#hook fish&chips

[hookfishnchips]

[evelynnoah953]

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[dandylovesturtles]

It's time! For Room Fic Part 4 Part B! Of how many parts? IDK ANYMORE

This is the longest part of the fic yet, and it's also the most... talky. But I felt like this was a part of the recovery everyone wanted to see so I thiiiink it's fine.

Content warnings: vomiting, HEAVY discussion of eating issues (including calorie counting, done purely as a recovery mechanism in this fic but still worth noting), mentions of the non-consensual voyeurism that happened in the first part, and as always, anxiety and aftermath of torture

If you're lost, start here!

I'm soooo tired I only proofread like half of this. it'll go through full editing when it goes on AO3

-----

Leo crashes into his room and grabs anything within arm’s reach to pull over himself. The blanket from his bed. A cardboard box, contents dumped on the floor. His skateboard, a beach towel, a plank of wood used to prop up action figures.

He cowers into his claustrophobic, makeshift nest, clutching his ill gotten gains to his chest. He doesn’t know why he bothered, because there’s nowhere to hide in here, and then they’ll…

They’ll do what? It’s his family. And if they’re upset with him for stealing the chips, well, he deserves that. Who is he to take food, when they’re running low already?

That’s what he expected, actually, when the lights flipped on and Raph was standing there. To get yelled at, chewed out, dressed down - the way he’d been waiting for Raph to do this whole time. Why can’t he just do as he’s told? Why does he always make the wrong decisions?

But Raph hadn’t yelled. He ran off. And now Leo doesn’t know what to expect at all.

He assumes Raph went to get their dad, or even Draxum. He waits in his hiding spot, heart pounding in his ears, and listens for the call of his full name, the surefire indicator that he’s in Big Time Trouble. He stole food, food he isn’t even allowed to eat, and when they’re running low, too. He doesn’t know what the punishment is going to be, and the fear of not knowing pulls him deeper into his nest.

He wants to know. He dreads finding out.

Time passes. He has no idea how much. There’s no clocks in here (there hadn’t been any clocks in there), and his phone is on the nightstand, hooked to its charger. To get it he would have to leave his hiding place. And he’s scared.

So he waits and waits and waits. Until his limbs grow uncomfortable and cramped, until no amount of shifting dulls the pain. His heart is still rabbit quick in his chest. (He may be a turtle but call him the hare-)

No one comes for him.

Finally, finally, when his body physically can’t take this position anymore, he scoots out of his hiding spot and gets to his feet, bag of chips clutched in his fingers. He walks to the curtain over his doorway - though “walks” is really overselling it, with the way he pauses for hours between every step.

When he makes it to the doorway, he peeks out.

The lair is quiet. Everything is dark. No one is stirring.

He makes his way back to his bed, and looks at the bag in his hands. He feels so anxious that he’s nauseous. And he can’t eat if he’s nauseous or he’ll lose his dinner.

So he can’t even eat the damn things. The irony would be funny if he could laugh.

He kneels down and fishes around under his bed for a box he knows is there. It’s full of little toys and trinkets from childhood - things he saved from the old lair that he couldn’t bear to throw away, but is too embarrassed to be seen with.

He dumps the contents of the box into the bigger one he hid under earlier. This is more important.

Then he hides the chips inside and scoots the box under the bed.

He climbs back onto his mattress, cringing when the bed springs creak. His blanket is still on the floor, but he doesn’t want to get up and risk making more noise.

So he curls up on his mattress and stares at the wall and tries futilely to sleep.

Donnie’s brand new curtains don’t even help. Maybe that’s part of his punishment.

-----

Somehow, he manages to make it to breakfast. He doesn’t remember who poked their head in to tell him it was ready, or how he picked himself up and walked to the kitchen. He just ends up there.

Mikey greets him with a sunny grin and the announcement that he gets oatmeal today, along with his scrambled eggs. There’s even some banana on top of the oats. He should be excited for the variety, but he feels numb. Still, he smiles as he’s expected to and thanks Mikey and hopes it passes scrutiny.

Draxum comes in, and then his dad. He stiffens up for both, muscles tense while he waits for the yelling to start. But no one starts yelling. Draxum sits and eats and Leo hears him give a reminder to take vitamins. Splinter reads out the shopping list, and everyone scrambles to add last minute items. 

Normally, this is where Leo would be chiming in with all the snacks and junk food he wants, but he knows if he says anything he’ll be turned down, so he doesn’t. He can feel the weirdness of it, but he doesn’t take his eyes off his food to see anyone’s appraisal.

Donnie’s last in; he drinks his coffee fast and tries his luck with adding uranium to the list. He grabs a granola bar instead of eating what the rest of them are having, then tells Mikey to meet him at the entrance in five minutes and leaves. Mikey piles the dishes in the sink, then rounds the table to give everyone a hug goodbye, Draxum included.

Leo smiles when Mikey gets to him. Says, “Have a good day, Mikester.” Swallows down the impulse to grab on and beg him to stay.

He finishes breakfast, then goes to the TV room and settles into the recliner. Raph comes by and pats his shoulder and tells him to call if he needs anything. Splinter hops up and pats his head before following Raph away.

He’s alone now. Alone, with Draxum, who’s currently in the kitchen doing who knows what.

(Leo doesn’t like leaving him alone in there. All their food is in there.)

(Well, not all of it. Leo’s made sure of that.)

He lays in the chair and pretends to be asleep. And he listens. 

To be sure that his brothers and dad are really gone, and aren’t coming back for a forgotten wallet or phone.

Until Draxum leaves the kitchen and moves for the train car he’s taken over as his own.

Until he’s sure no one is watching him.

Then he gets up. He goes to his room. He’s not sure why he feels like he’s sneaking, when he’s obviously allowed to be there.

He makes sure all his windows are covered, curtains or otherwise. Makes sure the curtain over his door is stretched as far as it will go.

Then, as silently as possible, he reaches under his bed and pulls out the box. Opens it to reveal his stolen goods.

He unrolls the top of the bag, wincing at each crackle of the plastic. His eyes dart to the door, to the windows, to make sure no one is there, no one is watching him.

Then he reaches his hand in and grabs a chip in his fingers.

He’s not sure if he should do this now. Maybe he should wait, save this when things get dire. But everyone is gone. They’ve left him alone, with Draxum. What if Draxum doesn’t let him eat, with no one here to step in?

He’s scared of being hungry again. He doesn’t want to go back to that place. 

Just a few, he tells himself. Just a few, and then he’ll stop.

He pulls the chip out of the bag, and takes a bite.

-----

They’re at the local grocery where no one asks questions, basket half full and three minutes in to Splinter trying to decide if the Buy One Get One Half Off deal for frozen dinners is really worth it or not, when it occurs to Raph that maybe they shouldn’t have all left at the same time.

Of course, in normal times this wouldn’t have been a big deal at all, especially with a nominally responsible adult in the lair. But times haven’t been normal for over two weeks now. The thin shell of his little brother, once always the biggest and loudest in the room, now trying to make himself as small as possible, isn’t normal. 

They got Leo back, but it still feels like someone else has him.

