He didn’t speak and took great care in making the few steps to you. You gave him a hooded flick of your eyes before letting them land on his pants. You reached out to finally remove at least one piece of clothing by yourself when he dropped into a squat. Frowning at his refusal, he blocked your sight by bringing his face close to yours.

“You need to know what you’re about to get into.”

Bitter, you responded caustically. “Oh, I think I’m well aware.”

“No.” There was a sharp edge to his lips where a scowl had formed. “It’s not so simple. Do you realize how tall I am?”

“Really tall?” You shifted in place and the accumulated moisture of the evening greased your thighs.

“Six foot nine.” He clarified and leaned in closer to keep your waning attention. “That paired with my turtle DNA makes for a proportionality I know you haven’t accounted for.”

Stuck at the start of his sentence, his height made sense verbally, but the number warped in your mind. That distracting pooling between your legs reared its head again. Derailing your thoughts, you tried to comb over what you had missed while Donnie had done his best work at making you putty in his hands. Following the only train that seemed to be running, you realized that great care had been taken to kep your legs closed since you left the restaurant. He was definitely waiting for some kind of response, so you dropped your eye in what you assumed he’d take as an evaluation of whatever point he was trying to make. Looking at his legs, you gauged how much space you had. He wasn’t necessarily impeding you as he was craning up into you which afforded you a good range of movement. Your eyes widened a little as a one of many teasing conversations resurfaced.

“Do you understand?” He had read your realization all wrong.

You gave a coy smile.

How much of what he had done was a distraction to keep you from being in control?

In a flutter of lashes, you brought your gaze up to him. “I do.”

“Good.” His weight rolled on his heels. “Allow me to grab a few things.”

You watched as his center of gravity lowered so he could push himself into a stand. Waiting for the perfect moment to strike, you began your assault by swinging your joined knees to one side. The motion caught his eye and his head tipped down in a way that put his snout in firing line. With a final growing smile, you then split the pair and threw your legs open in front of him.

He was already statuesque so at first it was hard to read what the affect was. You strained to listen through the quiet of the apartment, but nothing came to you. Always on his own timetable, his chest finally heaved and his eyes drifted shut. Donnie took a deep inhale that he then released out of his mouth. When his eyes opened again, the dark of his pupils dilated to a degree that you didn’t think was possible. He reared back as if he was going to pounce and the muscles in your ass constricted as you nervously pressed into the bed.

“You-” The word was strangled by a thickness in his voice.

“Me?” Your own barely reached your ears.

He stalked forward until he caught a hand around each of your knees. By the unhinged look on his face, you weren’t sure if he was going to snap them shut or bury his face there. Forging his own path, he lolled to one side before arching in a downward sweep to take another deep whiff. When he came up it reminded you of a drug addict. He then careened toward you at a stumbling pace you couldn’t predict.

“Must… you…?” With breathy heaves, one hand landed beside your hip to take the brunt of his weight while the other squeezed your knee to a near painful degree. The mattress dipped forcefully under his weight and you tipped into him. Your side curled against his arm and his face hovered over yours threateningly.

Ignoring the budding nerves, you reached up to brush a hand over his cheek. You hitched instantly as you felt how taunt his jaw is. “Still holding back?”

In a blink his pupils disappeared before another brought them back. He then buoyed the level in a way that contrasted the earlier burying he had done. What surfaced was a collected, but terrifying version of Donatello. “A fool only learns through demonstration.”

“A foo-?!” You tried to sneer at him, but were caught as he slammed his lips into yours. The force took your breath away and you were shoved until you laid out under him. A few pained sounds trickled from you as the edged plastron at his pelvis crushed your leg. It teetered close to being too much when he disappeared. A rush caused your head to spin as you are up and your bra is popped from your back. It slacked before doing its own magic act and left you without a trace. Vertigo caught hold of your temples as you are tossed back into the bed. Your legs were lifted and you felt a hooked finger claw from your lower back down. In its trek it took your panties along with it. Trapped in a terrible seesaw, you were rocked up again and sat in a spiraled haze.

“Don… Wait…”

You reeled and couldn’t pinpoint the source of his voice. “Hold back?” He sounded close then far away. “Now?”  

