#and the edges of the cuts aren't clean either

[autobahnmp3]

ok i love how my prints turned out and i tried it on watercolor paper as well and it adds a nice texture if i want it

[blindmagdalena]

Night Terrors

1.6k homelander x reader. established relationship. pure comfort fic. remaster of this old prompt. very mild spoilers for s4 if you squint. mostly just wanted to self-soothe with some comfort/cuddle fic. gif credit.

It's been decades since Homelander last stepped foot in The Bad Room, but when he wakes from a nightmare of it in your shared bed, it's as if he never left.

Most of the nights you spend with Homelander are peaceful. 

Tonight is not most nights.

The scream that wakes you from a dead sleep is guttural, barely human. Homelander is sitting upright, frenzied and wild-eyed, the ocean blue of them obscured by crimson glow. You're not even sure that he sees you through it when he looks at you. He's panting like he just ran a marathon, and the comforter is ripped cleanly in half, the two sides strewn on either side of him. "John," you call softly, reaching out to touch his arm, but he jerks away from your hand like you've burned him. "Don't fucking touch me," he hisses, wrapping his arms around himself. Sometimes he is small during these fits, curled in on himself, begging you to make it stop. Not tonight. Tonight he is another self, spitting rage and violence through remembered agony. A cornered animal. "I'll fucking kill you!" "John," you say again, pleading. You know he isn't talking to you. He's speaking to the ghosts of his past. "You're in our bed. You're with me. I would never hurt you. I love you, John." His name is a double-edged sword. It cuts clean through to something at the core of him in a way that “Homelander” doesn’t. Each use of it acts like a shock to his irregulated system.

You keep your hands outstretched, but you don't touch him. You show him that you aren't holding anything. Not a pen, not a notepad, not a needle. You show that you don't mean him any harm. 

God knows he's suffered enough. With the sound of your voice, the red glow of his eyes gradually dims, flickers, and then finally it goes out entirely. He's still panting, hands moving slowly down his arms, his torso, checking himself for injury. Though his body bears no scars of the pain he’s endured, his mind knows exactly where each one of them would be. Bit by bit, you watch him come back to himself. He looks around the room, taking in the evidence of your truth. Framed photos, décor, the life you’ve built together. It isn't a concrete dungeon. It isn’t a lab. It isn’t an incinerator. It's home. "Fuck," he says quietly, hiccupping the word into his palm. He says it again, louder, screwing his glassy eyes shut. The third time he says it, it's nearly a sob. It’s agony to wait, but you don’t touch him before he’s ready. You fist the bedsheets, you don’t stop talking. I’m here. I’m right here. I love you. You’re safe. You’re not sure if it’s minutes or seconds before he reaches for you. All you know is you act immediately. You move swiftly up on your knees, climbing over the ruined blankets to take him into your arms, pulling his head to rest against your chest, bringing his ear close to the beat of your heart. You hush him while you work to unstick the words from your throat, unable to help the tears that well in your eyes.

The fear and misery in him is so palpable, you nearly feel as if it’s your own. He wraps his arms around you without hesitation, pulling you to sit sideways in his lap as he weeps against you. It's taken a long time to reach this point. He used to swallow it back like bile, adamant for the longest time that you not see this side of him, this aspect of himself that he thinks ugly, imperfect, broken. You fought for this. As you hold him through these bone-deep sobs, it shatters you that it's taken him this long for him to find someone who would. "You're safe," you whisper, battling to keep the tears from your voice. "You're home. You're with me. You're safe. I love you so, so much." He rocks back and forth, choking on his sobs. “I could feel it,” he tells you, the words barely escaping the clench of his teeth. “It hurt. Every second of it, and they just–they all just watched.”

You close your eyes, tears rolling down your cheeks and disappearing into the softness of his hair. You kiss the crown of his head again and again, combing your fingers through his hair where it’s damp with sweat and your own tears. “You’re safe now,” you whisper, swallowing the lump in your throat. It isn’t enough, but these words and touches are all you have to offer him against the torment of his childhood.

His grip on you tightens. It wouldn’t take much for him to snap you in half.

That scare you? He’d asked you once. How easily I could break you?”

No, you admitted. It makes me appreciate how hard you try not to. It takes time for his breathing to even out. His hold softens, but he doesn't relinquish you. For as terrible as the nightmares are, it's the shame he experiences in the aftermath that often requires the most care. 

You rub firm circles on his back with one hand while cradling the back of his head with the other, trailing butterfly kisses along his temple, his forehead, down to his cheek. Any part of him you can reach, you kiss, murmuring quiet assurances in between, as if to imbue him with each word. Eventually, the rocking stops. He's breathing more steadily now, arms encircled firmly around your waist. He gives a shaking sigh. "Sorry," he whispers, voice strained. That's a word in his vocabulary that rarely comes up, but when it does, it is always drenched in shame. He hates himself for this. "Don't," you whisper, carding your fingers through his hair. You sniff back your tears, letting out a breath. "I asked for this. I begged you for this," you emphasize, earnest. You cup his face, angling him to look up at you. "Let me do this for you. Please. You have nothing to be ashamed of." He stares at you with large, watery blue eyes. The whites are red, strained by the force of his grief, his durability tested only by his own power. In his gaze you see damage done to him that may never heal, but your words settle over invisible scars like a soothing balm. It’s that very look of vulnerability that has driven you to this depth of love. You know his violence, his viciousness, but so too do you know the fragile man it protects.

Most of all, the scared boy beneath it all.

His grip on you flexes, his jaw clenched. The nature of your insight into him is both a blessing and a curse to him. He cannot hide from you. You know his shame, and despite how deeply he needs your compassion, your understanding, it’s something he has to bleed for every time. He’s perpetually torn between his desperation to be your perfect hero, and his soul-deep yearning to be safely vulnerable. 

If you have to, you'll spend the rest of your life convincing him that he can have both.

Finally, his shoulders sag. "I love you," he says, quietly defeated by your warmth. "I'll never hurt you. Ever." You recognize the plea in his words. He's terrified that someday it will be too much. You’ll see what everyone else sees, and your love will be tainted–destroyed–by your inevitable fear of him. You hope one day that he’ll understand why that will never happen. Someday the depths of your love will soak in as deep as the misery of his past, and he’ll be able to forgive himself for the human way his god’s heart bleeds. "I know. I know that.” You kiss the top of his head, still rubbing his back, taking your hand away only to swipe the tears from your face. “I love you, too. Every part of you."

Even the parts you hate. Gingerly, he lifts you just enough to lay you back down on the bed. He wastes no time cuddling back in against you, burrowing his face into the crook of your neck. The bedding is ruined, but he runs warm enough that you hardly notice the absence of cover while he’s holding you. Your legs tangle with his, bodies slotting together easily. He nuzzles as if he can worm his way closer than skin to skin. If you could, you’d open your ribcage to welcome him inside. He could eat your heart if it kept his beating another day.

"Will you... talk me to sleep?" He asks, threads of shame lingering in the request. The tension has drained away, leaving him vulnerable and exhausted. His blinks are slow, the curve of his lips mournful. "Of course," you whisper, smoothing your hand up and down his back. This isn’t the first time you’ve talked him back to sleep, and you doubt it’ll be the last. Sometimes you tell him the plot of a book as best you can recall, other times it's random anecdotes from your life. Sometimes it's complete nonsense. To him, it doesn't matter what you say. All that matters is that when he does finally drift back into sleep, it's your voice that safeguards him there. 

Gladly, he rests his head back down on your chest, closing his eyes with a rumbling sigh while your nails drag along his scalp. You cradle him there, savoring the warmth of him as it seeps into the marrow of your bones, the weight of him grounding you.

You tell him stories until sleep finds him. Even then, you continue to speak until your voice frays and you can no longer keep your eyes open. You speak and speak and speak hoping that somehow, in some small way, you can help make up for the years he spent with only his own voice for comfort.

[juletheghoul]

The General

a/n: So, the Roman got me. It was to be expected, honestly lol. I am well aware we know practically nothing about this character but I couldn't help myself. I wrote reader as a slave here, if you aren't into that - no worries. This is un beta-ed, any mistakes are my own. Shout out to @foli-vora for letting me flood her with my thoughts and ideas and for helping me flesh it out🩷 Hopefully you enjoy!

Warnings; 18+ no minors, vague but big-legal age gap, piv sex, some dirty talk, creampie, alcohol, master / slave dynamic (power imbalance) one creepy dude making a pass, Marcus calls reader Girl, reader calls Marcus Dominus, let me know if I missed any!

Pairing: Marcus Acaciusx F!Reader

word count: 1.6k

reblogs are appreciated

Series masterlist Masterlist next chapter; the baths

He comes through the tent flap late into the night, covered in blood, grime, and rage, and yet - you are there to greet him. The gods have seen it fit to bestow him with another day of victory, another day of life and with that life, comes his expectations of you.

You rush to pour the water you’ve kept hot at his fire into the basin he uses to wash, eyes scanning quickly for the clean linens he uses to cleanse himself of the gore of battle, and making yourself scarce once the basin is full.

He says nothing, but he has no need to. 

You watch from your place at the edge of his vision, every nerve and receptor in your body honed to anticipate his needs. 

His armor needs to be cleaned before first light, thank the Gods I didn’t fall asleep. I will need to mend the tear in his tunic as well–

His hand shot out, face up towards you, interrupting your mental tally of his state but your body responds quicker than your mind and you’re there in an instant, placing the clean linen into his dampened hand. Still, he says nothing. 

You move towards his table while he finishes, shuffling his maps and well laid battle plans with great care in order to set out the olives and cheese he likes, the crusty bread and the dark wine he prefers. 

“General.” The gruff voice at the tent flap scares you half to death, but you don’t cry out. You’re too well-trained for that. A few of his soldiers stand at the threshold. “We wish to share a cup, a toast to your victory.” They are eager, the red glint of blood still fresh in their eyes. 

He grunts in response, but gestures to his table before giving you a pointed look. You rush to fetch more cups, setting them down at the extra places at his table. They are all seated by the time you finish pouring for them, and with another glance from Marcus–your general–you move to fetch more food from his stores. 

They’re raucous, the heat of the battle still coursing through their veins. Where Marcus is focused on calming the blood, they are eager to stoke the fire. They are either oblivious to his dark mood, or unbothered by it. 

“More wine!” One of them cries out, despite the way the General’s jaw clenches. You hurry to comply, pouring into the younger man's cup without spilling. “You are lucky General Acacius, a pretty, young, thing like this waiting to warm your bed of a night,” he leers up at you, his gaze slipping across your body like eels in a bowl, “would you share your wealth, I wonder.” His other hand slides up the back of your thigh causing you to gasp, his touch wholly unwelcome. 

“If you would like to keep your hands, I suggest you keep them to yourself.” His voice cuts through the air, “Come girl, take my cup away. I have no taste for wine just now.” You move away from the unwanted touch and towards Marcus, avoiding his eyes to complete the task at hand. “Go now, all of you. I will see you in the morning.” He moves from his place at the table, and if the others are unwilling to comply, they make no mention of it. The table is clear by the time he comes back, absent unwanted company. 

He says nothing while removing his armor, but you rush to his side to assist anyway, carefully putting the pieces aside to clean. 

The mood shifts, and his gaze now bores into you, and your heart races to feel it. Where the other man's eyes made your skin crawl, Marcus’ eyes feel like a caress. You feel them on the slit in your tunic, where your thigh is exposed. You feel them on your chest when you turn towards him to help take his chest plate off. 

Goose flesh spreads like a stain across your skin, and your cunt weeps for him, betraying any thoughts that you might not want what he quite obviously wants to give you. The proof of it tenting his tunic when the leather Pteruges are removed.

Those brutal hands, the ones that’d been covered in blood and grime not an hour past, now grab onto your hips, the grip hard enough to bruise. The thin linen shift does nothing to insulate you from his heat, does nothing to dull the press of his want against your belly. Any doubts swimming in your mind about crossing this line with him–again–are silenced when the linen is all but ripped off, leaving you almost shivering in his arms. 

The arousal is something fierce, an entity all in its own and it responds to his brusque movements with a perverse glee. It sets your nerves alight, drips down onto your thighs as he herds you towards his bed mat. His intensity infects you, it strengthens your grip, you’d swear it sharpened your nails by the way you rip at the very tunic you’re going to have to mend.

You land on your back amongst his linens and he’s quick to follow you there. It takes less than a breath for him to shrug everything off, both of you as nude as the day you were born. 

“Open your legs.” His voice is gruff, and thick with want, the same want that smears fat pearly drops against the skin of your thigh. 

Your nipples harden, drawing both his eye, and his mouth as you hurry to comply. He bites, pulling a gasp from your lips. His tongue quickly soothes it though, this is his pattern, an addictive balance of pain and pleasure. First one breast, then the other gets his attention, but only briefly, his desire burns too brightly. 

You only manage to pull his face up to yours before his cock finally slips into your wet heat, feeding a gasp directly into his mouth when you take his kiss with a force to rival his own. 

The size of him always shocks you into silence. He isn’t the first man to have you this way, your chastity had been gone long before you came into his service; you were glad of it to feel the way he molded you to accept him though. Now, and every time he’s been inside you. 

His stroke is brutal, it’s hard, and rough and all but moves you higher onto his mat. It’s perfect.

Your knees hitch high onto his hips, just as he raises one knee to press against the back of your thigh for purchase and it pays off because he finds the spot that makes you keen. 

He lets out a breathy laugh, relishing the state of you and the euphoria of your climax is far too close to feel any shame. Instead your cunt floods him, the slip of him moving so noisy and vulgar and welcome and blissful it pushes you closer still.

“More, please—“ you moan out the words, the first words you’ve spoken to him since he’d returned from a day of violence and he corrects you even now. 

“More what,” he grunts, anger and ecstasy shining on his visage, “speak correctly, girl.” His voice is clipped, his movements faltering and you know he’s close.

“More please, Dominus.” They’re a whimper, and he responds to them just how you hoped he might. He moves quickly and for a moment you can see how he’s earned his reputation, agile and smooth and within a moment he sits back on his haunches, pulling your hips up to meet his thrusts. 

You don’t know whether to scream, or weep, either way you thank the Gods for putting you in this man’s way. The pleasure is peppered with pain where his fingers dig into the meat of your thighs, and you know you will feel the ache of holding them open tomorrow, but it’s so hard to care when it feels so good.

The precipice looms, the shadow of the climax clouding anything and everything and when you reach down towards where you’re spread wide, it only takes a couple of quick, wet circles at your clit to float away.

He groans, hips stuttering and you know you’ve taken him over the edge with you, you can feel the evidence of it painting your insides. His eyes glaze over as he watches himself fill you to the brim, slack-jaw and drunk on his orgasm and your flesh on display for him. 

“I expect you to remain full of my gift-“ his tone is filthy, lust and victory of a different kind on his features as he grinds himself deeper, “until I take you again.” He hisses the last few words out, pulling his softening cock out to inspect his mess. “Am I understood?”

“Yes Dominus.” The words are sweet as summer fruit on your tongue, eager to please him.

He smiles, but it’s predatory and it makes you clench around nothing, your body betraying your words when you feel his spend dripping out in front of his eyes.

He tsks, pushing it back in with thick fingers.