And now Raph feels guilty. He’d been so desperate to just get away, from the feeling of being inadequate, from the fear he’d make things worse, that now he’s probably made them worse anyway by leaving Leo alone with a guy he does not like. Raph should have stayed home. Or told Mikey and Donnie to wait until he and Splinter were back before leaving.

(That worries him too, for different reasons. He knows he can’t lock his brothers up in the lair to keep them safe. But he kinda wants to.)

But he didn’t do any of that, and now they’re out and Leo is alone. Raph thinks of the chip bag and sighs. He just can’t seem to make the right decisions. The calculus is overwhelming, and Raph’s always left math to Donnie.

“Hey Pop,” he says, watching Splinter flip his fourth TV dinner over to look at the nutritional information. “Do you think… Leo is gonna be okay?”

Splinter pauses, then gingerly puts the box into their basket. He pats Raph at the knee, and Raph feels the overwhelming desire to be small again. 

“...Yes, I do. It will take time and care, but I think, one day-”

“No,” Raph cuts in, “I mean, do you think Leo is gonna be okay today? I mean, we kinda just ran off and left him alone.”

“He is not alone.” Splinter makes a face, at odds with his words. “Baron Draxum is the most annoying man in the world, but he would not let harm come to you boys.”

Raph rubs his neck. “Sure, but… Leo’s not exactly Draxum’s biggest fan. Especially not now…”

“Blue does not have to like him,” says Splinter airily. “He just has to eat the food Draxum gives him.”

“Yeah, but that’s the whole problem,” Raph insists. “He’s bein’ a huge jerk about it.”

“Ah… I know. I have spoken to him about his… tone.” Splinter waves a hand. “He is trying to be more polite.”

Raph thinks back to breakfast this morning. He’d laugh if anything were funny right now. “Is that why he was all “please” and “thank you” and “sorry” this morning? He looked like he ate a lemon.”

And judging by how distant Leo was acting, he doubts any of it made an impression. 

“It just proves that the man is incapable of being nice!” Splinter chuckles. “Do not worry, Red. We will only be gone a few hours. Most likely, Blue will sleep until we are back.”

“Raph hopes so…”

They continue moving around the aisles, crossing things off their list as they do. It’s normal and boring and Raph thinks he needs that right now. If only it distracted him from the thoughts in his head…

There’s so many questions to dwell on. And the biggest one looms over them all, constantly drawing Raph’s attention back to it.

They’re in the soup aisle when he speaks up again, saying, “Hey, Pops, do you think…” and then flagging out before he can voice it.

“Often,” says Splinter, reaching for a can of tomato bisque. “But at my age, it can be difficult!”

Raph snorts despite himself, grabbing the soup can and passing it to his dad’s fingers. “Come on, Raph’s trying to ask a serious question here!”

“Hm.” Splinter puts the can in their basket. “Then I will give a serious answer.”

“Do you think…” Raph shifts the shopping basket from one hand to the other, and resolves not to chicken out this time. “Do you think Leo did the right thing? Not talkin’ to that Bishop guy?”

Splinter goes quiet for a long time. He points to a can of alphabet soup, the kind Leo insists he’s too old for but will happily eat when he’s sick, and Raph dutifully puts the can in the basket.

“…I think he did the brave and noble thing,” he says at length.

“That ain’t the same,” says Raph.

“I do not know if there was a right thing.” Splinter’s voice is sad, fingers idly stroking one of the soup cans. “It could be that if Blue had talked, he would not be as hurt as he is now. Or it could be that Bishop would have… disposed of him, once they had what they wanted.”

The idea of Bishop “disposing” of Leo steals Raph’s breath. But it’s not like he hasn’t thought of this before.

“April said pretty much the same thing.”

“Oho! April is very wise.” Splinter nods in satisfaction, affirming for Raph once again that his favorite kid is definitely April. But then he looks up at Raph sidelong and says, “But that answer does not satisfy you.”

Raph sighs. “It’s just… what if he thought he had to stay quiet, because of something I- because he thought it’s what he was supposed to do?”

A furry hand lands on his. Raph takes a deep shuddering breath, and uses his free hand to scrub at his eyes. They’re damp, suddenly, and he’s not sure when that happened.

“…I often worry the same thing,” says Splinter, “about all four of you.”

Raph doesn’t know what to say to that. He already knows that their dad would give anything for the four of them to not have to fight; he also knows it’s out of his dad’s hands.

Why can he accept that, but not accept the same for himself?

“I’m afraid I do not have an answer for your question,” says Splinter, pulling Raph back to the grocery store. “I want you boys to be safe. But the situation Leonardo was in afforded him no safety. I’m not sure there is a choice he could have made that would have helped him. Still…” Splinter sighs. “It could be the reasons he made the choice he did are troubling.”

“Yeah,” says Raph. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“Mm.” Splinter pats Raph’s hand. “Your questions and worries are wise ones, Raphael. Meditate on your answer, and when you are ready, share it with Blue. You will find your path forward together.”

Raph chews on his lips. “I’m scared I’m gonna mess up,” he admits.

“Sharing the truth in your heart is never a mistake,” says Splinter, “so long as you are doing it with love.”

Raph blinks at him. “Pops, isn’t that a line from one of your movies?”

“It is a good line! Very heartfelt.” He picks up another can of soup and tosses it into the basket. “As long as you are talking to Blue with love, you will do just fine, Red. And remember, this is not your sole responsibility. We are all here to help each other.”

It should be self-evident, but the reminder pulls some weight off Raph’s shoulders. It’s not just up to him. Everyone is coming together to help Leo. That’s why Donnie and Mikey are at the scrapyard, to finish making curtain rods for Leo’s room. That’s why Draxum is always researching and scribbling in his notebook, refining his meal plan for Leo’s recovery.

It’s not just Raph against the world. He isn’t alone, and neither is Leo.

“Yeah, I know. Thanks, Pops.”

“Of course, Red. Now, let’s keep moving or we’ll be late getting back!”

On their way to the checkout line, Raph spots the candy aisle, and a bag of hard, sour candies. He stops, reaching out and brushing the bag with his fingers.

“Mm… that is Blue’s favorite, isn’t it?” asks Splinter.

“Yeah.” Raph pulls the bag off its hook, holding it over the basket uncertainly. “I know he can’t have ‘em yet, but he’ll be able to eat normal stuff soon, right?”

“Right.” Splinter nods. “Put them in! We will hide them until Draxum says it is okay, then give them to him.”

Raph grins and drops the bag into the basket. At least it’s something to look forward to.

-----

Leo is halfway through the bag of chips when the curtain to his room is pushed aside and Draxum is standing there.

He was saying something about the vitamins Leo forgot to take as he came in, the little blue pill organizer clutched in his hand. But now he freezes, taking in the scene: Leo with a handful of sour cream and onion chips, his cheeks bulging slightly, the salty evidence tracking up the sleeve of his hoodie.

He’s crossed the room before Leo can blink. He grabs Leo’s wrist, and Leo cries out, twisting his arm to try and free himself.

But he can’t, he’s weak, he’s so weak-

“What are you eating!?” Draxum bellows. He tosses the pill organizer onto Leo’s bedside table; one of the lids pops open and there’s little plinks as vitamins scatter. “How much of this have you had!?”