You attempted to hold your head, but when your fingers brushed your temple, teeth sank into the crook of your neck. You screeched and your hands flew out. Caught on a rock hard shoulder and you dug your nails in there. The bite retreated only to be replaced by the laps of a tongue.

The sharp pain mitigated the dizziness and your eyes popped open to find some clarity. You were still sat on the bed with Donnie tending to your wound. Unable to do much beyond flopping your head against his, you stared down to find a hand hovering over your thigh. “What...?”

Streaking his tongue from the side of your neck to your ear, you waited for him to say something. The breath from his nose tickled the delicate skin there as he gave a single chuckle. Trying to make sense of the action, his hand descended and gripped the meat of your thigh in an aching squeeze. You whimpered at it and he littered kisses down your jaw line. Your legs fell open and he stiffened on contact. You faintly remembered them having been closed when your underwear were removed. The force of his hand loosened and he exchanged three digits for one as he traced a path to your core. It had been awhile since you took stock, but you could tell there is a ton a slick from where the finger stopped. Donnie left you and you watched with mild delirium as he reappeared between your legs to inspect.

“Fuck…” The syllable is sharp, breathless, and enamored. He surfaced long enough to shoot you a look of gooey adoration. The gaze struck you like an arrow through the heart before shifting to clench in the muscles of your pussy. You cursed the affect it had on him as you lost track of him for what seemed like the hundredth time. Hands latched onto your hips and you were snapped toward the edge of the bed. The momentum threw you onto your back and you scrambled to get your elbows under you. The searing tip of something with a flattened tip prodded at your entrance and, from the throaty sound you hear, you realized it was his cock.

You couldn’t even remember when he’d taken his pants off.

Instead of pushing himself in, you felt the sheets sliding against your back as he pulled your body onto him instead. The move didn’t allow you to get a look, but the shape of his cock was relenting enough that it bended to breach you. Gasping, he immediately pulled you back before working himself in. In a gentle rock, you felt more and more of him enter you. The head seemed to settle inside with a sort of bouncy snap and you whined in an attempt to push your hips down. His thumbs stung as he forced you still against the mattress. Beads of perspiration formed on your brow you helplessly glimpsed him narrowly concentrated on his work. You tried to crane your neck over your torso to get a better look, but he forced you out of it as he stroked himself with your body.

Tossing your head back, you tried to make sense of the shape. With each inward crawl, it seemed to be widening. Unable to form a picture amid the slow filling sensation, you moved to take stock of what you had control over. The soft sheets kept your back from chaffing and your legs bounced uselessly with each stroke. Panting, you focused on them and took some effort to bring them up. Hoping to encircle him, your knees instead made you more accessible. It caught Donnie’s attention and he pulled you down onto his cock before only letting go long enough to hook his arms underneath your thighs. He then caught your waist again and in a drag you were pulled back. The next time he lurched forward, he went all the more deeper.  

Crying out at the pace, you weakly pawed at the bit of Donnie’s arm you could reach. “Please!”

He shook his head and continued the traitorously slow in and out.

“More… you have to…!” You pleaded before again trying to move.

“Still.” It was meant as an order and he flicked darkened eyes at you.

“And you’ll…?”

He gave a single tight nod.

In a tantalizing downstroke your eyes rolled back before you could give one of your own. When you managed something, it came wordlessly through your lips.

He let go of the right side of your hips before he brought a thumb to your clit. A throaty moan leaked out of you as he stroked the spot. At first he timed the strokes along with the roll of the digit before he sped up one half of the equation. Pleasure washed up as a tingle at first that moved through your buttocks. It then grew, sending out shockwaves through your limbs. Your mouth opened and spindly sounds poured out. There was a hitch in Donnie’s movements and you tried to force your head to move, but it refused.

Switching to string discordant sounds into something viable, the hand on your hip skirted down to your knee. It took grip there as the other at your clit moved to push into the bed. You saw Donatello swim through the bottom of your vision when he yanked your leg. Something feral clawed up your throat as you were both being split and filled to staggering degree. He held there, the shake of his shoulders being the only indication he was struggling. Between gasps, you blearily tried to find fault. Inside you could feel him throb and it caused you to retract in kind. Donnie let out a guttural sound, but kept steady. Outside, there was a pinch from where your folds weren’t sitting right after the back and forth drag.

Finding yourself unable to lift your arm, you merely dragged a hand across your stomach. Trending down, as soon as you skirted close to where you were joined, Donnie made a small move to pull back.