“You are well aware I don’t tolerate such insolence.” His eyes narrow, but his mood is still playful, removing his fingers from your cunt, only to stick them in your mouth. “Now, get some rest. I expect you up at first light.” He speaks with absolute authority as you suck his fingers clean, and nod.

------

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[writingfics-passingtime]

hi, can you please write about the reader overthinking decorating a pumpkin and loki threatens to tickle them if they don't start it 🤗🤗

I can still post pumpkin content cause it's still November, right?

Here's a sassy, stoic reader, an absolute teasing menace Loki, and a tender, emotional ending (because I can't help myself).

word count: ~4300

pairing: Loki x female reader

content / warnings: sexual tension, suggestive banter, flirting and touching, tickling, swearing

minors dni: this work does not contain smut, but does contain a suggestive relationship between the reader and an adult-aged character. I am not comfortable with engagement from anyone under the age of 18. Thank you for your understanding and respect.

note: thank you anon ~ I wasn't going to respond yet because my prompts aren't open, but I've seen a few other writers receive and fulfil this ask, and I've liked seeing what other have done with it. My imagination went a little wild. Thanks for your message x

If anyone has an idea for a title, help a girl out

The room was alive with voices, clinking bottles, and the occasional scrape of a knife against pumpkin flesh. The compound’s main dining hall had been transformed into an unlikely tableau of domesticity. Avengers, gods, and spies bent over their assigned gourds with varying levels of skill and enthusiasm. Stark’s pumpkin already looked like a disaster of glitter and questionable wiring, while Natasha’s had been carved into a clean, menacing grin, a masterpiece of precision.

And then there was you.

Your pumpkin sat pristine and untouched in front of you, its smooth surface mocking your indecision. Brushes, carving tools, and paints were scattered around your space, all conspicuously unused. You held a small knife in your hand, twirling it absently as you stared at the blank canvas.

“Do mortals often find themselves defeated by vegetables, or is this particular weakness unique to you?”

Loki's voice slid over you like velvet, dark and rich, tinged with mockery.

You didn’t look up. “It’s a fruit, actually.”

“Ah,” he drawled, moving closer. “Semantics. How very like you.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him lean against the edge of the table, his long, lean frame clothed in casual, dark fabrics that clung just enough to remind you that he wasn’t of your world. His sharp blue eyes sparkled with amusement as he surveyed your untouched pumpkin.

“You’ve been staring at it for nearly an hour,” he said, his voice low and teasing. “Surely even you can’t find this much to overthink.”

You exhaled sharply, finally meeting his gaze. “Maybe I’m waiting for inspiration.”

“Or perhaps you’re simply afraid to begin.” His lips curved into a slow, knowing smirk, the kind that made your pulse stumble. “One wrong cut, one poorly chosen stroke, and the whole thing could be ruined. What a tragic metaphor for your careful, overthought life.”

“Thanks for the analysis, Freud,” you said dryly, turning your attention back to the pumpkin. “Now, if you’re done, I have work to do.”

“Work?” His laugh was quiet, mocking. He moved closer, the faint rustle of his clothing brushing against your senses like a whisper. “Sitting frozen with indecision isn’t work, darling. It’s fear.”

You bristled but kept your voice calm. “If you’re so invested in this pumpkin, why don’t you decorate it yourself?”

“Because I find your quandary far more entertaining.”

He stepped around behind you then, his tall frame casting a shadow over your seat. His presence loomed, a magnetic pull you both resented and couldn’t entirely resist.

“I’ll give you a choice,” he said softly, his voice close now, the faintest trace of his breath against your ear. “Either you begin decorating this ridiculous fruit, or I’ll take matters into my own hands.”

You turned slightly, meeting his eyes over your shoulder. They gleamed with dark amusement, his smirk widening as he caught the way your lips parted involuntarily. “Oh? And how exactly would you do that?”

Loki’s smirk deepened, his gaze dropping briefly to your lips before returning to your eyes. “I could start with this.”

Before you could react, his fingers brushed against your sides, featherlight but enough to send a jolt through you. You stiffened, gripping the edge of the table as his touch lingered, just shy of maddening.

You twisted in your chair to glare at him. “That’s your plan? Tickle me into submission? How original.”

His chuckle was low, dark, a sound that sent a shiver up your spine. “Oh, I think it would be quite effective. And besides,” he murmured, leaning closer, “I suspect you’d secretly enjoy it.”

Your breath caught at the sheer audacity of him, the way his voice dipped into something so sultry, so intimate, that your stomach twisted. “Sounds like you're desperate for an excuse to touch me,” you shot back, your tone sharp despite the heat rising in your cheeks.

He tilted his head, his smirk softening into something more dangerous, more deliberate. “Desperate? No, darling. Just curious.”

His gaze swept over you, slow and deliberate, as if he could see straight through you to the rapid beat of your heart.

The air between you seemed to thicken, the tension coiling taut as his words hung there, daring you to respond.

Your grip on the table tightened as you forced yourself to meet his eyes, even as heat coiled low in your stomach.

It felt like gripping the steering wheel of a car spinning out, but you snapped the moment.

“You’re not as intimidating as you think you are."

Loki laughed, soft and wicked. “Of course not. And you're the picture of composure, as always."

His hand brushed against yours then, the faintest graze of his fingertips, and you swore the room tilted.

“Go on,” he urged, his voice a low murmur, his eyes locked on yours. “Prove me wrong. Pick up the brush. Start decorating. Show me you're not afraid of a little fun.”

You hesitated, your heart pounding so loudly you were certain he could hear it. The weight of his gaze, the dark amusement in his smirk, the sheer magnetic pull of him it was... intoxicating.

Finally, with a sharp exhale, you grabbed the brush. “Fine,” you said, your voice tight as you dipped it into the paint.

Loki straightened, his smirk triumphant but his eyes still glinting with wicked intent. “There’s a good girl,” he said softly, the words like a caress against your ear.

It left you burning long after he’d stepped away.

As you focused on the paint in front of you, doing your best to ignore the heat coursing through your veins, you felt the thrill of his words linger.

The brush hovered over the pumpkin, the orange, unsullied skin glaring up at you like a taunt. Loki had retreated to the far end of the room, his fingers tracing idle patterns on the edge of the table as he spoke with Thor. You knew it was only a matter of time before his attention flickered back to you, the heat of a flame too close for comfort.

You had no intention of giving him the satisfaction of seeing you squirm under his gaze any longer.

Sliding the brush down as quietly as possible, you rose from your seat. The soft scrape of your chair legs across the floor was muffled beneath the ambient chatter of the room, and Loki didn’t so much as glance your way. Your pulse quickened as you edged toward the door, heart hammering with every step.

He didn’t follow.

Once you’d slipped into the quiet of the hall, the tension in your chest eased, and you let out a breath you were very aware you'd been holding.

You made your way toward the compound’s library, the solitude of it a welcome balm. The others would still be occupied for at least another hour - enough time for you to lose yourself in the pages of your book and avoid whatever game Loki had been playing that almost made you crack.

The library greeted you with its familiar quiet, the scent of leather sofas and paper a comforting presence. You found your usual spot tucked away in a far corner, a large bay window cushioned with soft pillows overlooking the courtyard. Settling in with a contented sigh, you pulled your book from where you'd wedged it between the seat cushion and the wooden frame.

The story drew you in almost immediately, the tension of moments ago dissolving into the words on the page. The sunlight filtering through the window began softening into twilight, painting the room in hues of amber and shadow.

The quiet here was sacred, untouched by the chaos of the compound. As you turned the last few pages, your chest loosened, the illusion of safety creeping in.

Surely, he hadn’t followed you. Surely, Loki had other things to occupy himself-

Surely not.

“I expected better from you.”

The voice slithered into your ears, so low and sudden that your breath caught in your throat. With all your years of training, you managed to stay frozen. Futile, though. You knew he could see right through it.

You looked up, and there he stood, shadowed and immaculate, his silhouette framed by the dim glow of a single, golden lamp. His icy blue eyes glinted with cruel amusement, his lips curling into a smirk that made your stomach twist.

“How... predictable,” he continued, taking a slow, deliberate step forward. “You flee like a rabbit, thinking you can burrow away from the wolf.”

Your heart hammered against your ribs, but you forced yourself turn back your book. “I don’t recall fleeing,” you started, turning a page. “I walked out, actually. Perhaps you’ve forgotten the difference in your old age.”

He chuckled, the sound low and dangerous, like distant thunder rolling over jagged peaks. “Ah, there it is. That fire you wear like armour. Does it soothe you to pretend you’re unshakeable?”

You scoffed, even as your pulse betrayed you. “You’re awfully sure of yourself for someone whose only hobby seems to be tormenting me.”

“Torment?” he echoed, his voice silken as he closed more distance between you. “My dear, if I were tormenting you, you’d know it. Shall I demonstrate?”

You didn’t dignify that with a response, instead turning another page of your book. The words blurred before your eyes, but you kept your expression neutral. “If you think I’m going to feed your ego by reacting, you’re going to be sorely disappointed.”

"Why did you refuse to take part?" There was something unnervingly earnest in his voice that pulled at your heart. "Why did you leave?"

You looked up, wearing a mask of indifference and sarcasm. “I didn’t realise decorating pumpkins was a matter of state importance.”

The smirk tugging at his lips was slow and predatory, dark amusement glinting in his eyes. “Such sharp words, little rabbit. Always so quick with your tongue when your heart’s trying to claw its way out of your chest.”

Your pulse spiked, but you refused to let him see it. Instead, you tilted your head, letting a slow, sardonic smirk curve your lips. “You said you weren't desperate, Loki. But you seem to have taken to taunting me for sport."

The laugh that slipped from him was low and sinuous, curling like smoke through the still air. “Oh, I don’t need sport to occupy me. But you…” He leaned forward, the space between you vanishing in an instant. “You’re far too entertaining to resist. Especially when you’re trembling behind that mask of yours.”

“I’m not trembling.”

“No?” His voice was a purr now, his breath brushing your ear as he lowered himself just enough to meet you at eye level. “I suppose you weren’t squirming earlier, either. Like prey in my hands.”

Your cheeks flared with heat, but you kept your expression neutral. “You sound obsessed.”

“And you sound very ticklish.”

The way he said it - smooth, dark, laced with that damned smirk -sent a ripple of mortification through you. It was all the confirmation you needed of his intentions to follow through on his earlier threat.

It was inevitable.

So you leaned back, lifting your book as if to shield yourself from the weight of his gaze. If you were going down, you were going down swinging. Well, verbally, at least.

“You’re overplaying your hand.”

“Oh, am I?” He stood to his full height, towering over you now, his shadow eclipsing the faint light. “Because the ones who act so tough, so stoic, so unbothered... they’re always the most fun. It’s so very delicious to watch them fall apart.”

“Is that what you tell yourself at night?” You forced your tone into something light, dismissive, though your grip on the book tightened. “That you’ve got me figured out?”

His smirk deepened, his head tilting as he studied you like a puzzle he already knew how to solve. “I don’t need to tell myself anything. You do all the work for me.”

Your lips parted for a retort, but his eyes flickered down to the slight tremor in your fingers, the way your knees shifted restlessly against the cushions.

And you saw how his smile widened, satisfied and predatory, when he saw all the hallmarks of someone about to flee.

“Go ahead,” he murmured, voice dropping to a velvet whisper. “Run. It’ll be more fun for me.”

For a split second, you froze, torn between logic and instinct. Then you bolted, your book tumbling to the seat as you darted for the nearest gap.

But Loki was faster.

You didn't make it two full steps before he caught you with a preternatural ease, his ensnaring hands dragging you back against him in one smooth motion. His low chuckle brushed your ear as he manoeuvred you down onto the window seat, half-pinning you on your side with his arms wrapped firmly around your waist.

“Pitiful,” he drawled, his tone rich with mockery. “And here I thought you’d make it a challenge.”

You shoved at him, scowling. “Let me go, you overgrown-”

Whatever venom you’d prepared was shattered as his fingers pressed into your ribs, curling with precision against the fabric of your sweater. Laughter burst from you, loud and uncontrollable, and you immediately clamped your lips shut, mortified by the sound.

“Ah,” Loki purred, his grin widening. “There it is. That lovely sound you try so hard to keep from the world. Go on, darling. Let me hear it again.”

“Loki, wait- no!” you gasped, but his hands had already found the curve of your waist, his fingers pinching with precision that felt criminal.

“No?” he echoed, mockingly incredulous. “You were so calm a moment ago. What happened?”

He didn’t give you a chance to answer. His hands slipped beneath the hem of your sweater, squeezing tighter, his nails grazing the bare skin of your sides. You quaked at the contact, laughter spilling out uncontrollably as he found every sensitive spot with uncanny accuracy. Your hands clutched at his forearms, his chuckle hot and tempting against your neck as your head fell back in mirth.

“Tell me the truth,” he said, his voice low and commanding, the words a dark melody against your ear. “Why did you run?”

“I- I...” you wheezed, twisting in his hold, going nowhere. With a ferocious, defiant growl, you yelled, "I... walked!"

Loki paused, his lips curling in that knowing smirk, and then he tickled harder, digging in with precision. You crumpled back against him, laughing helplessly, unable to catch your breath. Every sound that left your mouth was a mix of laughter and helpless gasps, each one a surrender to him, to the unrelenting tickling.

“Let's try again,” Loki commanded, his voice low, his breath warm against your ear. “Tell me why you fled.”

You struggled to pull yourself together, trying to come up with another witty retort, but before you could speak, Loki found an especially sensitive spot, just under your ribs, and his fingers locked in with a brutal efficiency. You shrieked, squirming beneath him, but he held you there with the effortless force of a god, his smile widening against the shell of your ear.

You thrashed harder, your laughter raw and breaking, tears welling in your eyes. “I’ll- kill you-”

“You’ll what?” He laughed, low and dark, his fingers picking up speed again, pressing and kneading with wicked precision. Every stroke of his hands felt like it was designed to unravel you, to push you past your limits and then some.

The realisation hit like a blow: he could read you. Every shudder, every hitch in your breath, every twitch of your body. And worse, he was enjoying it, adjusting his touch with the kind of skill that only centuries of mischief could hone. His hands didn’t just tickle; they teased, tormented, mastered you.

"You- oh my g-" you gasped, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. "You absolute fucking-"

“Such language,” he chided, his tone a tease of disapproval. “And after I’ve been so gentle.”

His fingers danced lower, teasing the curve of your hips, and the laugh that escaped you was so deep, so raw, it left your chest aching. Loki stilled for half a heartbeat, his grin sharp as he took in the sound, before redoubling his efforts. He pressed his thumbs into the tender space just above your hipbones, his fingers curling to squeeze in a way that had you screaming, your body writhing in his iron grip.

“Okay! Okay!” you gasped, tears of mirth welling in your eyes.

“Speak, then,” he commanded in low and silken voice, his fingers unrelenting. “And don’t lie to me. You won’t like the consequences.”

“I—” You hesitated, your breath hitching, but he gave you no mercy. His nails dragged lightly over your ribs, and the sound that tore from you was half a laugh, half a desperate gasp.

“Speak."

“I didn’t want to embarrass myself!” you finally choked out, your body trembling beneath his. “I didn’t want to make something stupid and have everyone see how bad it is!”