He wrenches the bag out of Leo’s grip, and Leo yelps again as he loses the food. The only food he had, and now Draxum has it and Leo is going to-

“This bag is over half empty,” snarls Draxum, waving it in Leo’s face. Leo doesn’t have the presence of mind to defend himself, because he’s still trying to wrench his wrist free. He claws at Draxum’s arm with his free hand, and somehow it gets Draxum to let go; he jerks away with a gasp, dropping the handful of chips to the floor, and at the same time the ones already in his mouth leave painful scratches down his throat and lodge there. Leo doubles over and wheezes in a desperate attempt to get air.

“Are you- Leonardo!” Draxum looms over him, and Leo doesn’t have the strength to flee. He can’t do anything as Draxum strikes him, once, twice, three times on the shell in big, open-palmed slaps.

A white-hot cough rips up Leo’s throat, and he spews the half-chewed potato chips across his blanket, bits of drool and spittle dangling from his lips and tears rolling down his face. He sucks in a deep breath as feeling returns to his limbs.

The hand that hit him moves toward him again, and Leo dodges this time, flinging himself off his bed and into the floor, scrambling backwards to put distance between himself and his attacker.

“DON’T TOUCH ME!” he shouts, hand flailing for his swords and not finding them. Where did he put them? Where did they take them?

“Leonardo-” 

Draxum takes a step toward him, and Leo pushes to his feet, grabbing for anything nearby to defend himself. But there’s nothing, nothing, where are his swords-

“Leonardo,” says Draxum more firmly, and he takes another step forward. “Stop this, you’re going to hurt-”

“No!” Leo presses himself back against the bookcase on the far wall, the metal shelves biting into the skin of his arms. “No,” he repeats, and a high, manic laugh bubbles through his throat. “You took my food.”

“This,” Draxum shakes the bag, “is all empty calories. This is not going to help your recovery! Why can’t you just do as you’re told-”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Leo spits. He feels stronger than he did a moment ago, pushing himself off the bookshelf and standing on steadier legs, squaring up against Draxum. “Just do as I’m told?” He laughs, a cold sound. “Just like Bishop wanted.”

Draxum stiffens. Something about his expression is… weird. If Leo didn’t know better, he’d almost say Draxum looks scared. “Do not compare me to him,” he says, and his voice is much lower than it was a moment ago. “I am trying to help you.”

“Help me?” Leo holds out his hand, taking a step forward. “Then give me my food back.”

Draxum watches him, gaze unwavering. He holds the chip bag closer to his chest. “I cannot.”

Leo barks out a laugh, high and cold. “I knew it. You’re just lying to me.”

Now he’s the one advancing on Draxum, slow but strong steps, one at a time. Draxum does not move.

“Leonardo-”

“I’m on to you,” says Leo. His voice is a chilly sing-song. “You’re sooo happy to have everyone out of the house. Now there’s no one to stop you from torturing me. Now you can watch me suffer.”

“I do not want you to suffer,” says Draxum, his tone measured. He still hasn’t moved an inch, even though Leo is right in front of him now, within striking distance. 

“Then why did you take my food!?”

“This is not good for you,” says Draxum. “I’ll feed you a healthy lunch in two hours.”

“Yeah?” Leo shakes his head. “What do you want me to do for it?”

Draxum’s eyes widen. “What do you mean?”

“Come on. Tell me.” Leo grins. It hurts his face. “Want me down on my knees? Want me to beg?”

Draxum’s face goes a shade paler. “No,” he says, firm. “You don’t have to do anything.”

“I don’t believe you,” says Leo. He laughs again. “I don’t. I don’t BELIEVE YOU!”

His fist connects with the glass- but it’s not glass, it’s Draxum’s face, and he goes sailing across the room like a rag doll. He slams back first into shelving, and there’s a clatter as Leo’s possessions tumble and fall around him.

He looks at Leo, eyes wide but expression steady, despite the fact that Leo just…

Leo… doesn’t know what just happened.

He shouldn’t have been able to hit that hard. He shouldn’t have been able to hit at all- Draxum should have blocked that, should have fought back, should have… should have…

“...What?” says Leo, and it comes out with a crack down the middle.

Draxum watches him a moment longer. Then he sighs and pushes himself off the shelves, getting back to his feet. He doesn’t come closer. “I cannot give you these,” he says, indicating the bag. “But I will not fight you.”

“...Why not?” Leo asks, because it just doesn’t follow anything he thought was happening here.

“Because I care for you,” says Draxum simply. Like it’s obvious.

“...I don’t understand,” Leo says, because he doesn’t.

Draxum nods. “That’s because I haven’t properly explained it to you. I didn’t think it was necessary… but it was. Is.” He sighs, rubbing his cheek, starting to glow red from Leo’s punch. “I’m very sorry for that, Leonardo.”

Leo stares. Draxum is… apologizing? He should be attacking, fighting back, not apologizing!

The adrenaline leeches out of Leo, leaving him sagging in the middle of his room - his messy room, with everything thrown around like it’s in an active war zone. A million emotions are running through him, his dying rage warring against the confusion and the beginnings of remorse, a roiling mix that leaves him feeling sick to his stomach.

…Oh wait, no. He’s actually sick to his stomach.

Leo clamps a hand over his mouth, and Draxum is moving again - more calmly, this time. He drops the chip bag on the floor and grabs the wastebasket Leo has sitting by what could generously be called a desk. He holds it out, just in time for Leo to lose his breakfast and all the chips he just downed.

Leo hovers over the wastebasket until he’s empty, until he’s spit a few times to try and get rid of the taste. Then he wipes his mouth on his palm and looks up at Draxum warily.

“Are you finished?” Draxum asks.

Leo shrugs. Draxum takes that as an affirmative and lowers the wastebasket to the floor by the doorway.

“Why are you helping me?” Leo asks.

“I’ve been helping you this whole time,” says Draxum, and it’s only the exasperation that manages to break through that makes Leo think it’s - maybe - not a lie.

“Why?” he repeats, more urgently. 

“Because you are my son.”

Leo steps back, his knees knocking into his bed. He sinks down onto the mattress, balling himself up until he can wrap his arms around his knees. 

“No,” he says. “Mikey’s your son. Raph and Donnie, they’re your sons.”

A look passes over Draxum’s face. It’s… sad.

“You are my son, too.” Draxum takes a step toward him, then seems to second guess himself and stops. “I know we don’t get along. But the fear that froze my chest when they told me you were gone couldn’t mean anything else.”

Leo stares at Draxum, searching every part of his expression for any hint, any suggestion, that he’s lying. He waits for Draxum to change his tune, to start yelling again, to hit him, to do something.

Draxum doesn’t. And Leo sags on the bed. The feeling of fear with nowhere to direct it leaves him floating.

“I’m going to explain everything to you now,” says Draxum. “But I need to get a few things first. Will you be alright on your own for a few minutes?”

Being alone for a few minutes sounds great; Leo needs to pull himself together. He nods.

“Good.” Draxum stoops and picks up the wastebasket, then the bag of chips, and the chips that fell on the floor. “Answer your phone,” he says, “before your brother comes back to skin me alive.”

Then he leaves the train car. It’s only then Leo realizes his phone is ringing - has been ringing.

He scrambles to pick it up, seeing Raph’s name and picture lighting up the screen. Raph, who is supposed to be getting groceries, because they’re running low.