“No!”

The sound surprised both of you and snapped his gaze to yours.

“Don’t stop… I just…” You squirmed a little and winced as the pinching sensation grew. “Let me fix something.”

He didn’t seem all there and only nodded with a faint confusion.

You carefully traced the line of your heat until you bumped against his cock. The texture there wasn’t quite what you expected and you wished you had the strength to examine it. Skirting to the side, you tried to adjust yourself. With everything pulled taunt, you couldn’t assuage the sensation one handed. Grumbling, you reached down with your other hand and to select the sensitive skin connecting your center from your inner thigh. Pressing down from either side, you gently rolled the skin there in an outward massage. It coaxed your folds into spreading and from the hold position Donatello was in, the movement sunk him a little deeper. You groaned into the feeling and the pain finally abated. Your hands fell limp around your hips and you rolled your hips to convey your success.

Donnie went taunt and bucked reflexively. You hissed as he felt like he was climbing impossibly heights in your torso before you blew out a stream that felt like the last of your oxygen. The deeper he got, the more you felt the drag as he pulled out. On such a backswing you felt him slow instead of push back in. You squirmed to get him to continue, but he kept you still.

You tried and failed several times to make a coherent sentence before you landed on a single word. “Go.”

“Second.” Seeing him in a similar state, you watched as he threw his head back with concentration creasing his features.

It took great effort to remember the mouth movement, but you recalled a different sound. “Why?”

“Hitting…” He heaved a breath and his eyes opened a little too wide before slamming shut again. “Can’t go much deeper…”

You tried to process the statement, but it didn’t make sense. You felt full near the point of bursting, but that hadn’t actually sated the need. The begging chant of ‘more’ echoed in your mind. The thought translated into a pulse that seemed only barely able to wrap around the cock stuffed inside of you.

Donnie made a gutted noise.

The next word was similar enough that it didn’t take near the same amount of effort. “Try?”

It brought his chin down to look at you like you were insane. “I’ll hurt-”

“It doesn’t hurt!” You rasped the sentence out before collapsing under the stress of it.

There was a quiet as you tried to resurface. Donnie throbbed inside of you and you pushed down on the sensation. The hand on your knee dug painfully into the muscle and you heard a thick swallow. “You don’t-”

“If you…” A bubbling ferocity welled up with only enough to bring words with it. “…tell me I don’t understand one more time!” The threat fell flat as you petered out your reserves. Feeling frustrated you channeled what was left into a sharp downward snap of your hips. You heard a sort of squawk noise from your partner as he fumbled around you, missing the way your body bent.

From where you were already barely hanging on to the edge of the bed, the maneuver sent you over the edge. He had attempted to catch your knees, but all it did was split you like a hanger as you descended on his cock. You sank straight down until the flat of his plastron stopped you and the punch it jabbed into your lungs was palpable. You gurgled on the lack of oxygen before Donnie lifted you back onto the bed. Again sat on the precipice, you wheezed to gulp down anything you could.

“I told you.” He scolded in a weak way that showed there was no actual malice there.

You tried to shake your head, but it felt like any movement to your airway would impede you from getting the breaths you so desperately needed. Annoyed, you laid back and threw an arm out to him. The line thankfully caught him and you traced down to his hand. He released one of your knees and took it. You gave it a squeeze and tried to communicate you needed a moment. As you counted out inhales, holds, and exhales, a faint rhythmic echo chanted at the periphery of your mind. The curtain of delirium drew back and in it you heard the sound gained clarity. You gave a little tug on his hand to get his attention before finally giving an actual voice to the noise. “More.”

He twisted up as if offended him.

“Go…” You coaxed, trying to side step the exhaustion. “Again.”

His snout wrinkled as if he were about to complain so you purposely contracted your muscles. The spasms caught him and, in a glint of teeth, he moved forward into you instead of dragging you down around him. The second full stroke had a near similar effect, but this time you were ready. You sucked in a harsh breath to offset it and blew it out as he pulled back. He then rocked back in and you timed your inhale the same way. Each time he pushed in and his plastron flattened against you, it stung less and less. Your organs seemed to accommodate for the size and soon the chant in your head silenced as pleasure drowned it out.