Immediately, his hands stilled, and you gulped in a shuddering breath. He unwrapped his arms from around you and leaned back, his smirk softening into something almost... fond. You shoved at him weakly, as if not quite believing he was retreating.

“Well,” he said, standing and staring down at you, admiring his handiwork, “you’ve certainly made a spectacle of yourself now.”

You glared at him, flushed and breathless. “You... are insufferable.”

“And you,” he countered, his grin returning, “are utterly fascinating. Shall we?”

Before you could protest, he hooked his arms under your knees and around your back, sweeping you up effortlessly, carrying you toward the door. You squirmed in his grasp.

“What the hell are you doing now?”

“Delivering you back to the battlefield,” he said, his smirk a knife’s edge. “You’re not escaping that easily. You’ve still got a pumpkin to ruin, and I, for one, am thoroughly invested in the spectacle.”

You groaned, your head falling back in defeat. "I hate you."

The smirk in his voice was undeniable. "No, you don't."

The dining hall was no longer the lively scene it had been earlier.

Now, it was deserted, shadows stretching long and dark across the room, flickering with the faint light of a few dying candles. The scent of melted wax and pumpkin guts permeated in the air, and the silence was nearly oppressive.

Loki carried you inside, his grip firm but not unkind, and though you didn’t resist, you couldn’t help but feel a smouldering irritation at the way he seemed to enjoy this small victory. When he set you down, his hands lingered at your waist, steadying you, as though daring you to bolt again.

You stepped forward, stopping just shy of your untouched pumpkin. Its smooth, orange surface gleamed in the low light, mocking you. The tools remained where you’d left them, and the weight of your earlier frustration pressed at the edges of your mind.

“I... don’t know what to do with it,” you said finally, turning back to Loki. You hated how the admission sounded - small, almost defeated - but there was no taking it back now.

Loki’s sharp gaze softened imperceptibly. His lips twitched, but the smirk didn’t fully form. “Then I shall help you,” he said, his voice low and smooth, offering no room for argument.

Before you could respond, he sat in your chair with that infuriating ease, his presence commanding even in the simplest of movements. His eyes met yours, glittering with a mixture of challenge and amusement, and he reached out a hand, curling his fingers in a silent demand.

“What are you-” The words barely left your mouth before you realised he was beckoning you to sit on his lap. Heat flushed through you, unbidden, and you scoffed, trying to mask it. “You do realise chairs are meant for one person, don’t you?”

Yet, unwilling to have him see how he was sliding under your skin, you turned and settled yourself against him. His muscled chest brushed against your back, his legs firm and solid as your seat.

“And yet, here we are,” he murmured, his lips brushing your ear as he spoke. His hand settled at your waist - an anchor, not a cage. “Now, let’s see if we can salvage your poor, neglected pumpkin.”

You scoffed, grabbing the carving tool. “Fine. Show me your masterful technique, Your Highness.”

The title came out sharper than intended, but Loki only chuckled, low and indulgent. He leaned closer, his shadow engulfing yours, and reached around your shoulder to guide your hand. His fingers slid over yours, his grip firm but not harsh. “Relax,” he murmured. His voice sent a delicious shiver down your spine. “You grip it like a weapon. This is art, not war.”

You bit back a retort and let him guide you. His body was close enough that his every movement brushed against yours, his breath warm against your cheek. Together, you began to carve into the pumpkin, slow and deliberate. His free hand flexed against your waist, your free hand steadying the canvas.

As the shapes emerged, you realised they weren’t ordinary designs. They were runes.

Norse runes. Delicate, intricate, and entirely unreadable to you.

Loki worked with a confidence that bordered on arrogance, his hand steady as he traced the lines with your hand.

“What does it say?” you asked eventually, breaking the silence.

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he leaned closer, his breath warm against your neck as he murmured, “You’ll see. Keep holding it steady."

The tension between you grew with every passing second. His touch lingered long, his presence close. Every shift of his body beneath yours was impossible to ignore, every brush of his breath against your skin a reminder of just how thin the line between teasing and something real had become.

When the carving was done, you slipped off his lap, feeling the need for a the brief moment of distance for your sanity, and retrieved a candle from the sideboard.

But the room felt colder without him holding you.

You lit the wick and placed the candle inside the pumpkin, watching as the light filled the carved runes, casting jagged shadows across the table.

You turned back to Loki. His expression was unreadable, his gaze fixed on you as though he could see straight through to your very thoughts.

Carefully, you sat back down on his lap, unable to ignore the magnetic pull he seemed to have on you. This time, you sat side-on. His hands settled instinctively, one on your back, one on your knee, holding you steady. With his height, your faces were almost level, but you still had to look ever so slightly up.

“What does it say?” you asked again, your voice quieter now, as if speaking too loudly might shatter whatever fragile thing had formed between you.

“The name of a great warrior,” he said, his tone mockingly reverent. “Renowned for wit, skill, and unmatched beauty.”

You arched a brow, your lips twitching. “Let me guess. Your name?”

His grin widened, and the silence was answer enough for you.

You rolled your eyes, but a genuine smile tugged at your lips despite yourself. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Yet undeniably fascinating,” he countered, his voice a low purr. His gaze dropped to your lips, and his smirk faltered, replaced with something quieter, more tender. Relieved. "There it is." His words were almost a sigh.

You tilted your head, raising a brow in question.

“I was beginning to fear you didn’t know how to smile.”

The intimacy of his words rendered you speechless for several, long seconds. Your mind faltered, your fingers fidgeting in your lap.

“What? You don't remember what happened like... twenty minutes ago? I recall laughing to the point of tears, thanks to you.”

“That was different,” he said simply, his tone quieter, earnest.

The air between you thickened, heavy with unspoken things. His hand moved in slow, deliberate patterns against your back. “It must be exhausting,” he said after a moment, his voice gentle and laced with something that sounded dangerously close to sympathy. “Always bracing for the next crisis.”

His sudden sincerity caught you off-guard. You fidgeted with your hands, stained with pumpkin pulp, your gaze dropping to your lap. “It’s not like that,” you muttered, though the words felt hollow.

“Isn’t it?” His hand stilled on your back for a moment before continuing its slow, soothing movements. “You are allowed moments of meaningless joy. To partake in frivolity. It doesn’t make you weak.”

A bitter laugh escaped you, soft and humourless. “I take it you didn’t buy that I was embarrassed about the pumpkin?”

He tilted his head, his lips curving into a faint smirk. “Not for a second.”

You looked up, straight into him. "But you let me go."

His gaze fell to your lips, as if he were already missing your smile. Mourning it. Plotting a witty remark or flirtatious comment that might see its return.

He then looked back to your eyes, swallowing harder than usual, his voice now gentle. “I thought you were due for some mercy. You... seem to have very little for yourself.”

The words settled over you like a weight, heavy and undeniable.

And for a moment, you couldn’t breathe.

"It feels wrong," you admitted in little over a whisper. "To... do things like this when so many people-" The breath caught in your throat and you had to look back at your hands, sniffing to buy some time. "It's selfish. Carving pumpkins. Decorating. Laughing at stupid things. People are out there suffering, and I’m here playing holiday games. Safe.”

Loki was quiet for a long moment, his hand resuming its slow, deliberate movements along your back. It brought you far more comfort than you'd ever admit out loud. Not yet, at least.

When he finally spoke, his voice was soft, the usual sharp edges dulled. “You cannot bear the weight of your world every hour of every day. Even the strongest flame falters if it is not tended.”

The rawness of his words cut through your defences. You couldn’t meet his eyes, but your lips twitched as you tried to deflect. “You know,” you muttered, half-laughing as your head dipped, “getting tickled to death felt a lot less exposing than this conversation.”

His chest vibrated with a low chuckle, and when you glanced up, his smirk had returned, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. “I’m happy to oblige,” he drawled, his fingers curling against you as if preparing to pounce.

You shot him a warning look, though you couldn’t quite keep the corner of your mouth from twitching. “You wouldn't.”

“Oh, wouldn't I?” he teased, his hands still hovering ominously close.

"No," you shook your head, that twitch turning into a smirk. "I sat with you of my own free will. Trusting you. You won't jeopardise that."

The playful glint in his gaze softened slightly as he settled back, studying you with a quiet intensity. "The little rabbit may just be a fox after all," he mused, ceding his advantage.

He studied you for a good, long while, you both sitting in a comfortable silence as he traced idle patterns against your back, his thumb brushing your knee.

Finally, you swallowed your nerves, and broke the silence. "Thank you. For your help.”

You looked back to the table, eyes roaming over what he'd carved with your hand;

The name of a great warrior. He'd said. Renowned for wit, skill, and unmatched beauty.

"Runes are... actually quite beautiful."

He hummed softly in agreement.

You turned your head slightly, eyes still on the sharp lines. "What would my name look like?"

Then, you looked up at his face, and your breath caught.

His eyes were alight, faintly glittering from the flickering candle inside the artwork. Something between a smile and something far more satisfied curled onto his lips as he nodded at the runes.

"Exactly like that."

[tenderleavesbob]

If Captain Link had been more awake, he absolutely wouldn't have done it.

He hated when Mask used the Fierce Deity mask, but he was slowly warming up to the creature. It had proven to have no desire to harm Link's people, and it had actually acted in defense of Link and Tune. Nothing would stop the fear. Not really. The Fierce Deity was too strong, too alien, and was possessing Link's boy. Things had improved, though.

Improved enough, even, that Link's first thought when he stepped out of his tent, exhausted, worn, and desperate for caffeine, and saw the Fierce Deity towering over one of his soldiers, his first thought wasn't that the Deity would hurt his soldier. It was that it was too Goddess-damned early for this.

It wasn't his fault. He was running on two hours sleep and the previous day had been nothing but nasty battles. He had given his spare potions to Mask and Tune and a bad bruise on his back kept him up even when exhaustion begged for him to sleep. It truly wasn't his fault that he looked at the silent mess in front of him and broke.

"No!" Link snapped, stomping over to the pair. The soldier was a lieutenant from another unit. Link couldn't remember his name, just that the man was at least ten years his senior. As such, he should not have been cowering so pathetically in front of the Deity. Link shoved his way between the two, glared at the Deity, glared at the lieutenant, and then glared at the useless clump of soldiers just standing around and watching the scene. "We are not doing this right now. Lieutenant! Grow a spine and deal with your troops."

"Captain," the lieutenant began. One vicious scowl cut him off.

"Did I stutter, Lieutenant?" Link snarled. "Now."

The Fierce Deity shifted when the lieutenant scuttled off, like he wanted to follow him. Oh hell no. Link was not dealing with that. Several soldiers flinched and grabbed their weapons, and Link was ready to yank his fire rod out in the middle of camp.

"Don't the rest of you have enough to do?" he snapped at them. "Start cleaning up camp! Leaders, make sure everyone is fed and ready to go. Have there been preparations made to transport the wounded to the nearest village? Move."

Not bothering to see how they responded, Link whirled on the Fierce Deity. He placed his hands on his hips and glared into those blank white eyes. "And you. Aren't you supposed to be an ancient war god? Shouldn't you be better than this? Return Mask so he can help us move out and by the Three, I expect better from you the next time I see you!"

Silence reigned over the camp. Link's head throbbed. The Fierce Deity stared at him. Link didn't know what he was thinking and right then, he didn't care.

"Now," Link said pointedly.

Someone whimpered behind him. Link was ready to strangle the lot.

The Fierce Deity looked at Link and then nodded once. Soundlessly, forever soundlessly, the Fierce Deity raised its hands and grabbed the edges of its face. In a move which caused Link to eternally cringe, it yanked off its face with a soundless scream. Just like that, the Fierce Deity was gone and Mask swayed in front of Link, looking at him like he had never seen him before.

"Captain," he whispered in awe.

Mask looked pale and exhausted. Link bet he hadn't had breakfast, either. Link leaned down and scooped Mask into his arms. For once, Mask didn't protest. Taking advantage of Mask's silence, Link stomped toward the tent.

"There had better be coffee when I get there!" Link roared. Three different soldiers bolted in the direction of the makeshift mess hall.

Ridiculous. The lot of them.

Including the thrice-damned Fierce Deity. If they insisted on acting like overgrown children, then Link would treat them that way.

[sluttyminghao]

Seventeen x Phone Sex

95 line - 96 line - 97 line - 98+99 line

♡ word count: 880 ♡ genre: smut - 18+ only ♡ a/n: and here's the 97 line version! only one more to go after this! thank u to my dear friends @svthub for helping brainstorm some ideas!

Seokmin: He definitely loves phone sex, that’s for sure but would lean towards being more submissive and wanting to please you rather than the other way around, given his nature when he’s not horny. I think he’d be pretty shy at first (and every other time after that), especially if you haven't done it very often, and would be scared to initiate anything with you, and even if he had a raging erection he would be too scared to say or do anything. However, once you’re both in the mood and things are underway, he wouldn't be able to hold back; he’d be moaning and whining and letting his hand work overtime on his red and angry cock while you’re talking and moaning with him. “Your voice is so pretty, baby, are you close to cumming all over that pretty chest of yours?” He would whine even louder when you humiliate him (I think he has a thing for being humiliated change my mind) and would cum so fast when you call him a slut or a whore. When he’s feeling more dominant, he enjoys edging himself while you moan and whine and he guides you through it. I don’t think he’d go far with humiliation or anything degrading with you, but more so would be into praising you, telling you how well you’re doing for him and would drag the begging out of you ever so slowly, making sure that you cum as hard as possible with your fingers or toys. As soon as you’re both done, he’s immediately helping you over the phone through your orgasm and making sure you clean up and have some water, as well as sending some food to you.

Mingyu: This man is not going to let you go easy at all, especially over the phone. You thought he was an energetic ball of energy when he was with you in bed, but it seems to multiply when he’s on the phone. When he’s this excited, it can only mean he’s going to cum extremely fast OR he will drag it out to the point where you’re both exhausted. He would be wanting to do everything and anything and going a million miles an hour in typical Mingyu fashion, so you eventually have to slow him down with calm words and praise (he loves praise). Whenever you praise him, it immediately goes to his cock and he has to refrain from immediately busting his load all over himself and his thighs, and even his phone. Honestly, it makes your ego grow exponentially just by saying a few words to him, even through the phone. He’s so easy to manipulate, especially when he’s feeling needy and submissive. “Mingyu baby, can you just focus on my voice for a bit? Just take it easy and pretend it’s my hand wrapped around your throbbing cock instead~” And immediately he would be putty in your hand, bending to your every word and hanging on every syllable. He seems like he’d be submissive, with the way he’s whining and pleading to cum, but he’s definitely got an ulterior motive; knowing that when he’s submissive is when you are the most vulnerable and he can play you like a doll. As soon as he thinks you’re at your peak, he shifts from the submissive facade he’s been upholding and switches to dominance, ordering you to cum on his count and then making you overstimulate yourself as well.