Raph, who apparently didn’t rat him out about the chips.

Leo shakily presses the answer button. Then he takes a deep breath and swallows to try and calm his voice.

Then he does what he does best and starts talking.

-----

“Heeey, bro,” says Leo, and Raph wants to weep with relief.

He’s two full blocks away from the grocery now, headed for the manhole cover closest to the lair. Their groceries are somewhere on the street behind him, and Splinter is held tight in his other arm. When Leo didn’t pick up right away, Raph started moving.

He felt it, after all: not as strong as the first time, not as desperate or afraid, but still there. Leo, terrified and alone and angry, crying out for help.

Leo hadn’t answered the first four calls, and the worst scenarios are still playing out in Raph’s imagination, even though he can hear Leo now.

“Leo!” he cries, and nearly fumbles the phone. He hits the speaker button, lowering it so Splinter can hear, too. “What happened!? Are you okay!? We’re on our way back right now!”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” says Leo, and his voice is scratchy and hoarse, but trying to be placating. “What are you talking about, big guy?” He sounds shaky, like saying those words in that tone is taking so much effort, and Raph wants to hit something until it breaks. 

“Just tell me what happened,” he says, trying to sound calm and failing. Splinter pats his arm and speaks up.

“We just need to know if you are alright, Blue.”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” says Leo, his voice cracking a bit on the last word. He clears his throat. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Raph falters, staring at the phone. Does Leo not know? Could Leo really not feel himself doing that?

He gives his dad a helpless look. Unfortunately, Splinter looks just as helpless. Raph dithers on his answer too long, finally choking out, “Raph just… got a bad feeling.”

“You get bad feelings over everything.”

(Raph wishes he did. Then he would have gotten a bad feeling when Leo went to Run of the Mill on his own.)

“This was just… a real bad feeling.”

“Leonardo,” says Splinter softly, “are you certain you are okay?”

“Yeah,” says Leo, and he doesn’t sound like he’s okay, but like an actor pretending to be someone who’s okay. “It’s… Look, me and Drax got in a fight, but it wasn’t a big deal.”

“He fought you!?” Raph shouts. Someone across the street gives him a weird look.

“Not physically!” says Leo hastily. “Not- I mean- he didn’t- it’s not like he would hurt me, right?”

It sounds a little too much like an actual question, and Raph feels queasy.

“He better not, or Raph’ll hurt him.”

“Red,” says Splinter softly. Then he says, into the phone, “No, Blue. He will not hurt you.”

“...Right,” says Leo quietly. “Yeah. He won’t.”

Raph breathes shakily, trying to quell the urge to pummel a car parked on the side of the road into scrap metal. “Listen, we’re on our way back right now, okay? Just give us-”

“You got the groceries already?” Leo interrupts. He sounds so fragile.

Again, Raph looks helplessly at Splinter. This time, Splinter steps in.

“We’re getting them right now, Blue. Then we’ll be on our way back.”

“...Yeah. Cool. Good.” Leo clears his throat again. “Then… see you guys in a few?”

“...Yeah,” says Raph, at a loss. “A few.”

“Okay. Well. Bye.”

He hangs up. Raph doesn’t move the phone, staring at it long after the screen goes dark and Leo’s smiling face disappears.

“Pops, we’re not really going back for the food, are we?”

“He’ll be upset if we come back without it.”

Raph knows he’s right. He knows that. But everything in his body is screaming to get back to Leo right now, not to leave him alone for another second.

“We can’t all run off and leave him again,” he says.

“Yes,” agrees Splinter. “You are right.”

Raph nods. Then, even though it tears him apart, he turns around and starts walking back to the grocery store. He hopes no one spotted their bags and took them, or they’ll have to start over. They’ll have to leave Leo alone even longer.

“He hated being alone as a kid,” he says.

“I know,” says his dad.

“We shouldn’t have left him today. I knew it.”

“Yes. You were right.”

Raph feels a little mad at Splinter then, that he didn’t think through the consequences. Splinter said this isn’t on Raph alone, but if he’s the only one thinking about the wellbeing of his brothers…

His brothers.

He puts Splinter down, then unlocks his phone again. “I’m gonna call the other guys. They probably felt that, too.”

“A good idea,” says Splinter. Raph nods at the approval, then clicks Donnie’s contact.

Thankfully for Raph’s anxiety, he answers on the second ring. “Hello you are now conversing with Donatello,” he says in a rush, following up with, “What happened to Leo!? Are you home!?”

“No, but I talked to him,” Raph reassures him quickly. “He says he and Barry got in a fight.”

“A fight!?” Donnie echoes. “Aha! I knew he’d turn back to supervillainy one day! You owe me twenty bucks!” A pause, and then Donnie says, “Wait, is Leo okay!?”

“No,” says Raph honestly, “but I think it’s just a normal sort of bad. It wasn’t that kinda fight.”

“Ah. An emotional fight…” Donnie sighs. “But it was bound to happen, I suppose.”

“…Yeah,” Raph agrees, even though he thinks there must have been something they could have done to prevent it. He thinks about the chips again. He doesn’t know what the right thing was, still. “You felt it, right?”

“Yes. It wasn’t as strong as the first time, though.”

“What about Mikey, did he feel it, too?”

“Probably.”

Raph frowns. “You don’t know?”

“I am not Micheal.”

“…So can you ask?”

“I suppose I can text him for you.”

Raph nearly drops the phone. Then he glances down at Splinter, looking for any hint that he’s listening into Donnie’s half of the conversation.

“Why don’t you ask him, since he is right there with you where he is supposed to be!?”

“H-huh? Oh. Oh, yes!” Donnie chuckles nervously. “The buddy system, where he is my buddy, and stays in the same place as me and doesn’t go anywhere else.”

“Right,” hisses Raph. “That buddy system.”

“Yes! Well. He iiiis…n’t with me, but! He is. Here. On the other side of the junkyard!”

Raph rubs the bridge of his nose. “Well, tell him to get back from the other side of the junkyard right now so he can be with his buddy!”

“Yes, I will do that. Right now. And then we’ll be together because we’re in the same place, haha, but I’m so very busy right now goodbye Raphala!”

He hangs up the phone. Raph scowls at it.

“Is everything alright?” asks Splinter, and Raph wants to rat them out, just for a moment, but he ain’t a snitch. Even when he thinks his brothers are being unbelievably stupid.

“Everything’s fine, Pops,” he says, quickly opening his text thread with Mikey.

boy you better get your butt back to D right now or so help me you will NOT like what comes next

Then he gives Splinter a strained smile and repeats, “Everything’s fine! Let’s get those groceries!”

-----

When Draxum comes back, he’s carrying a plastic baggy, a bottle of Gatorade, and a whiteboard under his arm. He requests permission to sit on Leo’s bed, and Leo nods reluctantly.

He sets the whiteboard to the side, then opens the Gatorade and passes it to Leo. Then he opens the plastic baggy and holds that out, too.

There’s crackers in the bag. Leo takes them, a little stunned.

“I can eat these?” he asks.

“They’ll help settle your stomach,” says Draxum. “It’s not good for you to eat too much, but it’s also not good for your stomach to sit empty.”