Your limbs rapidly became jelly as he sped up. The sounds of pants filled the space. The comingling of your slicks dripped out in threads that you felt flood down your ass and onto the sheets. You were sure drool was doing the same along your chin, but there was also the very real possibility it was just sweat. You didn’t feel like you had offered much of anything as a partner, but the strain of the activity wore on you as if you had been doing eight hours of hard labor. Thrusts turned into pistons and you weren’t sure your legs could handle the strain of being his anchor point for much longer.

Limbs failing to obey, one of your moans twisted out like a wrung rag. Whatever the sound told Donnie, it wasn’t what you expected as he lowered his hips backstroke. He then shot forward at an upward tilt and sparks shot off haphazardly through your vision as he scraped your g-spot. He continued the same merciless pace and, when you came, it was an inevitability instead of a built up explosion. You shuddered around him, but his thrusts meant he didn’t feel the exact constriction as much as it was relegated to the symphony of sensations. You screamed as your sensitivity hit a high and then bottomed out in a way that was rapidly exchanging delight with anguish.

The stutter of his hips shook you and as you were ground down into his plastron you swore time slowed down. You felt the bulge start there and as he pulled back out, the knot seemed to chase your body until it surpassed the tip of your connection point. You were then descending again and the sensation disappeared into that odd head of his. In a burst, heat lashed at your insides and whatever wail was coming out of you broke a pitch you’d never hit before. Like a water pump, pulse after pulse of semen flooded you. A low sound started and strung out as the filling sensation felt like ballooning. The only mercy was Donnie hitching his cock only halfway in. It afforded the flooding cum just that more space to fill.

Sputtering as time continue to tick by and he was still pouring into you, you rapidly flapped your fingers in a desperate attempt to convey anything. Like a fly swatter, Donnie’s hand clapped down on yours and you mewled.

“Relax…” He urged in a drawl.

You wanted to yell back at him the same, but you felt a gentle pressure against your hip. Only able to focus on one thing at a time, you exchanged the ire for focusing on that point. You found your body elevated by you alone and the muscles were taunt as if you were holding him in. Confused, you sent signals for that to stop and it took a staggering amount of time for those commands to be executed. When they finally did, it was like a rusty creaking object was finally being operated after years of neglect. Your hips relaxed; the fluid in you shifted and the hot cum dribbled out from where ever there were the tiniest cracks to leak from. The sensation had you shivering and Donnie’s hand brushed away the hair sticking to your forehead.

You nodded underhand and turned to the appendage. He put himself within reach and you kissed his wrist.

He smiled. “You ok?”

“Uh huh.” You returned a grin dumbly.

“You took it.”

You repeated yourself, lids growing heavier by the second.

“No.” He shifted position and there was an audible squelch.

You both spasmed at it and had to take a 30 second time out to recover.

“I didn’t think it was possible for anyone to.”

“Cocky.” You squeezed his wrist and the move surprised you as you hadn’t realized you had grabbed it.

“Was that a pun?” Disgust tinted his features.

“Both.” You nodded trying to muster pride.

He shook his head and leaned down to kiss you.

You tried to return it but were sure all he felt was soft lips. He didn’t seem upset when he parted, but you still wanted to give him something. “Guess I was made for you.”

He cock gave a pitiful twitch.

It was the kind of move you would not have felt were he not still inside of you.

He rose up slowly and you gaped up at him.

From his expression you could sense you were red in the face and pleading for him.

It wasn’t a colossal movement, but you felt a stretch as his cock bobbed to tentative attention.   

You tried to verbalize something, but Donnie was in motion. His hands curled under your waist and he coaxed you up into an arch. You couldn’t sustain the action, but he didn’t seem to care as he wrapped his arms around you. He pressed you to his body in a tight squeeze and then stood up straight. You rose with him in a mounting peril that was focused on your sore pussy. There was a shift as he planted his feet and you felt that it was the grip around you that was holding you up. The height had you at eye level and it took you a moment to actually see him. When you did you found nothing but lust there and he leaned in with a manic grin that seemed to spread lethally the closer he got. Leaning away instinctually, he stopped right at the point where he would have gone out of focus. Wide eyed, you stared back until he let go.