Minghao: I feel like Minghao isn't the type to be the biggest fan of phone sex, but if desperate times called for desperate measures, he would play into it for you. Sometimes he’s away for work and the spicy photos just aren't cutting it for either of you, no matter how sexy they are. He’d call and listen to your wants and desires and knows you’re probably already touching yourself given your breathy words and muffled moans, most likely being hidden into your pillow. Minghao is definitely the type to drag your orgasm out, make you work for it and then edge you until you’re sobbing into the phone, and he’d also be the type to want to video chat rather than just audio; he wants to be able to see you, guide you through it and see exactly when you’re about to fall apart so he can edge you some more. “You’re being so good for me, darling, why don’t you edge yourself a little more baby? I know you can do it” His soothing and low voice would only light the fire in your belly a little more, and immediately has you needing to cum. He’s observing you, watching as you slowly fall apart from his simple words and husky voice all the while his cock is twitching with want. He doesn't touch himself however, he’s too focused on you and watching you twitch and whine, especially so when he starts talking to you again. Minghao isn't one for overuse of praise or degradation but uses a good balance of both depending on both of your moods. As in typical Minghao fashion, he’s probably going to make you beg for your orgasm too, whispering his name and how badly you want to cum before falling apart in front of him.

[comingdownwithme]

what do they do now that they’ve seen each other?

and how long does it take toby to eventually become fond of jeff again?

When they first saw each other, Jeff was fucking elated. In that moment, he wasn't "Jeff the Killer", a wanted man, dead or alive for a growing number of homicides, instead, he was Jeffery Woods, known teen troublemaker, eldest brother of a four person family, and a lost man who had damned himself to hell when he took out his grief and rage in the worst way possible after that night of the fire.

The man was desperate for that sense of familiarity, a sense of normalcy, of home, and there he was, just out of reach.

But for Toby, the bane of his existence was there, just within swinging distance.

And so, the proxy attacks.

Jeff would move on instinct, swinging first before he could even think.

The guilt that followed when he realised he had left a long, clean line from Toby's chest up to his shoulder still eats at him to this very day, stinging far worse than the deep cut Toby had left when he swung his axe into his side.

Jeff, crashing hard from the high he was riding only the briefest of seconds earlier, ran.

The proxy gave chase. The hooded man was in his territory, the hunting grounds of a faceless monster and those who serve it, and if there's any place Toby knew better than the back of his hand, it was these woods.

But Jeff didn't get this far, didn't get to live this long, if he wasn't a damn good escapist.

So, in the end, he had managed to get away. The odds were vastly against him, but Jeff was a survivor at heart and he had a track record for evening the odds and turning the losing hand the universe gave him into something passable.

Still, as the white-hooded killer grew the distance between him and the edge of those damned woods, confused and hurt not only by the still-bleeding wound at his side, but by the way his best friend had reacted, Jeff- sinking into his most selfish impulses- wanted that sense of normalcy, wanted to sink his teeth into the feeling of comfort he had gotten a mere taste of so badly and never let go, and if the world won't give him that, then he'll just have to carve that space himself.

And so, Jeff kept coming back.

It would take a good while until Toby warms up to Jeff again, both because of his reluctance to and because the both of them aren't exactly ones to stay in one place for too long, though Jeff is the one that makes sporadic appearances due to being- y'know- a known serial killer on the run.

Still, Toby does eventually grow closer to him. Especially when A) Jeff is a persistent asshole who won't miss a single second whenever he's around to visit Toby, even actively searching for him when he has the time to and getting into trouble as he does, and B) Toby just... can't bring himself to actually kill the other man. He's hated him for so, so long, but in every instance he had caught him off guard and attacked, Toby would stand, frozen in place before he could even finish the other man off.

The first time Toby had attacked Jeff led him to rsalise that something had happened to his best friend. Something bad, and something big. but God knows Jeff shouldn't be talking about how much someone had changed when he can barely even recognise the thing that stares back at him in the mirror.

His own hesitance annoyed the proxy to hell and back at first, but eventually Jeff's persistence and a lack of self preservation paid off, and Toby- either feeling too worn out to even bother, or was feeling particularly generous that one night- gave in just this once.

Then he gave in again when prompted at Jeff's next visit.

And again with the next.

And again.

And then one night, maybe, he's come to the realisation that he's started to miss the pale, deformed rat of a man who seems to know Toby better than even he himself does, to miss the ghost that had been haunting him all this time.

[profounddefendorcrusade-blog]

I feel bad for Starlo. (pt. 9)

Star's the Papyrus (both are idealistic & seen as naive) of this game (Martlet is another possible parallel), even though he's got similarities with Undyne too. No matter how broken Ceroba seemed he asked himself WHY she did what she did and I think that's SUPER important.

Ceroba didn't do this. Her first instinct was to be harsh (after being harsh with him even BEFORE he attacked Clover):

called his personality "damaged" before this scene

... you never asked yourself WHY he did the whole sheriff act.

.... you never asked WHY he didn't want to grow up. If it was a coping mechanism, if he wanted to help his community in a way he couldn't as a farmer? It was never on her mind.

Yes he has baggage but he's dealing with it all while uplifting others, Ceroba has baggage but is well taken care of by Star and at least has him, he has no one but himself and his optimism to pull him out of negative feelings, and still gets insulted.

Yeah Ceroba's been through stuff but apparently it's been some time since Chujin passed and Kanako fell down, she should have at least started to support Star emotionally like he's been supporting her (sure, he did so with distractions, but as he said "aren't distractions what's best for all of that?" He did his best). Problem is she DIDN'T realise he was ever struggling with self worth and only assumed he was goofing off. Either that or she did nothing about it aka was too occupied with her own problems (which are valid but still... she should have tried at least a little) Cer's character flaw is being too stubborn and devoted to Chujin. She trusted him blindly and wholeheartedly. Everything else came in 2nd place. This is clear as day.

It hurts knowing Ceroba could never respect Starlo the way she still does her husband. Not saying she shouldn't admire Chujin, but the way she sees Star as a goofy manchild whose lifelong passion can go "too far," the way she sees all this Wild East stuff as him "just having fun," the way she thinks that only someone whose brain isn't developed would ever consider dating him just... ticks me off, tbh. That's why I think the guy needs someone who will be gentle and patient with him, even if that other person is going through tough times.

She DID call Starlo the best sheriff she's ever known (honestly the only sweet moment between them in pacifist, but it is very brief, especially in neutral where he just gets cut off; also I hope she was being genuine here) and said how everyone adored him (but hated his persona, which I've already covered: basically they either hated 'North Star' as a whole, which I hope isn't true, or just how excited he was to meet Clover, which makes no sense to me; already covered it as well)

Bonus: Dina didn't know who Star really was or what he looked like, not before the end credits rolled (when he shows up as himself & she's also seen there; makes sense that he finally came clean to her):

So he's literally been playing this role 24/7, ever since she became the bartender; ever since this town started to exist. It's impressive how he could keep up an act AND use this fake accent for so long

Bonus #2: Star was SUPER worried about Clover's safety; that's what REALLY upset him (he cares about that child sm). THAT's what drove him off the edge (unless he naturally has a temper, i don't think this is it tho). Either way, he was way more patient w Ceroba than I think most would have been in that situation. Sure he snapped a few times, but there was a good reason to. He still TRIED to reason with her. Why did he attack? Worried for Martlet & Clover. I honestly think Star's the type to only get super angry if someone he loves is in danger (minus the stuff that happened which led him to cracking)

[ikkosu]

So you know when you wear shorts in summer in a car with a leather seat that your legs stick to it sometimes? I've actually almost fallen out of car bc of that. And because of this experience, may I request this happening to the reader with any autobot of your choice?

THROUGH the glaze of the windshield, traffic churns at a slow, steady pace. Pistons chuff, creak and groan; beaten down by the glare of the sun, little by little the mottled blurs of car start to file out.

Everytime, you think you're going to wrangle out of this hellhole — a wide gap-like opening, blaring out like the heavens for freedom — you find yourself stuck in another junction, relapsing in the same fucking problem.

Stuck in the same place. Between mesh metal of blistering, practically burning from the sun, hot cars.It also doesn't help how raw to the bone hot the weather is.

Heat is seething through the Aircon. You're practically drenched, and the discomfort of having an already wet shirt matted to your wet spine is exacerbated by the goddamn ire before your eyes.

There's a truck, in front of you.

A very old truck.

And, fast?

Not it's greatest virtue.

A lump of irritation bites its way through your teeth. The backside of the truck sputters with black fumes. You're about to relinquish the title of an honorable citizen, when the radio warbles with a staticky breedle.

"You're getting sweat all over the seats, pipsqueak." Comes his sardonic chuff. The insignia lits up with every sass induced spool of his words.

At that you lift up your thighs, a kind of schlap followed after as a result of very sweaty skin latching on leather.

"Suck it cop-bot," You pat the steering wheel. "That's what you get for having shitty air conditioning."

A growl revved up from the engine. The wheel whirls away from your touch three-sixty at max speed.

"You can't expect me to accept the blame, can I? When all there is out there under that— that blisteringly — whatever you call that slag of a weather, is hot fraggin' air."

You blink at the sudden venom in his tone. Prowl's usually, eh usually, the type to keep it down when he's about to lose it : a scowl and a sharp tongue is good enough for lacerating the source of his ire.

For him to snap? Yikes. That takes a lot. A hefty lot. Even with Smokescreen, concierge of shenanigans — worst he's got is a swift chuck to the brig and cleaning duty for a year. And, that's just with a scowl and a low, steady tone.

Guess Cybertronians aren't immune to hot days, either huh. Sun's that bad.

"Is it getting to you too, Prowler?"

"What do you think?" He bites back. "Look at the thermometer. It's exceeding above the usual range of what a normal temperature should be. It's draining up the power in my cooling fans which drains up my fuel, which drains up energon. Which, at this moment, is scarce."

"Hard times, Prowler." You shake your head solemnly. "Hard times."

"You don't get a say in this." He grits out.

The car leers forward with a sudden jerk and your forehead kisses the steering wheel. Not the flat surface where the insignia lies but the edge. You know, the round handle? Bubbles of pain shoot out from the spot and you groan.

"What?" You whined. "It's already hot enough with my ass sticking to your seat — you can't leave me with any more bruises worse than this, alright?"

"Then keep that mouth shut. Or I'm shutting it off for you."

" We're stuck in traffic, though." You grope the steering wheel, grinning at the irritated growl of an engine when he tries to steer it away.

"Will you cut it."

"Hunkering down on a quick brawl in the street doesn't really contribute to the whole," You waggle your hands. " bots in disguise, kind of thing. Not really your style. Doesn't fit you, prowler. Doesn't seem to fit the muse of a..." You trail off, playful and purposeful with your tone. "...law enforcer."

He's quiet for a moment.

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah?"

"Uh huh."

He laughs : a quick sarcastic 'hah' and a chuff.

"Get out."

Yep. There, it is.

"Duly noted."

Your fingers wrangle the door knob. And, as soon as you struggle to pry it open you realize Prowl is keeping it locked.

"Where'd the angry coppa go?" You huffed.

"Oh, you'll see."

"Open the—huh?"

Your fingers grasps the open air, twitching around nothingness. The momentum propels you to slide off your sweat-lathered seat, lurching forward and face first into the hot, concrete road.

[ciceroprofacto]

Fealty

Manhattan, 26 April 1775. (previous)

Words, my boy. Use them wisely, they turn themselves into power.

Mulligan was right that John Lamb could write, but his oratory was either lacking or perhaps the message was simply too unpalatable for Alexander to stomach regardless of how much sugar he coated it with. "Call this what it is!" he called out. "We're retreating."

Several shouts of agreement rose from the crowd of weary defenders. It had taken a full day of fighting room to room to seize the customs house and secure its officials, seven men were injured in the knife-and-pistol fights. Now, after three days of holding it, tired, hungry, and dirty, no one was anywhere near ready to give it up.

Outside these walls, over three-hundred men were scattered throughout the city having led attacks to detain Tory leaders. Who knew how many were hurt or killed. Reports came in every day. But this last report had Lamb shaken enough to suggest ceding their position without Sears here to confirm it...

An impending occupation was all but confirmed in Boston by the failed raids at Lexington and Concord. It was only a matter of time before the same occurred here. After Massachusetts was declared in a state of rebellion, why should New York shy away from the same recognition?

Alexander had shared these familiar theses at the Liberty Pole enough times over the last year that, when he raised his voice to shout, the crowd recognized the timbre of it and hushed down- "When they come for us, there will be more than arrests!"

It was true, and Lamb knew it. The shadow that crossed over his typically-affable face confirmed that.

"Let us fight here- beside you." After the close-call the previous week, the masses descending on the prison to rescue Isaac Sears from being taken in, "Don't make us save you from the gallows!"

The crowd roared at that.

"If we stand here we all die!" Lamb shouted. The noise dwindled. "The Asia has her guns within range from the harbor."

Silence fell.

"Governor Tryon has given us a day to leave or he will fire on the building."

"We have his customs officers here-" it was Nicholas that piped up- a few feet away. "We have hostages that would die."

Alexander was already shaking his head because-

"He doesn't care," Lamb said. "That won't stop him from leveling this building with us inside. We leave this place now, and we fight another day."

With that, it was done.

Over.

The first action of a war, unfought.

The orders were given, and with enough cause to follow them, the crowd dispersed to gather the meager supplies they'd accumulated for themselves at their respective posts. Unit leaders gathered their men and managed the retreat.

Alexander stood in the thinning crowd, allowing it to shift and trickle away around him. After two nights of vigilance, spent on guard duty with nearly no sleep, he felt like a marionette with its strings suddenly cut, liable to collapse.

Lamb met his eyes briefly but couldn't hold his gaze- ashamed.

Alex watched him step down from the base of the pillar he'd been standing on, walking away to join the efforts in cleaning up the mess they'd made of the customs house.

"The Asia's guns aren't trained on us."

Hand flying to the pistol on his thigh, Alex turned to the sudden voice. "Oh...Lottie..."

"Didn't mean to startle you," she said, smirking.

Far too accustomed to finding women in dangerous places lately, and far too exhausted to complain about it, Alexander raised the hand that had been reaching for his gun to rub his face. "What?" he said.

"The Asia," she repeated. "It would be in range if it sailed to the edge of Burnette's Key. But it's not. Where it sits right now, it's too far north...near Lyon's Slip."

Alex blinked, dragging his hand down over his mouth as it dawned on him. The road that lead into the dock on Lyon's Slip, the house that sat on that road. Where the Asia was really aiming. "John's street?"

A nod. "Golden Hill," Lottie agreed.

Lamb was surrounded by subordinate leaders. Men with influence among the dock workers and tradesmen. Men who could threaten his standing among the Sons of Liberty's strongest base.

The loss struck like a fist in the gut.

The inevitable cost of loyalty.

What a fool he'd been.

With Alex's current state of weakness, he couldn't raise the energy to feel it properly. Disappointment. Betrayal. Something.

"With everything you did to keep him out of prison last week, I thought you deserved to know," Lottie said.

The truth was a kindness, even when it stung. So, with a shaking hand, Alex cupped her cheek and leaned to kiss her forehead wordlessly.

He stumbled away to find Nicholas or Troup or any of the Hearts.

[ghostsprettymama]

MONA LISA

"All the time in the world"

Warning: mommy/daddy kink,bondage,blindfolding,knifeplay,slight degrading,edging,mentionings of murder, gang violence, weed , guns. situationships. posessive sex. MDNI 18+

Pairing: gang member! Shuri x reader, childhood crush shuri x childhood crush reader! wlw, dom and sub. fuckbuddies.