Leo cautiously takes one of the crackers out, watching Draxum as he does. When no hand reaches to stop him, he takes a bite, chewing slow. He still feels a little nauseous, but the familiar texture and taste of the cracker soothes him somehow.

“Good,” says Draxum, propping the whiteboard on his knees and popping the cap off a marker. “Take sips of the drink, too. You need the electrolytes.”

Leo does as he’s told, alternating bites of the cracker with sips of the Gatorade. His stomach slowly unknots, and the tension in his shoulders relaxes.

He wasn’t expecting a snack, but Draxum brought him one.

On the board, Draxum has written the days of the week, and drawn out a grid underneath them. Leo eats his snack and watches as Draxum fills each square on the grid with a number.

“Where’d you even get that?” he asks after a minute.

“I borrowed it from Donatello’s lab.”

Leo whistles. “Without asking?”

“I don’t think he will mind.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.” Leo points at the numbers. They aren’t times, or prices, so… “What are these?”

Draxum lowers the board, turning to look at Leo. “Do you know what refeeding syndrome is?”

“…Should I?”

Draxum shakes his head. “No, there’s no reason for you to have known. I should have explained this sooner, but it didn’t feel necessary. …And I thought it might scare you.”

“Scare me?” Leo repeats. He’s not sure what could be even more scary than the fear he feels all the time now.

“I am not telling you this to scare you,” Draxum stresses. “I am telling you this so you understand what is happening now.”

Leo slowly nods.

“Right. So, do you know that when a person is starving, their body changes how it processes nutrients?”

“Yeah, it’s like, starvation mode.”

“If you must call it that,” says Draxum with a nod. “The body stops relying on carbs and glucose and uses fatty acids instead. This helps preserve the muscles, but causes a severe depletion in intracellular minerals.”

That sounded like a Donnie-level infodump to Leo. He stares at Draxum blankly. “Can you say that again, en Ingles por favor?”

Draxum actually makes a noise that could almost be a laugh. “Alright, think of it this way: a painter wants to use purple, but their purple paints are running low. So they start using red and blue mixed together, which solves the problem of preserving the purple paint, at the cost of running low on red and blue.”

Leo raises his eye ridges. “Is this how you explain stuff to Mikey?”

Draxum shrugs. “He understands art metaphors.”

Leo settles back a little more comfortably on his bed. He munches on a cracker. “It’s fine for today. Think of a comic book metaphor for next time.”

Draxum gives a long suffering sigh and says, “Fine. But do you understand now?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Good. So when a person eats again after a long term starvation event, their body won’t start relying on glucose again right away. It’s still in “starvation mode,” as you called it, and switching isn’t easy. The painter buys a new purple paint, but the color is different enough that they will have to use more red and blue to blend the two together.”

“I’m starting to lose track of the art metaphor here. We added purple, but we’re still low on red and blue, right?”

“Yes, precisely. Your body is low on critical minerals, and those need to be replenished at the same time it is given more carbs to convert to glucose.”

“But I still don’t understand why that means I have to eat less,” says Leo.

“Digestion itself takes energy,” says Draxum. “And the body isn’t using the tools it’s being given properly yet. So it is using more and more minerals without replacing any. The imbalance leads to stress on the body, which has negative downstream effects.”

“So, TLDR, if I eat too much right now, my body can’t handle it and I’ll get sick.”

“I have no idea what TLDR means, but yes, simply put.”

Leo looks at the cracker in his hand thoughtfully. “So all the times I’ve puked are refeeding syndrome?”

“No,” says Draxum with a shake of his head. “That is because your stomach has shrunk, and you’ve overstuffed it.” A pause, then Draxum adds, “Though I believe what just happened was a stress response.”

“I’m not stressed,” says Leo. The look Draxum gives him is not convinced. “Sooo then what is refeeding syndrome if it’s not barfing?”

“The lack of minerals causes severe stress on all parts of the body, especially the organs. This can lead to a number of disorders… including organ failure.” Draxum pauses, like he doesn’t want to say more, but he still adds, “In extreme cases, it can lead to heart failure.”

The cracker Leo is holding slips through his fingers. He feels his pulse speed up, something cold and terrible sliding through him.

“If I eat too much my heart could stop?” he asks, and his voice is small.

“In extreme cases,” Draxum repeats. “If you began showing symptoms, we would take you to a hospital. Even in the Hidden City there is no mystic cure-all for this, but they could at least reduce the stress on your organs.”

Leo shakes his head. His hands are trembling. The words feel like they’re coming to him through thousands of feet of water.

“Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?”

“I did not want to scare you,” Draxum says again. “And I did not think it was necessary. Refeeding syndrome is entirely preventable, if precautions are taken.”

It barely penetrates. All Leo wants is food. All he wants is to eat. But now food somehow feels like the enemy. He suddenly queasy again. Should he even be eating these crackers? What is safe? What isn’t?

“Is this forever?” he manages to ask. 

He doesn’t know how to take it, if it is.

“No,” says Draxum quickly. He raises his hand and reaches toward Leo, but Leo flinches. Draxum lets it drop again. “…No, Leonardo, it is not forever,” he says, and his voice is more soft than Leo has ever heard it - more soft than he thought Draxum capable of. “The most critical time for refeeding is the first five to seven days. You are almost clear of the danger zone now. And your enhanced biology may even mean we’re already past it… though I am still being cautious.”

Leo lets out a breath. So it’s not forever - it may even be over. It doesn’t calm the racing of his heart (at least he knows it hasn’t stopped, ha ha), but it does make him feel like he can pick up the cracker again.

“Then what happens once we’re past it?”

“That is what this is for.” Draxum lifts the whiteboard again, perching it on his knees. “Even once you’re out of danger of refeeding syndrome, we’ll still need to build your daily food intake up gradually, until you can eat like you once did. These,” he taps the board with the marker, “are my calorie goals for each meal and snack. As you can see, every day it goes up.”

Leo looks over the counts. They don’t really mean anything to him, but he can at least see how the number increases across the seven days on the board. “How many calories is normal?”

“Based on calculations I have done, going off what I have seen you boys eat as well as my own estimates for your growth, you and Donatello eat roughly five thousand calories a day, sometimes going as high as six thousand when you are particularly active.” Draxum scribbles the number in the corner of the whiteboard. “It’s high compared to humans, but within perfectly healthy limits given your mutant biology and high metabolism. Raphael eats more, and Michelangelo eats a bit less, though not by much.”

“Yeah,” Leo gives a chuckle, “kid can put away a whole large pizza by himself when his blood sugar’s low.”

“Unfortunately, I have seen him do it.” Draxum sighs. “But right now, you are averaging much less.” He taps the numbers. “Our goal right now is to get to where you are eating around twenty two hundred calories a day steadily, without getting sick.”

Leo has never been the math guy, but even he can handle some simple division. “Less than half? Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously. That is why ensuring that your meals are as nutritious as possible is important.” He nods at the pill organizer. “And why the vitamins are important.”

Less than half as much as he used to eat… It leaves Leo feeling a little dizzy again. Nine days without food wrecked his system this hard?