Sound was stolen away as his cock skewered you. Your mouth snapped open and your tongue lolled out as conscious thought burned away at the sensation. He gave you no time to process and immediately dug his fingers into your ass. He then hoisted you up and dropped you back down repeatedly. Your upper body flailed and your neck rolled without any support. You felt wave after wave of the cum already there spurt out as each subsequent thrust put force on the fluid. Drowning, you scarcely heard Donatello say something about ‘waste.’

Unable to process, you felt one of his legs come up and more motion was happening. The ceiling grew dangerously close as he stepped up on to the bed. He continued to fuck you as he did so and the motion was causing everything to spin. He said something else that your mind refused to process before he shifted his grip. Instead of coming down on to his cock in the next downstroke, he tipped you forward so he was thrusting straight into you. With no energy to prevent it, you shrieked as you toppled backwards.

He continued to relentlessly pound you as you stared clear across his upside down apartment. No information made it back to your brain other than the arms swaying in and out of your vision. Every so often a fingertip would brush the sheets. Using gravity as your only mobility aide, you helplessly reached toward the fabric. You weren’t sure if Donnie noticed or just adjusted you for his own benefit, but you tipped further until your hands found purchase. Now doing the world’s most intense handstand, blood rushed into your head as your lower body was being thrust into at an agonizing pace. Unsteady, darkness ate away at the edges of your vision.

Everything clipped against the back bed. From the angle, he was plowing into your g-spot but the information wasn’t making it back to base. The harrowing nature was only palliatively softened by the fact that he had a supportive hold on your weight. The hands planted to the bed were only an act to give you a semblance of stability. The wet slap of your bodies was the only sound that made it to your ears. The oceanic quality to it made it feel like sea foam was flooding your sinuses. A spasm occurred somewhere you couldn’t pinpoint. Your legs locked around his back. The sharper bits on his shell stabbed your legs. You wanted to cry. The tears would only further submerge you.  

You circled the drain in an abysmal swirl.

Basal fear built up when your body recognized the all too familiar hitch in his strokes.

You no longer has the ability to speak.

Gravity had hold of your tongue. Your mouth opened only for it to clog your throat.

His pace grew erratic.

You brain was misfiring

The sting of his nails into your upper thighs felt like needles in your spine.  

You clenched down on him.

He belted out a groan that came from everywhere.

He pulled tighter.

A faraway voice told you something.

“Take everything I have-”

You clenched again.

You were cumming.

Or you had been cumming?

It felt like you never stopped

If you had ever even started.

Your lips felt numb.

“-if you were made for me.”

He growled as the first gush of heat scoured your insides.

He was dumping directly down into you.

The rush of it commingled with that whirlpool of black in your vision.

The spiral rounded until you disappeared into the eye of it.

NEXT

[into-crazy]

dance for you

Ledger!Joker x Female Reader one shot

Summary: You listen to songs containing very explicit lyrics, singing and dancing along until J comes in. Then you dance a little for him.

Warnings- mature language, reader enjoys explicit songs, slight voyeurism, seductive/erotic dancing, sexual innuendos, ages 18+

My love for tracks with dirty lyrics along with my own antics inspired this one💓

In your kitchen, you lean on the ceramic counter. Head bobbing to the beat coming from the speaker perched beside you up on the surface. You patiently wait for your chaotic clown- your Joker- to come home from whatever havoc wreaking activity he and his goons decided to partake in. Though you never really know when he'll be back. Could be a few minutes, hours, two.. maybe four in the morning. It's something you've grown accustomed to and it doesn't usually bother you. As long as he gets back. Back to you.

There are nights where J doesn't return due to various reasons. Which leads to you staying up and worrying of his whereabouts. Leading to the usual swarm of concerned questions.. Is he hurt? I sure hope not. Did the police capture him? Did the Bat? Don't even think that, he's fine. But say if they had.. could they have locked him up in Arkham? No, stop it you're just being paranoid.

On the rarest of occasions, he would call to inform you of his situations. Mostly because he was bored when he either had a brief moment to himself, or had to lay low in a secret location for a while. Other times it was to brag about how he so easily managed to sneak into a "heavily guarded" facility or how he'd escaped his pursuers clutches. Which every one of those calls you'd received meant that he was okay and alive. But even then, you'd still have trouble falling asleep. Tossing and turning without his warm presence beside you, those nights are indeed the loneliest.