Word count: 4,939 words 26,120 characters

ALL CHARACTERS ARE 18+ UNLESS STATED OTHERWISE

part one. part two

A/N: the chapters late due to some technical issues but i still hope you like it

---------------------------

(f/f) = favourite flower

(y/f/c) = your favourite color

xhosa translations -

Nkosazana - my girl.

umntwana wam - my baby

Le intombazana izoba kukufa kwam-This girl will be the death of me

----------------------------

Y/n Pov

She woke up with an aching headache, luckily it was the weekend. She turned on the tv taking her braids out letting her natural hair breathe.

soon she got up to washing n blow drying her hair, her mind full of thoughts. She styled her hair, cleaned up her room going back to rest in her room.

Damn. These two days were a lot she thought to herself running over the things that happened in two days. Am I just forgiving shuri for doing dumb shit to me? Im just letting her walk over me at this fucking point. you sighed, getting on her for being a playgirl and tryna control her from fucking people when we aren't together, fuck do I look like acting pussy crazed? you made a face while watching your favorite tv show.

You sat there thinking, lost in your thoughts deciding to get your shit together. You can't be out here in ATL crawling on all fours for shuri. You got dressed in a presentable fit, putting jewelry on, fuck I forgot to brush my teeth. You sighed brushing your teeth and putting makeup over the hickeys.

you left your phone at home going next door to the Udaku household you knocked once and T’challa answered, there were people in the back. And your brother. “Shuri isn't here,” T’challa said closing the door but you stopped it with your hand. “Not here for her. thank you.” you said staring up at him “Erik is- “not for him either nigga damn. Where is your mother?” you said getting annoyed with him.

“She's out back but aren't you too dolled up to be in a garden,” T’challa said raising an eyebrow and trying to get smart with you” boy I don't have the time or energy to deal with you today, either you move or im climbing that bigass fence out back, “ you said being deadass serious, they never took you seriously till you got pissy with them.

“ ight ight chill ma damn,” said T’challa letting you in. You see a woman with locs, she smiled and waved at you, a skin-bald woman focusing on talking to a man who looked like he lived breathed, and worshiped the gym, he made eye contact with you and you shivered walking faster to the back.

You opened the door to the garden seeing Ramonda drinking tea, she was waiting for you. “What's wrong umntwana wam?”(my baby) when you got to her table you sighed sitting down.

“I'm just so lost ever since we left Georgia.” You said holding her hand “well I'm here to listen, tell me everything, whatever you don't tell me I know already, honesty is key.” Said Ramonda smiling softly but being dead serious, ever since you were little she knew everything that happened as if she had eyes everywhere and you didn't know.

You took a deep breath and Ramonda nodded. “Well ever since we were moving here so fast without me being told this I've been so stressed. Because the day after I didn't go to school, T’challa and Erik cut connections with each other at 14, and for 3 years we kept fucking moving from school to school and then we came here??” you sounded so fucking confused “ And I was so happy to see shuri, I even ignored how I felt when I was with her because she made me feel so happy and good, then when I spent the night we did something, and I couldn't even wake up next to her I woke up in my room, no note no nothing just a text telling me to dress pretty for her like I'm some fucking doll” you expressed your frustrations while Ramonda watered her plants. She was listening, no matter what she did, she told you to continue either way.

“Then she smacked my butt? Idk why she keeps doing that I never understood the shit. And when I yelped because it hurt Erik and T’ just acted weird telling me not to scream or they're gonna make sure someone stops breathing?? Like and they were reaching for something too ?? Were normal highschoolers I don't get why it's like this Maam” you said face planting onto the glass table. “umntwana wam, don't do that it'll bruise your pretty face.” she went behind you taking care of your hair while you spoke to her about what happened.

“ And in school, these girls approached me at Gym trying to tell me to avoid shuri cause she's a playgirl, they call me fat like being fat is a bad thing? Then proceed to flirt with shuri in front of me and I guess shuri was ‘lost in the moment “ you said doing air quotes causing Ramonda to make an mm-mm sound . “and said hurtful shit and I didn't know what to do so I did what I did at other schools when I'm overwhelmed, I went to the bathroom but then ran there when the girl's friends ran after me to just give me a panic attack by yelling things and banging on my door” you said huffing you felt Ramonda braiding your hair but she was gentle and made sure not to hurt you.

“And then the girl I met when I was going to class with Shuri OH NO ABOUT THAt. Her name is Riri, right? She was so nice to me for some reason and we clicked instantly” you smiled at the memory “she helped me hide the gifts.. Shuri left” you rolled your eyes and Ramonda smacked your head, you hissed in pain “ow!” you say “ if you keep rolling those eyes you're gonna roll them to outer space,” she said, “ continue.”

You continued “ then this weir- I mean odd white boy” Ramonda never liked the word weird, she doesn't find people weird she finds them misguided. “he kept staring at me, then the teacher Ms. Romanoff was digging for information out of me, I was so confused because normal teachers don't fucking do that?? And Riri and Shuri already were shaking their heads no, even though I didn't know how to respond. nothing interesting about my family they are just farmers and accountants" she sighed " and then peter, that's the white boy's name btw, he was saying I don't know shit I should, Riri and shuri told him to shut up and just told me to hurry up to gym" you said confused as hell " Peter is right you don't" she said nearly finished with your hair, she was so relaxed while listening, a bird even landed on her shoulder.

"and that led to what I said at the gym, but I ended up crying so hard I threw up, and then Riri offered to help me fix my makeup or make it better, and she did." you smiled again at the bonding moment," she said she was gonna 'air this bitch out ' if they don't leave me alone whatever that means," you said shrugging, the motion made the bird leave.

"then yk the three musketeers came in looking like riri killed someone even though ik she wouldn't, that's illegal and only bad people do it.” you said confidently from what your “mother,” told you.

“ then they overwhelmed me, especially Erik trying to question me when I was already WAYY too overstimulated,” you said rubbing your temples while Ramonda did your edges. “I went to the library to fall asleep, I only wanted to skip through lunch, but I skipped 2 whole periods.” you said in a confused manner not knowing you were that tired “ Dont do that again, skipping is harmful to your grades.” she interrupted, showing care for you.

“and then shuri for some reason even if she was mad laid her head on my lap, and we ended up doing that. And I forgave her for some reason... That's all Maam” She nodded sitting down but yelled for Nakia, the girl with braided hair came out “ Yes ma'am? “ she had a nice voice, and she was pretty too..” could you take this set inside? We're done with our tea” Ramonda asked not breaking eye contact with you.

“Of course Ma'am" she nodded taking it inside not batting an eye at you. "so before I get into it and be honest with you, I want to meditate with you to make sure you're calm," Ramonda said, getting up placing two mats in the grass. you got on your mat sitting down crisscross applesauce style, Ramonda doing the same.

She guided you throughout the meditation with deep breaths and clearing your mind, you closed your eyes Repeating the steps and doing what you were told.

T’challa pov.

I don't know what the fuck her problem was when she came but I kept my cool.

I locked the door closing the blinds, everyone's phone was in a basket with their locations off.

“Who was that? “ M’baku said, with a smile on his face”nunya damn business nigga leave my sister alone” Erik Gave a stank face to M’baku, that dude always was a straight up weirdo to him.

“or what ??? You ain’t touching me" M'Baku said knowing it was the truth. Erik rubbed his temples " NIGGA SHEES GAAAY." Erik said tired of this beefy ass man. "oh" M'Baku said adjusting himself. Okoye bursted out laughing as Nakia chimed in laughing their asses off. "HAAA HE WAS GONNA TRY TO FUCK ON A GAY GIRL" Nakia laughed wheezing so hard she sounded like she was on life support.

When the two were done laughing like hyenas, the tv turned on as T'challa was presenting " So wbk gang and plug business that's how we thrive here." Everyone nodded some going like mhm, yea. " Recently our shipments have been going missing when in manhattan"T'challa had shown photos of 8 people A Man that look like he was freshly 50, with brown hair and a small beard, a long mustache, at the first incident with the touch passing through Greensboro, North Carolina. the truck driver was shot and the goods were taken.

then a woman that looked like Y/n's teacher, in a black jumpsuit, skintight. The truck was just barely through Charlottesville, she appeared in front of it causing it to crash off the course and blow up.

another one played, this one was familiar to Erik, it was the silhouette of his classmate peter parker. “T’ where these people from?” Erik looked at T’challa who looked at Nakia, she came back from outside putting the tea sets on the counter. “ They're from manhattan New York, working with Stark industries under stark directly” she turned on her computer and connected it to the tv, clicking on google docs.

“These docs are 67 pages in the counting of the information I collected on them including employee information. and ally information" Nakia said, her voice sounding like candy.

“Get to the point,” M’baku said, growing impatient with this talk, okoye rolled her eyes tired of this sassy ass man.

“I messaged you all your targets as the district leaders, you know what to do, quick, clean quiet” Nakia ended her presentation sitting back down as the lights came back on T’challa came back to the center.

“Do not by any means involve bystanders that aren't mentioned. “ T’challa said “ T’challa I don't get it, if the Kid was born into this why isn't she involved,” Okoye asked leaning against the wall and staring at the 6-foot man, Okoye definitely wasn't for this babying nonsense, she's grown, time to put her work in. “ shes soft, she’d fuck up,” Said T’challa deflecting her statement.

“Like Erik hasn't fucked up? He fucked up taking territory, and shipment deals ain't that why you petty ass niggas ain't friends no more because of that? But * she mocked T’challa babying y/n* ‘oh she's just a baby’” Okoye rolled her eyes to mars and back “if it's too much on her then that's that but you need to see her as a grown ass woman, not a child” Okoye said clearing T’challa

He looked at Nakia for help and she shrugged him off “she's right, shuri literally controls a district” Nakia seconds Okoyes point “but you do need to stop.” Nakia and Okoye sighed in unison “ But as you said don't involve bystanders right? Don't involve her in this” Nakia said, it was a threat to T’challa, and she didn't wanna see that kid in the business they were in.

Y/N pov

When You and Ramonda finished our meditation she sat me down explaining everything.

“you had to move from your last home because Erik had messed up a deal, he accidentally left the backpack full of the goods he was selling, and you know how that goes.” Y/n looked at Ramonda, not believing her, this shit sounded like the stuff that’d be in the movies. “You moved because it was trouble and would threaten your life since you hung around the customer, and they knew where you lived” she said "Don't believe it? read "

she tossed the newspaper to me and y/n read it. she couldn't believe it all when she got done reading she looked at Ramonda. "Is this gonna affect how you see us and your family?" Ramonda looked at her, hoping the girl wouldn't have said the wrong answer. “No. I know you guys aren't bad. But I have a question” Y/n said causing Ramonda to raise her eyebrow “ have any of you killed anyone?” Y/n said and Ramonda nodded.

“Justified in our eyes, they killed our members so we killed theirs.” Ramonda sipped her drink “ you won't be involved due to your heart being soft, and your little entanglement with shuri.”Ramonda said, wanting to avoid problems and issues in her business "oh, and about shu- "don't put all your peas in the pod, and shuri is just misguided and confused as are you, find your path." Ramonda interrupted "Oh and go to the store with The kids and their friends yeah? Here's the list. Use the car too" Ramonda handed me the list, wow that's a lot to unpack.

when I went in the house shuri was in the kitchen, she smiled at me, I wasn't gonna ignore her, I smiled back at her" Cmon Ramonda said we need to go to the grocery store" everyone turned their heads to me as I said that, T'Challa came over to me grabbing for the list but I smacked his hand. “I'm not a baby, don't baby me. I can get the stuff too, I'm a grown-ass woman T’challa” you snapped, stored anger coming out “She told me to drive too so cmon” you said walking through the living room and heading outside, the crew near the couch and shrugged not caring who drives. Everyone had come out with masks n hats on, shuri too.

You saw how good she looked, biting your lips and looking her up and down, but you shook your head not giving in to the temptations of that woman, Okoye, M'baku, and nakia hopped in their cars. you used the keys to unlock the car hopping in, shuri hopping in next to You, the two boys that were left sitting in the back.

“Ma, can you not crash this car ? We need it “ shuri said to you joking “before we drive im saying this to all of you” they looked at y/n confused as hell. “ Dont baby me. The shit is weird and im grown Aight?im not little anymore, babying me makes me uncomfortable, so treat me seriously" you said starting up the car , you drived infront of the other three, them following behind.

"What makes you think we baby you Y/n?" Erik said geniunely not noticing. " you treat me like i cannot handle my own situations, do everything for me and not let me do anything, when i want space you invade it and comfort me like im a child throwing a tantrum. dont do that shit anymore, this includes you shuri" you said with a monotone voice finally setting boundaries.

Erik nodded looking at T'challa, he also nodded accepting what y/n said. Shuri nodded slowly kissing her teeth.

You loved the sight of her being pissed off, she doesn't like being called off on shit she did as a mistake. you parked in front of nakia got out of the car taking the keys.

you hummed getting a cart, "wait get inside it" shuri said to me, with a smile on her face. "hmm.. alright ill go with your idea." You said hopping and sitting in the cart.

Shuri, pushed the cart with me inside, T'challa had split the list up for us to split up and get the items so they weren't in this store for long.

First me and shuri went down the dairy isle, we picked some things out , mainly eggs, then she span me around fast causing me to grip the cart tight. she giggled looking at me " stop taking everything seriously, have a little fun"

shuri said playing with my braids "mmmh my mom did this?" she tugged on it causing me to smack her hand.

"yeah she did and I look pretty." you took her advice and improved, you felt so free now, Shuri would grab seeds tossing them in. "I'm still mad at you though," you said, shuri kept going saying mhm “ because every time I'm upset you comfort me and we end up fucking, like I enjoy us fucking but when I need space I expect you to give it, and ill do the same." you looked back at her and she gave a kiss on your lips.

"im sorry my Nkosazana, ill take note of that to make your experience with me better." she gently strokes your face causing you to melt. "mmh hate when you just do that" you crossed tour arms pretending you weremt affected, you werent gonna let her she the affect she has on you. "what its just a kiss? am i not allowed to do that now mami?" Shuri smirked putting more stuff in the cart.

"Ah my legs are asleep, i wanna get out." you got out the cart with Shuri's help, wobbeling abit since your legs were asleep for 5 minutes. Shuri cackled at how you wobbled getting some ideas for later.

"Not today satan!" you said walking away from her as you heard her say so damn loud the entire store good hear almost " damn i love to see you go but hate to see you leavee.." she said without any shame in the world.

you walked faster bumping into Riri at the store, shuri was behind you but Riri wasnt paying no mind to her.

"Oh thanks for redoing my makeup i needed that yesterday" You said smiling at riri. "oh no problem, youre the world to me so id do anything to stop a friend crying" Riri smiled.

You gave her a hug, Riri's head laying in between your breasts, when you finished the hug she raised an eyebrow. "god damn i almost got suffocated between them bitches." Riri laughed causing you to laugh so hard you hold your stomach " god damn Ri your laugh is fucking contageous " you Sighed feeling eyes on you, you turned to shuri and man she wasnt happy, you dont know how but you wanted her to feel like how you felt yesterday.