“Don’t panic,” says Draxum in that soft voice again, and Leo feels a little resentment for how it pulls him out of his ensuing spiral. “You can see that your counts are going up steadily, and as we reintroduce solid food it will get even easier. And this is not hard and fast. Going a little above this is not an issue. And I am constantly readjusting as we go. It will take time before you are… putting away entire pizzas.” Draxum scrunches up his face in distaste. “But in a few weeks, you will be eating a much more normal diet than you are now.”

Leo rubs his hand up and down his arm. “Normal like, I can eat potato chips without getting yelled at?”

Draxum sighs. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you to begin with.”

“Yeah, well…” Leo fishes his last cracker out of the bag and rubs it between his fingers. “I gave you a black eye, so I think we’re even.”

“Hmph.” Draxum almost sounds amused, though he doesn’t let his lips quirk up even a tiny bit. Leo thinks he might be allergic to smiles, unless he’s doing something evil. “Still, I hope you understand the situation now.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Leo takes a small bite of the last cracker. Takes his time chewing and swallowing it. “The main thing is you’re going to keep being a pain in the butt for the next few weeks, right?”

“Yes, you’re stuck with me.” Draxum watches him take another bite of cracker, then says, “There’s something else you need to understand, Leonardo. The goal of this,” he taps the whiteboard, “is to keep you from getting sick. It is not to keep you hungry.”

Leo stares at the board, and the calorie counts, all laid out neatly. “Sure,” he says, and he doesn’t feel it.

Draxum hesitates, then taps each row, reading off, “Breakfast, lunch, snack, dinner, snack. Smaller amounts of food more frequently, to keep your stomach full without overstuffing.”

“Makes sense, I guess.”

“And this can be moved around. If you eat breakfast earlier than normal, you can have a snack in the morning instead. But you tend to sleep in, which is why I structured it this way.”

“Nine’s not sleeping in,” Leo grumbles.

“Nine is- no, this is not the point.” Draxum gives his head a shake. “The point is, if you want to move your eating times around, we can. The goal of this is to keep you from getting sick. It is not to keep you hungry.”

“I heard you the first time.”

“No, I’m not sure you did.” Draxum again uncaps the marker, then writes across the top of the board five simple words:

If you are hungry: eat.

Leo stares at those words. It feels like a trap, a trick - Draxum’s being all nice right now, but the way he ripped the bag from Leo’s hands…

“I was hungry when I ate the chips,” he says, and it’s a little bit of a lie, but that’s not the point. He watches Draxum carefully, for any sign that this is all fake, and Draxum really does want him to suffer.

Draxum’s brows furrow. “You are not in trouble for eating,” he says. “You’ll never be in trouble for eating. It is just good for you right now to eat healthy things. 

“I know it isn’t fair,” he adds, voice blunt, “but life rarely is.”

Leo studies his face. And the amazing thing is, he doesn’t think Draxum is lying.

“So… if I want a late night snack, I can eat some crackers?” he asks, waving the empty baggie.

“Yes. Or a banana, or some yogurt… If you feel very hungry, you could even eat some egg, or leftover soup.”

“And you’re fine with me just eating… whenever?”

“If you are so hungry you need to eat an extra meal, I just ask that you let me know, so I can adjust.” He taps the board. “But yes, I am. You know the stakes now. I trust you.”

Trust. Leo’s never had much of that from anyone. He looks down at the empty bag and wonders if it’s really true.

“…Is there anything you need right now?” Leo lifts his eyes back to Draxum’s face. “I can get it for you.”

Leo thinks about it. “When did you say lunch is?”

“About an hour and twenty minutes, now.”

“Then… I’m fine.” Leo pushes himself further back on his bed, dropping his trash into the space between them.

“Hm. I will bring you some more juice to drink.” Draxum nods at the pill organizer. “You still need to take those.”

Leo shoos him off. “I will, sheesh.” Now that he knows how important it is.

Draxum rolls his eyes and gets up. He takes the trash, but leaves the white board propped against the wall at the foot of Leo’s bed.

He’s almost to the door when Leo clears his throat and says, “Hey Barry?”

Draxum pauses, hand grasping the curtain. “Yes?”

“Any chance we can skip telling my dad and brothers about… everything?”

Draxum looks back at him. “Trust me when I say that I would like to omit this as much as you… But I am going to have to tell your father, at least.”

Leo groans, letting his head fall back on his pillows. “This sucks.”

“Then I will try to think of ways to make it suck less.” Draxum pulls the curtain aside. “Rest, Leonardo. I’ll bring your juice.”

Then he’s gone, leaving Leo alone.

-----

Raph puts the groceries down in the kitchen, then looks toward the escalator leading down. He should stay and help put everything away, but all he wants to do right now is rush to Leo’s side.

“Go,” says Splinter beside him. “I can take care of this.”

That’s all the permission Raph needs; he takes the escalator steps two at a time and crashes down onto the lower level.

Draxum is there, standing outside Leo’s train car and looking at one of his notebooks again. When he hears Raph, he closes it and looks up.

Raph’s eyes catch on the bruise forming on Draxum’s cheek and eye - it’s just starting to darken, but Raph can tell it’s going to be a plum shade of purple by the end of the day.

“He told me it wasn’t physical,” says Raph immediately. A little dangerously.

“It wasn’t, on my end,” says Draxum.

Raph finds that he believes that, and he can’t help the way his lips quirk up at the news.

Draxum scowls. “Yes, yes, very funny.”

Raph claps him on the shoulder. “Come on, Barry. You know you deserved it.”

“We can debate that later,” says Draxum, dry. He nods at the train car. “He’s in his room.”

“Raph figured.” He locks eyes on the room, wishing he could see past the curtains to know Leo’s state. “When you guys were fighting, he… called for us again.”

Draxum’s expression turns more concerned - nearly imperceptibly so, but Raph knows him well enough by now to see it. “Yes, I know.”

“You felt it?”

“No.” Draxum pulls away. “I have things to discuss with Lou Jitsu. Is he in the kitchen?”

“Yeah.” Raph wants to know what Draxum saw, but he always wants to get to Leo as fast as possible. In the end, the draw to his brother is stronger, and he steps forward. “Help him put the groceries up.”

“If I must,” says Draxum, and then he walks away toward the escalator. Raph doesn’t hang around to watch, instead hurrying to Leo’s room.

The room is a mess, even more than normally. His action figures are scattered everywhere, comic books have been knocked from the shelves, his blankets are on the floor. Leo himself is in bed, vacant expression staring at nothing Raph can see, and it’s an eerie way to see his little brother, usually never without his phone or a comic book in his quiet moments. 

He clears his throat, and Leo’s eyes flick his way. “Hey, Leo.”

“Hey.” Leo rouses himself to alertness, like he’d been sleeping with his eyes open. He shifts on his pillows so he can better see Raph. “You guys got the groceries?”

“Yeah, we did,” he assures Leo. He walks in, standing over Leo’s bed. He’d been so anxious to get back here, but now he finds himself trapped in the same place as always, unsure what to say or do.

Leo stares up at him. “…Everything okay, hermano?”

“I came to ask you that.” Raph sits down on the edge of the bed, then startles when something hard falls against his arm. He looks and finds a whiteboard, with numbers that make no sense to him written in neat columns (not Leo’s handwriting), and, across the top:

If you are hungry: eat.

Raph can’t help but stare at those words a few seconds longer. Is this something Leo needed to be told?