You've found that the best way to deal with this sort of thing by is trying to remain a little more optimistic. You've known Joker for a while now, you are confident in him and his abilities. He's a strong and highly intelligent man. Whatever trouble he finds himself in, he figures a way out of it. Still, no matter how hopeful you are in his return, there's that slithering worry in the back of your mind. Since there will always be the possibility that he could never return.

The daylight outside has already faded away. Darkness drawn in completely, blanketing the city in its vast. The pleasing aroma of chicken alfredo invades the air as it finishes baking in the oven.

So lost are you into the sultry tune. Mumbling the lyrics as you scroll through the tracks on your phone in search of another. In turn, smiling and squealing like an idiot when you reach your most private song selection. The ones containing the most explicit, raunchiest lyrics which are only played when you're alone. First reason being the actual lyrics themselves, how obscene they are. Then secondly, because of your body's natural reaction to sing and move along to said tracks.

Soon as you selected one of these songs did you immediately start to hum and slightly sway your hips in time to the tune. Just before you know the song is about to pick up, you push away from the counter and strut to the open area in your living room. To you, this feels like the entrance to a live performance. Taking your phone with you to adjust the volume louder to your liking. These songs really do it for you. They bring out your inner stripper.

You catch your form in the mirror that hangs on the wall and instantly lock your eyes there. Sometimes it amazes you how your body can move like this. It's times like this where the confidence in your movements make you fall in love with yourself.

These songs really do it for you. Getting so excited for the next track, you are constantly clicking through the list without completely finishing any of the songs.

"Ugh yes, I love this song! This is my shit right here!" You howl, clapping your hands. This is your way of expressing your appreciation for such beauty and sexiness. Yelling so loud you think the artists can hear you. Even though none of them are actually here to witness it.

You were far too engaged in your own movements that you failed to notice Joker had come home already. He was standing by the corner at the end of the entryway. He hadn't been there long, probably only a few minutes. But when he came in, quite taken back was he by the surprising view that he had to stop and watch you. Without interrupting of course. Because he wanted to keep watching you move like that.

And he intends to do just that. For a little while longer at least.

You remain clueless to J's presence while you fixate on your dancing. The song that's currently playing has a faster tempo, and your body moves to match the beat of it. Alternating between shaking your hips and twerking your backside. You're getting more worked up by the second. Getting lost in the moment.

J looks at you with a prideful feeling in his chest. This is a side to you which he's never seen before. And now that he has discovered it, he takes this opportunity to relish the gravity of it. There are not a lot of things that have much of a value or importance to him. The list of things which do, he could probably count out on a single hand. And without question, are you reserved on one of those fingers.

He couldn't help but think about how gorgeous and free you are expressing yourself without a single care in the world. Unknowingly arousing him with the suggestive ways in which you move your body. Even more so with all of the dirty lyrics he's hearing you chant aloud.

Your hands find the hem of your shirt. You provocatively remove the top and toss it at the mirror. Only left in a bralette and a pair of some boxer shorts while you continue dancing.

Now the sight of that sent a lot of blood rushing straight to Joker's groin. His grip on the wall begins to tighten, finding it rather difficult to hold himself from pouncing on you then and there. To tear your clothes off and take you against that mirror on the wall. However, he resists the urge.

Soon, you come to a slow stop with your movements as a song quiets down. You take this time to laugh amusingly at the fun you're having.

That's when J interrupts.

"My, my, isn't this a pleasant sight to come home to."

"Holy shit! J-" The sudden sound of his voice makes you jump in surprise. "I didn't uh, I didn't see you come in."

"Hm, clearly. Seemed like you were enjoying yourself." He articulated the end of his statement. "You ah, always have this much fun when I'm not around?"

"Not always, only when I'm listening to- wait.." You were beginning to bow your head in embarrassment, but you quickly looked up at him. "How long have you been standing there? Were you- oh my god- how much of that did you see?"

"Quite a lot of it."

"Seriously? That's so embarrassing!" The realization that he actually did made you cringe. "Damn, you jerk!" You playfully punch his shoulder, "why didn't you say anything when you came in?"

He chuckles, "what? And miss the performance? I uh, think not. You're lucky I didn't interrupt ya sooner. Ya sure know how to move, doll."

"Stop it J, that's not funny."

"Ahh come on, bunny. I'm not yankin' ya tail." J acknowledges your pout. "I mean it. It was.. tempting."