"byee riri, oh wait! "you put on red lipstick, dark from your bag. "stay still f'me " you crouched, Riri taking offense to it, looking you up and down but her eyes wandering to your breast, then her eyes moving to shuri whose eyes were burning through her skull watching Y/n kiss her forehead.

“Damn Y/n thats all the love i get? I see now you js dont love your new bestie then.” Riri said, she was smart enough to know what you were doing, you planted kisses all over her face before going back to shuri, at this point your lipstick was off.

"okokay im done now lets check out!" you said with a smile,Shuri remained silent,moving to checkout. The cashieer didnt look at Shuri neither did the bagger. you hummed helping them , you looked at shuri seeing her text someone, you shrugged going outside.

You used the keys to T'challas car to unlock the trunk safely putting all the goods inside, closing the trunk.

LATER

You took a shower at shuri's, for some reason Ramonda told you to stay the night, out of curiousity, You sat on shuri's bed wearing a big T-shirt,no panties.

Shuri came in late, your eyes were on the tv hearing her close and lock the door,in this house when doors are locked no one goes upstairs, especially when its Shuri.

"Oh? how was your little buisness trip?"you looked at her with a innocent smile"buisness trip? ma i didnt go on no damn trip." Shuri said looking at you, she was already frustrated and upset yet you pushed further.

"oh dont lie to me i already know , your mother told me, so how was it." you looked back at the tv hearing shuri get close , her sweat going past the chains she waas wearing.

"do i need to teach you to mind your fucking buisness?" she gripped my jaw roughly turning me to face her,her eyes staring at me like i lost my damn mind " who are you talking to because it isnt m-" before you could even finish, her hand moved to your throat, turning your pussy into a pool. she was nearly choking you if she didnt have restraint.

"Say something smart and i will fuck you till you cant even think of some smart shit to say t'me, im most deffinently not the one bitch. you already pissed me off and im not in the moods for your games" She said, her accent coming out as she looked down at me as if i was a mere pet to her.

" takes a bitch to know o-" Again i couldnt get a word out, Shuri would let go of my throat and jaw flipping me over to where im on my stomach.

She got ontop of me whispering in my ear. "give me your verbal consent and ill pleasure you better then no woman can. ill have you wishing you were mine. ill even have you knowing who this pussy belongs to yeah?" She said in my ear, her accent turning me on. I'd nod and she yanked my hair back causing me to look up "Verbal.

I don't do that nodding shit." she said spitting venom at me “ Y-yes..” I whimpered out “yes what? Am i gonna have to teach you proper manners?” She said tilting her head, id only know this from the mirror she's forcing me to look at. “Yes mommy,” I said the shame leaving my body.

“atta girl. I wanna try somethin’ new” she unhooked my bra with one hand “sit up.im gonna get something right quick.” You sat up, your body acting against you once more.

You heard the Drawer open, looking at the stuff shuri pulled out, yet her back was blocking you from seeing, she left the room coming back with a clean strap on, rope and a blindfold.

“Shuri i dont thi- “i know you dont think, speak when youre told to.” She said

Tying you up making sure all you could move was your lower half.

Shuri blindfolded you tying it around you,you felt something graze against your skin, something sharp, you were scared yet aroused. "I dont get it Sthandwa.(my love) you know damn well im better than every bitch you could be with" she said, her eyes following your body. "You trying to make me jealous with Riri is crazy. You know damn well that girl cant do what i do." she kissed down your body, you felt the pretty marks she left.

"You aint catch what i said last time.." she whispered in your ear biting it gently, she left kisses and hickeys everywhere, every corner and area was covered.

she pulled me closer to her, flipping me onto my back facing her. i kicked her back putting up a challenge, she moved catching my leg. " i hope you dont fight this messy, you'd get your ass beat baby" she went to my wet pussy putting two fingers in, slowly thrusting them, I arched my back moaning, the way she thrusted and curled them made eyes roll back.

The squelching was heard causing Shuri to give a seductive 'mmh.' in response, she thrusted faster causing me to rock my hips with the thrusts my eyes watering , "ffuck im gonna cum soon Shurii.." Y/n moaned.

Shuri stopped towering over y/n, a frown over her face "Forget the name you know me by." Shuri demanded " when im pleasuring you, when im making love you, you will adress me as Ma'am, mommy, daddy wtv." She stared at me, you knew what she wants you to say, you dont wanna say it though. and yet my body yearns for her touch"Please Mommy . please can i cum from your fingers?" you whined out for her, soon enough she inserted her cold fingers back into your pussy abusing your G spot.

You arched your back to gour best abilities, unable to do it as well as you wanted due to the velvet ropes on your your body.

Your fluids went all over her fingers, you panted as your chest heaved up and down "mmh you look so pretty right now" shuri coo's tracing my figure with her knife.

" i dont 'preciate you kissin on other women baby." she frowned mocking me.

HOURS LATER.

You were shaking, your fluids dripping down youd legs after youve been edged so much. you could barely even think about anything, your words slurred as you were a moaning mess.

Shuri turned off the vibrator as soon as you were so close to cumming.

"now who are you thinking of hm? is it me? Sthandwa" (my love) she smiled at you, gently caressing your face.

"My brain is only full of you Mommy, please,I wanna cum" you begged and whined grinding against nothing, your fluids leakinf on her silky white sheets.

Her strap teased your folds as you whined "say the magic words." She said with a chuckle. "please fuck me, I deserve it, I deserve it so much" you wanted to reach for her but you couldn't, maybe if you weren't bratting, you wouldn't be tied up.

Shuri entered you slowly causing you to bite your lips, “it hhurts dont mmove” you whinced in pain “ ‘s okay baby, tell me when i can. Ill be gentle with you , for a short amount if time of course” she said, after a while the pain was gone “ you can move now i promise” you said nodding .

She thrusted slowly inside of me. Keeping the Rythm, she knew what she was doing, You wiggled in your restraints wanting to touch and hold her desperately.

“ Aww y/n wanna touch? Too bad. Maybe if you kept your lips to yourself this wouldn't have happened” she hissed out, she thrusted faster pleasuring you, her fingers circling your clit.

Your stomach turned into a knot as you bit your lips moaning louder, your sweet moans echoing throughout the house.

“Gonna cum again baby? Go ahead, ill let you ride your high” she set faster turning your brain into mush, you squirted uncontrollably as you twitched, panting,your senses were so overstimulated yet so deprived.

Shuri untied you ,gently removing your blindfolds,she picked you up carying you to the bathroom sitting you in the bathtub, once the bath was full, and (y/f/c) with (f/f) petals in it thanks to shuri.

“mmh. That was... A new experience” Y/n said sinking into the tub,”why dont you get in shuri, its big enough for two of us.” You said with a tired smile.

“Mmm.. Nah im good, jus’ let me take care of you ma” Shuri said dismissing the idea of being taken care of. “Mmm please mommy?” you said smiling .

“ Le intombazana izoba kukufa kwam.” she said looking up to any god that was left to help her. (This girl will be the death of me ) she undressed what left she had on, getting in.

LATER.

The two girls laid in bed together cuddled upon eachother, ofc y/n was the little spoon.

“Why cant i have you?” Y/n said looking up at shuri, she yawned trying to keep her eyes open. “ were both not ready yet. “ shuri said kissing my head. “Shit we havent had an actual kiss yet and you want us to- You interrupted her by kissing her passionately on her lips. Shuri kissed back moving y/n to ontop of her.

“Y/n if you want me take your time with yourself and me. Do you even know if you like me?” Shuri said, pulling y/n close and hugging her.

“I dont know... I dont even know what liking feels like.. Im too tired to think right now...” y/n said falling asleep.

shuri looked at her shaking her head.

“I'll give you all the time in the world.” shuri kissed her head before shutting her eyes.

[razzzletazzle]

title: Jacob's Ladder (read on ao3)

rating: G

summary: Digging for scraps in order to survive another barren winter, the boys find something far more precious than a space heater. The baby they pick up might not keep them warm, but he gives them something far more important: a reason to fight for the future.

inspired by this amazing art by @tapakah0 !

Dawn crawled into morning, sun peeking over the horizon, shining pale light on the razed town. Mounts of piled destruction littered the broken streets, heaping around the cracked and folded-together asphalt. Homes stood here, once, but now only skeletons remained, a glimpse of a simpler past found in the bright pink bike handle peeking out from under fallen walls, its purple glitter tassel rustling in a barely-there breeze.

Leo dug his hands deeper into the pile of debris he was sitting on. Sharp edges threatened to nick his hands, but he ignored the almost painful scrape against his scales.

Winter was almost at their doorstep, Autumn rolling further into dark, further into cold. Barely any snow fell anymore, but the nights and days had gotten more cutting, the cold had grown sharper teeth. If they wanted to make it through the coming season, they needed supplies. Clothes, blankets, machinery that Donnie could fix up or use to make new, better ones. Anything that would keep them alive and, if they were lucky, somewhat comfortable.

Rays of sun filtered from behind wispy clouds, finally finding him and his brothers. They brought him no warmth.

Leo tossed a broken phone – snapped clean in two and hanging on by force of will alone, the top and bottom parts crushed up almost past the point of being recognizable – over his shoulder. It clattered down the hill and onto the street below, where it either lay still, flat at the bottom of the pile, or disappeared into one of the giant cracks in the road. The noise echoed, only for a moment, and then all was quiet again, the only sound the scraping of concrete as their two strongest moved giant slabs out of the way, and the grind of small stones, wood, and whatever else was buried in the pile where he and Donnie were digging for scraps.

It was dull – almost oppressive, the silence that clung to his family. To himself, too, now, far too often. Sure, they still laughed, they still found comfort in each other, they were still there, but it was almost like they were muted, and Leo's fingers itched to turn the brightness back up. The need to speak, to fill the unbearable quiet, bubbled in his chest and clawed up his throat.  Sometimes Leo ignored it, this pressing urge, swallowed it back and pushed it down, hoping it would settle and ease. But sometimes he couldn't suppress it, the sight and lack of sound too heavy to endure.

A laugh, at the very least, would sound heavenly right now.

So he sighed, and he groaned, drawn-out and grossly exaggerated, and tossed his head onto his shoulder to look at Donnie, working diligently next to him. Leo's arms were still buried, half-way up to his elbows, in the debris.

"There's nothing but junk here."

He might've counted the familiar pull of Donnie's scowl as his first, small step towards victory, if Donnie's tone wasn't so tight.

"Of course it's all junk." Leo twitched at the edge that sharpened the words. "But it's your job to find the parts that aren't total scrap and give them to me so I can decide whether it's usable or not."

"I've done this before, you know," Leo muttered, and saw Donnie's scowl deepen out of the corner of his eyes. "I'm just saying, we've been at this for thirty minutes and we've found zilch."

There was a comment curling around Donnie's lips, Leo could tell, a rough dismissal, saying Leo just wasn't looking hard enough, then. Donnie probably found some useful things already. Instead, he said: "You have no sense of time. It's been ten minutes, at best."

"Says Mr. Hyper-focus," Leo said under his breath. He pulled at something stuck tight in the pile, wiggled it, and yanked it loose. He briefly lost his balance, rocking back on his heels, and managed to not tumble down. He looked at the piece in his hand.

More junk.

He tossed it over his shoulder.

Okay, new plan. Gauge how annoyed Donnie was exactly and how far he could push this, or if he shouldn't push anything at all, and if he should let the heavy shroud of silence settle back over them.

"Donnie," Leo whined, and watched keenly as his brother rolled his eyes. Alright, not a bad sign. Meant Donnie was in a poor mood, but not a leave me alone or I'll vaporize you mood. More an I need some TLC so I'd like my darling twin to annoy me mood. Sure, Donnie would never put it in those exact terms, but Leo was a verified Donnie-connoisseur, and he knew exactly what his brother needed.

Leo put his hands up and presented them to his still-working brother. They were dark with grime. "My fingers hurt," he announced with a pout.

"Tragic," Donnie said and dug further into the pile. "What do you want me to do about it?"

"Kiss it better?"

Disgust curled at Donnie's snout and Leo fought not to grin. "I'm not going anywhere near those dirty paws of yours."

Mischievously, Leo wiggled his fingers and cooed: "Awww, but Donnie, they hurt! You wouldn't leave your only twin to suffer!"

He lunged, shoving his hands into Donnie's face, relishing the shriek he drew from his twin.

Donnie spluttered, pulling away sharply and trying, futilely, to keep Leo at arm’s length. He bared his teeth, fangs glinting, and snapped at Leo's squirming fingers straying too close to his mouth.

"So mean, Don-Don!" Leo whined around a laugh.

"If you don't get your hands – off! I'll happily be an only twin in two minutes!"

"Awww, that's so sweet of you to say! You think I'd hold out against your arsenal for two whole minutes!"

"Make that ten seconds. Nine. Eight. Seven – "

"Donnie," Raph's voice came, tired but still fond, from a little way behind them. "Don't threaten Leo with fratricide."

"Then he shouldn't– !" Donnie made another attempt to bite off Leo's wriggling fingers. "Tell him to stop! And that he needs a bath." To Leo, he said with a glower: "You stink worse than the sewers."

"Like you're any better, hermano."

"We all need a bath," Raph said as he picked both of them up by the scruff of their shirt and hung them in the air like particularly naughty kittens. "Both of you stink to high heaven, but you don't hear me complaining. So quit squabbling and get back to digging."

Donnie made a noise of protest. "I was working just fine before Leo–!"

Raph shook him once, jostling him and pulling his shirt just so that his arms hiked up, and gave him a look. Donnie acquiesced with a grumble and a stubborn, but meaningless, attempt at crossing his arms, succeeding only in crossing his wrists and accidentally framing his face. Leo muffled a snort.

Satisfied, Raph placed them gently back down. With his feet back on somewhat solid ground, even if it was rocky and precariously uneven in places, Leo looked at Raph. Scars lined up his arms, and there was a particularly gnarly scar covered by his mask where he lost his eye to a Kraang attack that haunted Leo's waking dreams. On instinct, Leo breathed in, but no scent greeted him. Raph had learned, by force of necessity, to keep his scent under control, to the point Leo couldn't smell him at all anymore. He wished he hadn't teased Raph for it when they were younger. It was another small comfort he often found himself missing.

"Found anything yet?" Leo asked. A small frown tugged Raph's lips down and his gaze became troubled, and Leo wished he could take the question back.

"Nothing," Raph said. "Looks like some other survivors passed by here before us, probably took whatever useful stuff that was still around with them."

Leo sighed. “Yeah, figured as much."

"Not everything's been taken," Donnie cut in. "I found a few scrap pieces and wires that'll help me create a heater. I need a few more pieces before I can build it, but we'll get there."

Worry hung heavily off Raph's shoulders, even though he tried to keep them up. He might've gotten a handle on his scent, but he still wore his emotions like a comfortable vest, like pages of a book written in large font, an inextricable part of him laid out so openly for them. Leo didn't think he could ever do the same, and he didn't know whether he envied Raph for it or not.

But worry wasn't Raph's burden to bear on his own, not anymore.

Leo patted Raph's arm and mustered up an easy smile. "We'll be fine, big bro. Trust me."

"Yeah..." Raph sighed. "Yeah, I s'ppose. We always are."

Leo wasn't sure why the easy trust made his chest feel so tight.

"Course we are," he said instead. "So stop worrying that big head of yours, m'okay?"