Beside him, Leo is saying, “Me and Drax got in a fight, but we worked it out. It’s fine.”

“Yeah.” Raph grins, tearing his eyes away from the whiteboard to look at Leo. “I saw the shiner you gave him.”

He’s expecting a grin back; for Leo’s expression to turn mischievous, or cocky. For Leo to proudly take credit for punching Draxum right in the eye.

He’s not expecting Leo to flinch and look away. “I thought he was better at dodging than that,” he says.

Raph falters, not sure how to respond. He knows Leo; his little brother would never hit anyone for no reason, even someone like Baron Draxum. Leo might playfight, Leo might even throw things at them from time to time, but he never aimed to hurt, only to irritate. 

Once again, Raph doesn’t know the right way to approach this situation. Should he try to talk to Leo about this? Is he the right person to try? Would Leo even want to hear it from Raph, who so often struggles with his own anger responses?

(He thinks about the fight again, and feels a rush of shame.)

He’s still trying to work it out when Leo changes the subject.

“Why didn’t you tell him?” Leo picks at some fuzz on his sheets. “About the chips.”

That’s something else Raph has been trying to figure out. But now, for this question at least, he has an answer.

“They didn’t have anyone’s name on ‘em.”

Leo’s fingers pause. “But you know I’m not supposed to eat those.”

“Yeah, well… I still wasn’t gonna tell. Raph’s not a snitch.” He shrugs. “Look, I know Barry’s right and you gotta be careful about what you eat so you don’t get sick. But this is still your house, Leo. We agreed a long time ago that unless food has someone’s name on it, it’s fair game.”

Leo actually smiles just a little at that, and Raph feels his heart leap at the sight. It’s not quite a full, big Leo smile, but it’s something. “And sometimes the name doesn’t stop us.”

Raph laughs. “That’s just because I got three little brothers who are a pain in the shell.” He reaches out to rub Leo’s head, and is a little surprised and a lot pleased when Leo doesn’t duck it. 

(It wraps around to concern again, when Leo seems to chase the touch like he’ll drown without it.)

“Listen,” he says, “Draxum gives you any more trouble and you just come tell me, okay? I’ll deal with it. We’ll get it worked out.” He moves his hand down to scratch the ridge of Leo’s shell, right where he can’t easily reach himself. “Raph’s got your back.”

Leo goes tense under his fingers, and Raph thinks he’s said something wrong. But the soft little, “Oh,” Leo says after isn’t upset. It’s just… surprised.

But why would he be surprised by that?

But when Raph thinks about it… when’s the last time he told Leo that? When’s the last time he felt like Leo had his back, too?

Somewhere along the way, he and Leo lost what made them them. Best friends, friendly rivals, brothers through thick and thin. It all got swallowed up by their fights and disagreements. And then Leo was taken from him.

But Leo isn’t gone. Leo is right here.

And suddenly Raph doesn’t know how he’s made it this long without hugging his little brother. He should have already. That should have been the first thing.

He moves the hand that’s scratching Leo’s shell to more firmly grab his back, watching close to see Leo’s reaction. Leo’s eyes flutter closed, like he feels totally safe, and Raph doesn’t waste the trust that’s been given to him.

He lifts Leo up and pulls him into his lap, wrapping his arms around in the safest bear hug he can give. Leo melts into it, his head leaning against Raph’s plastron, his arm coming up to loosely hook itself around Raph’s neck. 

“I gotcha, Leo,” he promises, cradling him close. “I gotcha.”

“I know,” says Leo, but Raph wonders if he really does. Raph hasn’t done a great job of showing it.

He still doesn’t know his answer. He still feels a stab in his heart when he thinks of Leo saying he did what a hero would. But April was right. Leo doesn’t need big emotional confrontations right now. He needs his big brother.

And Raph can do that. It’s the thing he’s best at.

“Hey,” he says, “wanna come watch Jupiter Jim: Venture to Venus with me?”

Leo opens his eyes to squint up at him. “Dee’ll hate it if he misses the sing-along parts,” he says, but now, finally, a little bit of his mischievousness is back.

Raph grins. “What Donnie doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

Leo laughs then, small and tired and hoarse but there. Raph gives him another squeeze, then stands up and takes Leo with him.

He’s still unsettlingly light, like he was when Raph lifted him from the cot. But there’s a little more of him back.

If they get a little more of him every day, eventually, his little brother will truly be home.

-----

Leo stays in his lap for the movie. He makes no attempt to leave and Raph makes no attempt to remove him.

Splinter brings them lunch around the halfway mark: the alphabet soup they bought at the store for Leo, with bread and more banana for after. Leo complains that he’s not a little kid, but out of the corner of his eye Raph catches him industriously fishing around for the letters L, E, and O. He gets a little, self-satisfied smile on his face at his accomplishment, and Raph has to force his eyes to focus on the screen before he squishes Leo like one of his teddy bears.

After lunch, Leo dozes off. It’s not a surprise, especially given how eventful the morning was. Raph’s just glad it’s actual sleep and not that scary, blank-eyed stare he saw Leo with earlier.

Raph stays there after his arms fall asleep, after the movie ends, after he hears Donnie and Mikey come home (together, at least). He’d stay there all night, but Splinter comes in and puts a hand on his arm. He’s carrying a plate with a snack for Leo.

“Draxum wants to talk to you and Purple and Orange.”

Raph looks at Leo, still curled up against him, and shakes his head. “I don’t wanna leave him.”

“It’s alright. I will be here with him.” Splinter pats his arm again. “Take a break and stretch. You can sit with him after you’re done.”

Reluctantly, Raph gets up. He shifts Leo to the chair as carefully as he can (Leo murmurs in his sleep but doesn’t wake), then looks back at Splinter.

“You’ll be here when he wakes up, right?” he asks again.

(Maybe he’s still a little mad.)

“Yes,” Splinter promises. “I’ll be here.”

So Raph leaves. He shakes out his arms and legs, stiff from holding Leo, then swings by the bathroom before making his way to the kitchen. He can hear Mikey there already.

“-tell us what happened,” Mikey is saying, standing with his arms crossed and face angry. This is the most frustrated Raph can remember seeing Mikey act toward Draxum. Beside him, Donnie looks equally agitated.

“I have told your father what happened,” says Draxum, looking much more calm by comparison, “and we have agreed to maintain Leonardo’s privacy for now.”

“Is it about Leo’s privacy or do you think we just don’t deserve to know?” Mikey snaps. Raph knows that tone, and he knows this is about to turn into a fight.

He steps into the middle before it can. “Hold up, Mikey. Let’s hear him out.” His little brother does not seem happy with that, and he opens his mouth to argue, but before he can Raph refocuses on Draxum. “Tell us what’s goin’ on, Barry.”

Draxum’s eyes move slowly between all three of them before landing on Raph. “As I was telling your brothers, Lou Jitsu and I have agreed not to tell you all the details of what happened earlier, primarily because we are not sure how much Leonardo himself is comfortable with you knowing.”

It stings, but Raph knows he’s right. It’s like the security tapes Donnie chose not to watch. They have to let Leo decide how much they know and how much they don’t.