You open your mouth to reply, but your lips quickly retract into a tight-lipped state. It wasn't helping that his stare was definitely making you feel hot and tense. You're stuck trying to come up with a response when the timer you set to remove the food from the oven finally beeps. You awkwardly motion towards it, "I have to get that."

"Sheesh, dinner and a show? Aren't I a lucky guy." J clicks his tongue and proceeds to loosely follow you towards the kitchen.

He slings off his purple trench coat and tosses it on top of the counter. Working on the buckles of his gloves, he closely observes your figure while you bend over to remove the tray. Taking into account the bralette you color-coordinated with the fitted pair of boxers. You wear men's boxers as shorts when you're home. They're quite soft and cozy. Plus you like how they hug in the right places, showing your curves. At first, you were afraid that J would find it odd that you wear men's underwear. However it didn't bother him at all, seeing as you're being comfortable.

After you set the tray down, you timidly ask him. "Did you really mean it? You weren't making fun of me?"

"Yep. Wasn't joking."

You offer a half smile, "well I'm glad you liked it."

The dish you've just pulled out needs time to cool before you can both eat it. Taking that into consideration, J knows exactly how to kill the time.

"C'mon, c'mon, then. Show me. I wanna see." He beckons you to follow.

A look of confusion crosses your face as you tilt your head to eye him quizzically. "Show you what?"

A devilish smirk appears on his face. "Show me more."

He yanks a chair and drags it into the open not too far. After placing in a position to face you, he sits down and quietly waits. It becomes obvious to you that he wants to see you dance, to put on a show for him.

So there he sits, expectantly. Patiently, even. Waiting for you. There is only the slight tapping of his finger against his thigh. Telling you that he will be lenient with you, but he won't sit here for long.

Laughing at his eagerness, you decide to indulge him. Why not? You're in the mood for it.

You turn up the volume back up and begin moving your hips in slow, sensual circles to the tune. Focusing more so on the floor before you than directly at him. Taking a peek at him occasionally. Admittedly, you're a bit shy. Mainly because he's looking at you with that stupid self-satisfied grin on his face. So to avoid looking at him, you turn around and close your eyes. You can't see him, but you know he's watching you and you know he likes what he sees. And that thought alone fills you with so much more confidence to keep going. To show him what you can do.

Then you fall back into that trance, where you start to really feel the music. You gradually pick up the pace of your movements. Bringing your arms lazily above your head and swaying your hips more provocatively. When you finally turn around, you find that J is not smirking anymore. Instead, he's gazing at you more seriously now. But that look in his menacing eyes gives away his intrigue.

You flash him a smile and grow bolder with your movements. Running your fingers through your hair while you look at him, biting down on your lip. A simple, yet seductive gesture. This is one of those moments where you get to be powerful and sexy. You trail your hands down the length of your body in time to the sway of your hips. In a swift movement, you turn around and bend over. Shaking your ass for him.

That's when you hear the low groan from J. Even over the music, you heard it.

Immediately after hearing that sound, you spin back to see that he's sat all the way up now. Watching your every move with an intense stare, his chest rising and falling with each breath of restraint. You drop to the floor on your knees and lean back to grind your hips in a way that you would ride someone. How you would ride him.

J gives you a half grin, lifting his hand slightly to motion you to come hither.

Returning your own grin, you place your hands on the floor and suggestively crawl to him. He thinks you're going to give in to him, but you're not done. No, you're not going to just yet. Wanting this to drag on more to the point where one of you snaps first. Until someone can't hold back any longer. And this time, it's not going to be you.

Once you reach his legs, you use them to bring yourself to your feet. Maintaining eye contact while you tantalizingly brushing your body against his. The heat radiating from him is utterly intoxicating. You absorb every bit of it as you circle around him. Drinking it down and getting drunk off of it. You graze your touch along J's torso. Rounding him, you strategically throw your leg over and straddle his lap.

His hands immediately go to grab and squeeze at your hips. Heavy lidded gaze boring his ravenous lust into your own. That feverish display of desire makes you want to do sinful things.

Joker hisses at the shift of your hips. "Fuck doll.. You know what ya do to me?"

"Yes I do." You whisper admittedly.

This is starting to get dangerous for the both of you. It won't be much longer until someone breaks.