"My head's not big."

"Raph, big brother, your head's massive, 'cause it keeps growing along with that giant body of yours. You're huge, accept it."

"That's a really interesting way of asking for shell rides, Leo," Donnie said, smirking, because he knew exactly which secret he just laid out in the open. Leo gasped; Betrayed by his own kin, and Donnie had the gall to stand there and look smug.

Raph looked at Leo with big, soft eyes. "You want shell rides?"

"What – no! I mean, yes. No!"

"Awww, buddy," Raph cooed, and the worst part about it was that his brother really meant the almost-aggravatingly sweet tone. "If you wanted shell rides, you should've just asked! C'mere – "

"Raph, wait, no – "

A loud crash from behind them – where their little brother was still working through the pile – had them instantly on high alert, weapons one swift movement away from being drawn as they spun, quick and practiced, ready to tackle any possible danger.

An ugly, chipped mug was raised high above Mikey's head. The gaudy thing was decorated with a round, yellow smiley face in its center, orange and green 80's flowers circling the body. They were scratched to hell and back, but still mostly recognizable. Mikey's grin was blinding.

"Donnie!" he hollered. "Bring out the Poppins bag! I'm taking this baby with me!"

Tension bled out of them in one collective sigh.

"It's called – whatever. You guys will never get it right."

The relieved slant of Donnie's shoulders betrayed his nonchalant tone. He took a small pouch out of his pocket and opened it, tugging at its edges to make it big enough to put the mug in.

"Don't mix it with the clean items," Donnie instructed as Mikey bounded up to them.

"Don, if you want him to do that, you gotta upgrade that non-existent sorting system," Leo said. "Just make sure it's at the top or something."

"You have no idea how difficult it is to create a contained, portable pocket dimension meant for storage, nevermind to create any form of system within such a space."

"Right, yeah, explain that to me again some other time."

Donnie huffed and rolled his eyes. The bag was a project both he and Mikey had worked a long time on, combining both their ninpo into creating a storage space that could hold almost anything. It wasn't endless, but they hadn't reached its end yet, and it'd saved them from a pinch more than once.

Mikey proudly presented his new mug to them. It was even uglier up close.

"Look at it and weep!"

Leo wanted to weep alright, but not as much as Donnie, by the scrunched look on his face.

"It's a cool mug, Mikey," Raph said.

"Right? If I clean it up a lil', it'll be as good as new!"

"I'm boiling it at least five times, I hope you know." Donnie held out the bag.

"Of course! Man, this is so cool, that's the best find I've had in ages! You guys must be so jealous right now–"

A noise, nothing but the smallest rattle, faint but there, drew Leo's attention. He turned to find its source, tuned out his brothers, eyes sweeping across the destruction, a quick survey of the area, but he found nothing.

Another sound, less a rattle and more something alive. Leo straightened his back, standing to full attention, and brought up his fist as he clicked once, quick and sharp. His brothers hushed at once. He moved, trusting his brothers to follow and cover his back.

Donnie scanned the perimeter before they entered the area, but it wouldn't be the first time one of those pink monsters managed to evade the scanners somehow. He'd upgraded them, and upgraded them again, until they had almost no fault, but they'd grown to be careful – couldn't be careful enough – unlike their days in youth where hubris colored their every action. Before the world went to waste and everything they knew disappeared. They'd lost almost everyone. They couldn't bear to lose each other, too.

A piece of rounded concrete stuck out between the pile of wreckage across from them, and another small noise echoed out. A tunnel, then, of sorts, whatever the concrete had once been had made a passageway under the debris. And something was in there.

Leo motioned to it, then twirled his finger, signaled his brothers to spread out and circle the entrance. They assumed their positions without protest, without question, silent and swift. Raph remained at Leo's back.

A roofing sheet covered most of the entrance. Leo counted down from three to zero with his fingers, hand in the air, and lifted the sheet with his sword, but the movement must've displaced something, because a moment later it came tumbling down with a loud clatter, stone and metal grinding their way down.

He tensed, but whatever was inside the tube – and he could clearly see it was one now, reminding him somewhat of the sewer tubes of his childhood – didn't startle and attack. But another noise came, clearly now, and Leo froze. It sounded like a cough. A very tiny cough. And a gurgle. It sounded like –

Leo ducked, without thinking, and climbed into the tunnel.

Black guck covered the bottom. It smelled rancid, pungent in a rotting way. His hands and knees sank into the wet mass. He sucked in a breath and held it, hoping the stench would leave his nose if he didn't breathe for long enough.

He ignored Raph's startled and concerned "Leo?!" and crawled further. He trudged through the sludge, trying not to gag at the slimy feel. Pieces of metal stuck through the roof of the tunnel, but Leo found himself lucky enough to not have to duck under them far enough to end belly-down in the gunk.

The baby looked up at him when he came to a stop close by. His cheeks weren’t nearly as chubby as they should be, and his hair was matted and greasy, clinging to his scalp. Only a ratty blanket covered him, flimsily at best. Something dark and unpleasant mixed with the black guck, and Leo didn't need to see the dried blood on the kid's arm to know what it was.

He looked past the baby, further down the tunnel, and saw a man. His arm was outstretched, reaching towards the kid, face turned towards them. A giant puncture hole was clear as day on his back, as repulsive as it was familiar.

Dead.

He must've died protecting his baby.

"How long've you been here, little guy?" Leo muttered, and regretted it immediately, a fresh wave of rot bombarding his senses. He coughed, covering his mouth and nose with the back of his hand.

"Alright," he said, strained. "You're coming with me."

He wiped his hand on his thigh, clearing most of the gunk from it, even if the baby was dirty enough that another layer wouldn't matter that much, and gingerly touched him. The baby grabbed at his fingers immediately, like a homing missile seeking warmth, sudden enough to startle Leo. He gurgled, big, doe eyes staring wetly up at Leo.

"Yeah, yeah," Leo mumbled, soft. "No need to look at me like that, I'm not leaving you here."

He unwrapped his scarf after wiping off his other hand, and fashioned it into a sling, knot tied atop his shoulder. He picked the baby up and murmured softly to him when he whined.

“I know, kiddo. Just a bit longer.”

The baby fit snugly into the sling, covered from head to toe by the scarf. The baby made a noise and curled his tiny fingers into Leo’s shirt, cuddling closer against him and burying further into the sling. He’d been out in the cold for a long time, it was nothing short of a miracle that the kid didn’t have hypothermia. Leo attempted to cradle him closer.

"Sorry, this'll be a bumpy ride. Hang tight, okay?"

Leo spared another glance at the man. It didn't feel right to leave him here to rot, after he gave his life to protect his child, but there was no other choice. Even if they dragged him out, there was no place to bury him, and no time to spare on it. Not with recent Kraang activity painted in the decay of his body. Leo closed his eyes, paid him respect the only way he still could, honoring the man's sacrifice.

His brothers called his name, their voices thin and sharp as they echoed through the tunnel and beat against his eardrums, their worry thick. Leo turned, and didn't look back.

Leo gulped in fresh air greedily the moment he tumbled out of the tunnel. He coughed, attempting to banish the foul smell out of his lung, while his arms curled around the baby.

"Leo," Raph rumbled, upset clinging to his words. "What were you thinking! You can't leave without saying anything! What if you got – " He paused. "What is that?"

The baby peeked over the top of the sling, curiously taking in his new surroundings and the people around them. Leo carefully took the baby out of the sling and showed him to his brothers. Their jaws dropped.

"Leo–  what– " Raph spluttered.

"Why do you have a baby," Donnie's tone was dry, like he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing.

"I found him," Leo said and held the child out towards them. "Isn't he cute?"

"He's naked."

Leo wiggled the kid. "Yeah, but so were we until we were forced into clothes. C'mon, look at 'im."

The baby cooed and giggled when Leo wiggled him again. Leo couldn't stop his grin. That's right, kid, back him up here.

"He's adorable," Raph said and Mikey nodded in agreement, a gentle smile and soft look on his face that Leo hadn't seen in a while. Then, it turned to a frown.

"He's dirty." Mikey looked at Leo. "You're dirty." His nostrils flared and he pulled a face. "Oh, Pizza Supreme, you reek."

"It was full of gross, rotting stuff in there, of course I stink."

"Nuh-uh, no, that's – Donnie, bag!"

Donnie, remaining at a decent distance from Leo, the scent probably having wafted his way now as well, shoved the Poppins bag into Mikey's hands.

"Leo, come here," Mikey commanded as he took out a surprisingly well-maintained towel and a bottle marked Rain out of the bag.

"No, Mikey," Leo protested, even as his little brother stalked towards him and the wiggling child in his arms. "We shouldn't waste water on something like this – "

Mikey shushed him. "If you think I'm going to let you run around smelling like that, you're an idiot. Now, hands."

There had never been any arguing with Mikey. Reluctantly, Leo did as told. The water felt wonderful on his scales, black gunk and slime washing off his hands, then his knees when those were clean.

"Baby."

Leo carefully angled the baby in his arms so Mikey could rinse him off.

"Hold him tight."

A task far easier than Leo would've thought it would be. The kid whined and fussed a little when Mikey poured the water in small streams over him and scrubbed the filth off him, but he was otherwise extremely well-behaved. Maybe he was tired. Leo hoped he wasn't sick.

Leo dried the baby off while Mikey dug a blanket out of the bag – and dropped Leo’s now-dirty scarf in – which he then used to swaddle the baby. The kid cuddled into the warmth of the blanket, and released a body-shaking sneeze.

"Is he sick?" Raph asked, worriedly. His hands hovered near them, shifting around, but never reaching out, as if afraid to hurt the fragile little thing curled in Leo's arms.

Leo examined the child's eyes, nose, and mouth. "Doesn't seem like it," he determined. "But it bears keeping an eye on, to be sure."

"Was he alone down there?" Donnie asked as he poked the kid's cheek and earned himself a gurgled coo in response.

Leo's face fell. "There was a man there, too. Been dead a few days. I think he was the kid's father. The..." he hesitated. "The Kraang got him."

The air turned tense, his brothers grew grim.

"They were here. Recently," Donnie mumbled. "We should..."

"Move," Leo agreed. "Soon."

Mikey sighed. "And I was just starting to like that place, too."

Guilt swirled like the beginning of a vortex in Leo's chest. He swallowed down the instinctive sorry, knew none of his brothers would appreciate that pesky self-blame rearing its ugly head again, not after they'd spent so long picking up and gluing together the pieces that'd shattered after the end began.

The baby shifted in his arms, rolling over and almost careening out of his hold and onto the ground. Leo, panicked, scrambled to shift the kid and hold him more securely.

"Don't do that!" he scolded, but the baby just blinked at him, like he had no idea why Leo had stopped him from whatever little plans his infant brain had hatched.

"Are we..." Raph hesitated. "Are we taking him with us?"

The question was tentative, a glimmer of something Leo couldn't quite identify sparkling in Raph's gaze, but he knew it was soft, and maybe even a little hopeful, but the uncertainty Leo himself felt was clear for him to see. The baby was heavy in his arms and suckled sweetly at one of Leo’s fingers.

"We can't leave him here," Mikey said, loud, like it was already a protest. "He'll die!"

"Yeah, 'course, I didn't mean..." Raph held his hands up. How he managed to always look so much smaller than their little brother in moments like these would forever remain a mystery to Leo.

"It's a fair question, Mikey," Leo said. "It'll be a lot of work. We'll need to find far more food and supplies than what we survive on now - "

"So we're leaving him here just because - "

"Michael," Donnie cut in. His no-nonsense tone always worked best on Mikey, and they watched the rush of a fight leave their little brother. "It's an important thing to consider. This is a child, an entire person we need to take care of. Are we the best choice for that?"

They didn't know anything about babies, all reference they had was from their Pops' stories about their own childhood – and most of that was probably not applicable to fully human children – and some TV shows, which left much to be desired.

Mikey looked sadly at the baby and rested the back of his hand against his cheek.

"Where else is he supposed to go?" he whispered. "We're all he has."

Sorrow frayed at Leo's edges. His brother wasn't wrong – the kid was all alone in the world. They couldn't trust other humans to take care of him, even if they managed to find a group of them anywhere soon. There was no vetting process trustworthy enough in the mess that was the apocalypse for them to entrust the baby to strangers. Leo glanced at Donnie and Raph, and knew, from the looks on their faces, they were considering the exact same thing. Leo and Raph's eyes met, they exchanged nothing but a wordless look for a moment, and then they nodded.

"He'll need a name,” Raph said. Mikey looked between them for a startled moment and then positively lit up.

"I've got the best names! There's Clunk, Cody, Haley, Joel -"

Donnie, a smile tilting at his lips, leaned in, consideringly, and he hummed a melody-less tune.

"He reminds me somewhat of Cassandra."

Leo made a noise that was a mix between offense and confusion, while Raph, looking only confused, leaned curiously closer to the baby.

"Oh!" Mikey said. "He does kinda look like her, doesn't he?"

Leo squinted down at the child in his arms. The baby looked back up at him with wide, dark eyes.

"I don't see it," Leo said. "He's so much cuter."

"He's a baby," Donnie huffed, but Leo could hear amusement in his tone. "They're designed to be cute."

"Which means I'm right."

"No, Leo, look. He does look like her," Raph's hands skated around the baby, one palm almost dwarfing the little guy. He pushed the kid's hair back with one, careful finger. "See?" The baby reached up, grabbed Raph's finger best he could with his tiny baby-grip. Raph melted, smile wide and warm, and Leo's breath almost stopped, stolen from his lungs, because he felt, vaguely, as if the sun had come out for the first time after a barren, endless winter.

"Okay," Leo said. Cleared his throat to rid it off its roughness. "Yeah, okay. I guess I see it. So, Casey, then?"

"Casey Junior," Mikey declared, a new sort of pride lining him almost as bright as his ninpo. "It's perfect."

"You wanna hold him, Raph?" Leo asked. It was easy to spot the building refusal, worry and hesitance pinging back in his big brother's eyes, so Leo, swiftly, and without too much jostling, deposited the baby in Raph's arms.

Panic seized, but only for a moment, because then Casey cuddled closer up to him, burying himself in the safe comfort of Raph's arms, and every bit of tension washed away.

His brothers huddled around, gazing at the slowly dozing baby nestled, like he'd always belonged there, in their big brother's arms. They talked in hushed, bright tones, and warmth sang like a crackling hearth through Leo’s soul.

Picking up Casey might’ve been the best thing he’d ever done.

[legendary-pink-dot]

(Some kind of) addiction

Pairing: Francisco "Catfish" Morales x female reader

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Angst, and lots of it. Themes of emotional addiction, but no drug/alcohol use or abuse or violence.

Word Count: 682

Summary: You never thought you had an addictive personality. Until you met Frankie.

Notes: Not sure what precipitated this, but I had to get it out of my head. Dedicated to my dear @youandmeand5bucks

You never thought you had an addictive personality. Until you met Frankie.

It started out innocently enough: a few dates, late-night hookups, slowly spending more time together but not too much. Your life is full of friends, hobbies, a demanding job -- you didn't need him. Marriage and kids were not on the agenda. Fixing him was also not on your to-do list, and he welcomed the distraction of you so he didn't have to focus on fixing himself. But you did crave the sex, and once you got a taste, you started to wonder how you would ever go without it again. Doing anything silly to jeopardize cutting off the supply, like catching feelings, was unthinkable.

It wasn't just in how he ate you out (expertly). How many orgasms he gave you (many). How compatible your kinks were (very). Or even how he ruined you in bed (utterly). The real hook was his lack of inhibition. Without the restraints of Feelings holding him back, he was able to be feral, free and unhinged with you, yet always respectful of your lines and stopping immediately when the safeword was brought out. 99% sure he would never be abusive or violate your boundaries, the unpredictability of the remaining 1% enough to keep you excited and on the edge, tinting an already wild fuck with an extra forbidden flavor. There's a reason he'd been in elite special ops; you knew what those hands were capable of.

This is your symbiosis. It might not pass with flying colors the test you give yourself for most important decisions: "Is this enhancing my life, or distracting me from living it?" But it's not ruining it either, you think. As if you could be objective.

Inertia takes over for three months. Six. A full year goes by, and still, you pretend you're good with what he has to give you. Wanting more would change things, and he doesn't offer it anyway. Hope would create expectations, and if you both don't have them, then you can never be disappointed. You have full and busy lives, after all.

You exist together in that state, half solid and half liquid, until he disappears without warning for 2 weeks, in what you find out later was to South America. Some trip with his former Delta Force buddies that you suspected wasn't a holiday, but you didn't ask, and he didn't tell. All you knew was that he returned as someone else.

What gave it away wasn't the rare clean-shaven face or the wacky Hawaiian shirt that he showed up wearing, but a dark aura that ringed him like a cloud of dust. As usual, he didn't want to talk about it; when he showed up at your door, you figured all he wanted to do was fuck you raw in a bid to temporarily forget whatever he just ran from. You welcomed him in.

But the person that fucks you isn't the Frankie you know. This one uncharacteristically pulls you into his lap, sliding his cock in and out of you with more restraint than he'd ever shown before, kissing you more deeply and intimately than you thought him capable of. Even the thumb he gently runs along your cheek and jaw as he gazes at you feels different, like it had been broken and reshaped, though there aren't any visible bruises. For the first time, you feel utterly naked in front of him. Worse: you like it.

Not what either of you signed up for. Especially when he buries his face into your neck and whispers, "I need you," wrapping himself around you so tight you almost can't breathe. All of this after he comes, not before. Not even during.

Liquified under you, the ground is no longer solid. You don't even have time to silently ask yourself the inevitable "Would this distract from my life…" before your subconscious speaks for you.

"I'm here," you yield, twisting a curl around your finger at his nape and melting into his grip. "You'll always have me, Frankie."

[galaxyedging]

Another dirty Din thought under the cut. No minors beyond this point.🔞

As a Foundling himself, Din didn't see Grogu as anything less than family. Still, the urge to breed you constantly itches under his skin. It fills his thoughts every time he fills you. He wants his seed to take so badly. At first, he thought he wanted to grow his clan to fulfil his creed by raising warriors.

It's only when he's balls deep in you, his lips wrapped around your stiff nipple, his hand pressing down on your lower stomach to stop the bucking of your hips from pushing him over the edge, that he realises. He realises that he's aching to see you swollen with his child, your breasts heavy and full. He wants to feel the warmth of the liquid within flowing over his tongue. He wants to worship the raw life giving power of your body.

The longer they doesn't happen, the deeper the itch gets. The thought drives him feral. He takes you every chance he gets. Any way he can. Down on all fours, he jackrabbits into you like a feral dog. Pinning you on your back, his hands roughly pushing your knees up to your chest as he pumps his load inside you, to keep it from spilling out. Fucking you to the point of exhaustion before falling asleep with his length inside you plugging in his spend. Keeping his fingers buried in you afterwards as he thumb builds an orgasm to draw his release deeper.

When the itch gets too much, you visit a doctor. You get a clean bill of health. Din's prognosis is a little less glowing. There's no reason why he can't father a child. It just might take a little time. The doctor even asks if Din has been under any stress lately. Even the reassurance doesn't help. Din sees that you still blame yourself. Even his mutterings of reassurance and praise between kisses don't help. As time passes, Din's itch is taken over by a new one. He wants to lift the weight from your shoulders. When he first suggested a solution, you're taken aback. "Even if they aren't my blood, I'll love them all the same."

The idea grows on you. You have no doubt that Din will love the baby either way and yearn to feel a life growing inside you. The two of you settle on Cobb Vanth as the donor. He's more than happy with the arrangement. There's no room in his life for a child but he has always wondered what a child of his would be like. A simple procedure and you could be carrying a child in no time.

Din should be happy, he is happy. It's just that itch that reappears. The night before the procedure he finally breaks. He tells you everything. "I'm not surprised. You've always been obsessed with filling me. We'll give it more time."

"No, maybe there's another way..?" He needs to see you being filled with the seed that will take, even if he isn't the one doing it.

The soft leather of his gloves creaks as he grips the chair. His erection throbs so hard that he's tempted to touch himself. No, he wants to fuck you when Cobb is done. He wants to add another load to your dripping pussy. The sight before him has him twitching. Too used to having Din know your body like the back of your hand, anticipating every need your body has, you had grown inpatient with Cobb and flipped the two of you over. He grunted every time your hips slammed back down onto his. Din knew what the tight clutch of your heat could do to a man. He knew Cobb was close. The thought of you being filled by another man nearly drove him over the edge. He gripped himself tight as Cobb moaned your name. As his cock swelled in his hand, pride swelled in his chest. That was his riduur making another man lose himself.

Cobb wasn't even out of the room before Din began to fuck you. It was steady, deep and rough. He wanted to drive Cobb's seed deep for it to take root. As soon as the door closed behind him, Din ripped off his helmet. His tongue licked into your mouth. He sucked the air from your lungs. He touched every part of your body he could touch, with his hands and his own body. For the first time in a long time, he was able to just enjoy your body without the pressure crushing his pleasure. He was so confident that you would be carrying his child soon that he let himself relax. His purposeful thrusts dwindled to a gentle roll. He let both your highs build slowly until he couldn't stop himself from filling you with his own cum, wave after wave lapped at your cervix. His hand gripped your neck lightly as he guided you to look at their combined spend dripping out of you. "Look at the pretty mess we made of you."

Months later, when your baby was born, their mop of brown curls and perfect little pout left you with no doubt who the father was.

[greyskyflowers]

This is kind of rambling because I just really wish I saw more of this but whatever.

I wish I saw more stuff about Zoro's eye and the crew. I'm really interested in how that wound would have been handled by the crew.

The world already thinks the strawhats are fucking nuts, so I have the firm belief that they only let themselves be true, squishy humans with each other. Reindeer and skeleton included.

The rest of the world has seen them cry, bleed, near death, etc but the real stuff is for crew eyes only. The nightmares, the chronic pains, the panic attacks, the depression, the parts of healing that aren't pretty, etc.

Those belong to the crew. No one else gets to see that because being human in front of the world is different than be vulnerable in front of the world. And they love each other too much to let any of them be stripped bare for the world if they have anything to say about it.

I think of Zoro and Luffy as having the first real injuries of the crew. The point of no return injuries. The sealed their fate as pirates in blood and flesh injuries.

No one on the crew has lost anything quite like Zoro's eye. No one has lost any arms or legs, no lost fingers or toes, no lost of the senses like sight or hearing, and no truly horrific scars. Other than Zoro. And after the timeskip, Zoro and Luffy.

So Zoro missing an eye should have been a thing because this isn't something that heals. An eye doesn't grow back. The world changed for Zoro when he lost it (or whatever happened since we don't 100% know).

That's the injury of a human and Luffy and Zoro, and often Sanji, are seen as beyond human by so much of the world. Even the crew.

And that injury must have been fucking wild. Like so much there to unpack. The pain, the recovery, any infection, relearning how to live daily life with half your vision gone. That's a lot of time to be vulnerable.

It bothers the crew that they weren't there to cover his vulnerabilities like they should have been. They weren't there to do that for Luffy or Zoro. But this post is about Zoro, so that's what we're focusing on.

I have been brainstorming how I'd like to see the crew have to deal with this and I think a great way to make this into a hell of an idea for a fic would be way more simple than I was making it. I was originally thinking about shorting the timeskip, ignoring orders to stay separate, the wound happening closer to when they meet, etc.

But then I thought devil fruit. Duh.

What if the crew runs into a devil fruit user with the ability to recreate wounds? It'd have to be some type of time based power that would allow the user to touch the spot of a scar or other old injury and revert it back to the worst stage of it. Maybe it was when it was first received, a infection, etc.

It would work for other things too. The user notices someone doesn't have any glaringly obvious scars to focus on? Try the head, they probably had a concussion at some point. Try the arm, they've probably broken it at some point.

It also requires the user to revert the wound back to it's present state or it has to heal naturally all over again.

And someone who's fighting the strawhats with this power would go right for Luffy's chest scar. Take the captain down in one hit. He probably won't survive the wound again.

There's a couple ways I could see this playing out specifically with Zoro.

Either the user can't get Luffy and goes for the next best, Zoro's eye. (Or chest would be interesting. Maybe both)

Or they almost get Luffy but Zoro gets in the way. Thriller bark all over again.

I think that wound was nasty because I can't imagine Zoro losing an eye with a clean cut. Most importantly though is what stage it goes back to.

It's clearly not when he first got it. The wound is ragged and inflamed. Dried blood is holding the edges and the skin is stained a rusty color. Not that you can tell over all the bruising, big blooms of black and purple and yellow, that creep across his face and even down his neck.

It's a little terrifying.

But that's not even all of it. The wound fucks with a lot of stuff that they hadn't even thought of.

He's got constant, debilitating headaches and ringing in his ears. It makes basic things like focusing, walking, turning his head, etc all very hard and painful.

Loss of appetite due to pain and medication and chewing and even drinking all pull at the wound. So rapidly losing weight becomes a problem.

Sleep is almost impossible. His exhaustion slows the healing process.

Nausea and vomiting from the trauma, headaches and exhaustion. Even further loss of weight, energy, and necessary nutrients.

And once those settle enough, all the other issues become prominent.

Having to relearn balance and depth perception. Both in daily life and fighting.

Having to readjust for having his field of vision cut in half.

The general trauma. Honestly, I just need him flinching away sometimes when he just wakes up and someone comes in on his blind side. Only with them though, that's the only time he lets himself relax enough to be caught off gaurd or allow someone to surprise him.

The body remembers wounds like that. The mind remembers wounds like that. Zoro is a master at mind over matter stuff but even then, sometimes things are so deep and instinctive that it would be very hard to override those responses.

I want to see the crew reacting to it all.

The nights were Zoro stumbles up, pressing a hand to his eye, dripping sweat, and gasping for air because he managed to actually fall asleep, but in doing so forget to take pain medication before it was too late.

The days where getting him to eat something is the hardest battle the crew has had in days.

Chopper near tears with worry and fury. The rest of the crew in similar mindsets.

They find he sleeps best sitting against the wall with one of them, back supported and unable to roll into a painful position accidentally. His head resting on their shoulder and a careful, so so careful, hand to nudge him back if he starts to do something that will hurt.

He lets Chopper have full access to the wound, not even rejecting the pain medication and that alone speaks to the agony he's in.

They want to squirrel him away deep in the ship until he's better, he's too vulnerable anywhere else. It sets their teeth on edge and the idea of anyone seeing Zoro hurt and bleeding like this is unacceptable.

A healed wound to show the world is one thing, like the scar he had before the devil fruit user, and even a wound still healing, like Luffy's when he rang the bell after marineford, is different. Both of those are warnings. I'll come back stronger, you can't keep me down.

This is something else.

Someone hurt their swordsman. And they knew that of course, even when it was just a scar, but seeing it makes it real.

It makes something burn in their bellies with fury, wanting to snap their teeth at anything or anyone not crew.

It's a wild possessive and protective feeling. Vicious, a little blood thirsty, and demanding names. They want to know who did it.

Part of what makes Zoro Zoro is how he handles injuries and protects the crew. When he first got the wound he was by himself and probably hid away for a bit to lick his wounds before pushing himself back into everything too quick and with too little care.

So this time they want to care for it right, they want to care for him right.

The wound will heal with or without pain medication, but there's no reason to not make sure he's comfortable and supported.

He can sleep with or without someone, but if having someone there helps keep him in one spot all night and keeps the nightmares at bay, why would they let him sleep alone?

The bandages will be changed regardless, but if his hands shake less when someone else is helping him with the cleaning of the wound and the new bandages, why would they leave him to do it by himself?

It's not weakness, it's trust. It's love and vulnerability that belong to each other, not the world.

Being loved enough to be vulnerable is a privilege they'd never deny each other.

[lesb0]

Off topic but what's it like living in LA? I'm considering moving there for work and I'm curious if you're willing to share :)

I will try to condense what 24 years felt "like" lol but I am now more aware that I was very privileged to see every aspect of LA and took most things for granted. Even still, I'm learning things were either regional or upper-middle specific experiences, like living a block from exposition park down fig or going to San Diego every weekend for my summer "job" as a conservation zookeeper in my little khaki uniform.

LA has a unique geographical combo of all the natural terrains grouped together that makes it one of the most beautiful coasts on earth. I know people who did a beach surf, mountain biking, ski trip, and desert camping in one day. The pollution is awful but the grey clouds of ocean mist just feels cleaner to breathe. The sun will come out to dry up the marine layer and kiss your cheeks by 11am. The fires and landslides are scary. But the earthquakes are fun.

you have the widest international mix of stunningly designed immigrant towns that feel more like teleportation, so many major flagship museums, the most innovative nontraditional art galleries, unparalleled delicious restaurants, cutting edge of vegan American cuisine, the worlds best shopping from 99¢ to hermes, popups and events every week. so there's always something to do. Even the tourist stuff like Hollywood can be fun, I've attended many movies premier nights with everyone dressed up as princesses at El Capitan.

People are way friendlier and way crazier and way more community forward so you can't be some antisocial isolated weirdo, you need to go speak to humans. The opportunities are endless, I knew so many people who moved there poor and homeless but made it work. All the child actors are exploited laborers with 0 rights or autonomy. I used to think "some of my friends have a job inside the TV just like my job is cleaning my room" until I realized the parents were all robbing them.

If you make celeb friends, they will get you into cool parties and give you jobs later, my aunts first job was as tom greens' chef because she made him laugh. One of my school friends lived in one of those Malibu camper communes parked all along the pch while hustling on a B lists singers home stylist team as a fashion student from Idaho. Red carpets aren't fun, you mostly just get yelled at to move out of the way and it's only cute when you're little and all the pretty actresses pick you up. Home of all the greatest makeup fx artists, horror props, and costuming people in the world: so Halloween is the biggest craziest all & out holiday of the year. Everyone leaves for Christmas so it feels slow and quiet with less traffic.

I used to find it really annoying when transplants aggressively called themselves angelenos until I met someone born and raised on the east coast last summer, one of my best friends now. she worked in LA for a few years as a college professor in the 00s and still whines about wanting to "go back home" and "missing home" every time we talk, like you can see and hear it in her beachy hair and mean-bubbly hippy personality. LA has a way of crawling under your skin and pushing out your previous concept of home because it feels more alive and home-y than other cities do.