You wrap your arms around his neck to steady yourself. Pulling him as close as possible and gyrating your hips against him. Keeping your movements fluid even in your aroused state.

The friction of your pelvis rubbing against the erection in his pants pulls a strained growl from his lips. You gasp back at him and stop moving. You're staring hard at each other, exchanging heavy breaths, and your ears fill with deafening static. There's a raging warmth in that space between your bodies. A force so raw you can taste it.

Joker is the first to dive in by yanking you fully against him to devour your lips. You instantly match his savagery. It's all teeth clashing, obscene tongue sucking, and harsh lip biting. He's not holding back anymore and neither are you.

There's no doubt that if you continue on like this in this chair, it'll lead to an activity that will end up breaking it. So J lifts you by your thighs as he stands, and carries you to the bedroom. Slamming the door shut with his foot to block out the loud volume of the song. The bass emitting low bumps that vibrate the walls around, adding to the intensity of the room. He tosses you onto the bed and quickly climbs on top of you. His movements are rough and hasty. Wasting no time in trying to be careful while he takes what he wants from you.

And you enjoy every wild second of it.

[wackulart]

hi there! could i request an amity x fem! reader where its either general head cannons (romantic) or going on a date? thanks so much!!

I haven't written Amity before but I'm willing to try! Sorry if it isn't in character or anything

Amity x Fem!Reader ----------------------------

She pushed her hair back in the mirror before pulling it back out of place. Amity sighed heavily as she picked up her brush again and fixed her hair all over again. She just wanted to look perfect for your date and yet she couldn't stop fretting over her hair.

It wasn't that she regretted dyeing her hair purple, but she wondered what you would think.

The thought made her chest tighten.

Placing her hands on her nightstand she took a deep breath and looked at herself in the mirror. She had to believe that this would go well, it was your first date and it just had to be perfect.

Amity flinched at her brother and sister calling for her, realizing it was you. She took a step back, dusted off her dress and smiled in the mirror.

She rushed down the stairs and almost missed a few steps as she finally made it to the bottom. Her siblings gave her a knowing look before pinching her cheeks and wishing her a good time.

Edric called down the stairs. "Tell your girlfriend we say 'Hi'!"

Amity brushed them off and walked to the door. Seeing you stood there with a bright smile and a trimmed flower in your hand made her reach up to tug on her hair.

"So, ready to go?" She asked and you nodded, moving to place the flower on the side of her ear.

Amity giggled and took your hand, heading down the path of the manor.

The two of you had made plans to visit the park in Bonesborough. There was usually food carts, so you'd grab something on the way and sit under a tree for a while.

As you were walking, you nudged Amity and pointed at her hair. She visibly flushed and looked away.

With a nervous chuckle, she spoke quietly. "I wanted to try something new, I thought purple would.. be a good idea?"

Her eyes met yours and when she saw nothing but love in your eyes it almost didn't feel real. You leaned in and smiled at her.

"It looks amazing, purple really suits you!"

She hid part of her face with her hand and smiled back at you.

Finally, you two had passed a food cart that was serving Not Dogs and ordered one each. You both got to put on your own condiments, so you drew a little smiley face on your hot dog. When Amity noticed she drew a curvy line on hers and you tilted your head.

"It's a snake, of course." She shrugged playfully.

You began to laugh which led her to start laughing as well. Your hand moved to stifle your laugh and you spoke up afterwards. "You're so sweet, Amity."

Her laughs calmed by the grin on her face remained the same.

Eventually you made it to your next destination, spotting the tree a bit aways in front of your path. The two of you picked up the pace and sat underneath its shade. You leaned back into the tree and Amity leaned on your shoulder.

You both talked about school life, home life, strange rocks you found on the sidewalk. That was one of the things Amity loved about you, she loved that she could say things without having to worry about sounding childish or stupid. Whenever she would look to check on your reaction, you were tuned in and interested in every word that came out of her mouth.

"Hey," She said, looking for your attention. You looked up from your food to her and she took your hand. "Thanks, I just- I really like being around you."

Your heart skipped a beat. "I like being around you too."

Once it began to get dark, you walked her home and she placed a kiss on your cheek before you left. Her face was almost as red as yours as she rushed out a quick goodbye and she shut the door.

Standing in front of the door, you giggled and skipped back home.

Amity Blight liked you.

And you really liked her too.