Still, Raph has his concerns. He folds his arms, mimicking his brothers behind him, and stares Draxum down. “Alright,” he says, and ignores the indignant noise Mikey makes behind him, “but did you tell Pops everything?”

“Yes.”

“Everything?”

“Yes,” Draxum repeats. “He needs to know, so we know how to care for Leonardo going forward.”

Raph isn’t as good at reading people as Leo, but it’s not like Draxum is an enigma, either. He doesn’t think the old goat is lying, so Raph relaxes his posture.

“Okay,” he says. “As long as Dad knows.”

“He did something so bad Leo punched him!” Mikey argues. “Leo doesn’t just do that!”

“In his defense,” says Donnie, “Draxum’s face is very punchable.”

Raph snorts at the indignant look Draxum gives that remark.

“Honestly,” says Draxum with a sigh, “all four of you boys are the same… But I can tell you that much.” He looks down, not meeting their eyes now. “I took food from your brother’s hands, before I realized what an error that is.”

All of them stiffen. Behind him, Raph senses Donnie shifting his weight in agitation. 

“You took food from him!?” cries Mikey. He sounds so betrayed. “Why!?”

“I was worried about him making himself sick,” Draxum explains. “But I did not handle it well. I have already apologized to him.”

“You better have!” Ah, there’s Doctor Delicate Touch.

“I have,” Draxum repeats. “And we have reached an understanding… which is what I need to talk to the three of you about.” He looks at them now. “There are going to be some new rules around here, at least for the duration of Leonardo’s recovery.”

“What rules?” asks Raph. “Besides don’t yank food out of Leo’s hands?”

“Well, that is an important one.” Draxum nods. “But we have also decided to adhere to a more strict meal schedule than you do normally. If meals are coming at regular, predictable times, we think this will reduce a lot of stress for Leonardo.”

Raph thinks of the words on the whiteboard. Of the neat rows of numbers. Does Leo wonder when he’ll be fed next? Does it scare him, not knowing?

Doesn’t he know his family would never let him go hungry?

“It makes sense,” says Donnie behind him. “We usually eat whenever we feel like it, but if Leo has to be careful with his diet, having a routine will make it easier.”

If Donnie thinks so, it’s probably right. Raph nods. “Yeah, sure. Whatever we gotta do to help Leo.”

Draxum nods back. “Right now, we’re planning for breakfast at eight, or whenever he wakes up, lunch at noon, and dinner at six. Leo will get regular snacks as well; smaller, more frequent meals are better for him right now than three large ones. Of course, the three of you can still do what you feel like; if you want your own snack, or want to eat later, you can.”

“Let’s all try to eat with Leo,” says Raph, looking back at his brothers. Donnie nods immediately; Mikey hesitates.

“Will Leo be in trouble,” he asks, “if he eats snacks when you didn’t tell him to?”

“No,” says Draxum. “I have already told him this. If he’s hungry, he can eat; he doesn’t need anyone to tell him he can.”

Raph’s glad to hear that; he knows he wouldn’t have been able to play food police. Mikey seems to calm down at this reassurance, too, and he nods.

“Okay. Then, we’re starting tonight? Dinner at six?”

“Yes.” Draxum seems relieved, that Mikey doesn’t look so angry anymore. “You can help me, if you want.”

“Duh,” says Mikey, and Draxum cringes. “I’ll be here!”

He and Donnie leave then; Donnie says he’s going to finish Leo’s curtains, and Mikey goes to his room. Raph hangs back, watching Draxum.

“You sure you didn’t touch him?” he asks, once he’s sure his brothers are out of earshot.

Draxum looks at him, open, not hiding. “I did not. I acted rashly, but I would not lay a hand on him.”

“…Okay. I believe you.” Raph folds his arms. “But if Leo ever tells me anything different, you know what happens next, right?”

“I do. But I would not hurt him.” Draxum looks nonchalant, despite the conversation. “Despite my best efforts, I’ve grown fond of all of you. I’m here to help him.”

Raph can’t help but smile at that. It’s probably as close as Barry will ever get to being affectionate.

“Thanks, then. For all you’re doin’.” Raph turns to leave. “But don’t yank food out of his hands again.”

“I won’t. You have my word.”

Raph decides to take it.

-----

“Blue…? Are you awake?”

Leo blinks his eyes open to find Splinter peering down at him, a plate in his hand. Blearily, he sits up in the recliner. It takes him a moment to realize he’s by himself now - Raph has gone.

It makes him feel a little sad. He knows Raph still has something he wants to yell about, but there for a short while, it was really nice to just be his little brother.

Now his dad is here, with food. Leo remembers the chart Draxum gave him - breakfast, lunch, snack, dinner, snack - and feels his heart relax.

“Hey, Dad. Yeah, I’m awake.”

“Very good. I have brought you some more yogurt and fruit.”

“Yippee,” says Leo, tone flat. “I’m gonna be the most regular guy on the planet after this.”

Splinter laughs at that, and it makes Leo feel a little sense of triumph. “Cherish it while you’re young.”

“Ew, gross,” he says, and Splinter laughs again.

Leo eats his snack. The projector skips on the screen, still on but with nothing set to play. Splinter settles in on the arm of the chair and waits until Leo’s almost done.

Then he says, “Draxum told me what happened earlier.”

Leo goes stiff. He swallows his bite of banana around the knot in his throat. 

“Yeah, he… said he was going to tell you.”

“I’m sorry that he was so harsh with you. You are not in trouble for taking the chips. The food in this lair is as much yours as it is any of ours.”

“I know,” says Leo, even though he’s not sure of anything anymore. But it’s what Splinter wants to hear.

“I won’t be leaving you alone with him again.” Splinter pats his arm. “He may be reformed, but he is still stupid, and not at all fit to take care of children!”

“Which is what makes him perfect for a public school lunchroom,” says Leo, and grins when it gets another laugh out of his dad.

Leo finishes his snack. The projector is still skipping. It makes a little clicking noise every few seconds.

“...Leonardo,” says Splinter, and Leo tenses up again.

“Oh no, full name…”

“You are not in trouble,” says Splinter again. Leo wonders why he keeps saying that. “But I have to ask you this again. When you were… with the EPF. Did anyone touch you in any way?”

Leo stares at him. Why are they having this conversation again?

“No. I told you that, remember?”

“I remember. But I have to make sure.” Splinter puts his hand on Leo’s. Leo stares at it. “Did anyone… make you do something you didn’t want to do?”

“Uh… besides stay there?”

“Leonardo.” Splinter’s tone is not angry, but Leo still winces. “I understand that this is uncomfortable to talk about. But I need to know for your safety. Did any of them do anything to you? Or make you do something to them? To yourself?”

Leo stares at his dad’s hand. He thinks of getting down on his knees and begging.

“...No.” He gives his head a shake. “They didn’t even hit me or anything.” And it’s the truth.

They didn’t really do anything to him at all.

“...Alright.” Splinter leans over and presses a kiss to the top of Leo’s head. Leo keeps his eyes on their hands and listens to the skip of the projector. “Thank you for telling me.”

“Yeah. Sure.” He hands the empty plate over and sinks further into the recliner cushions. He wishes the conversation hadn’t curdled the snack in his guts. “Uh, can we… turn on something so the projector isn’t making that sound?”

“Oh, yes!” Splinter sets the plate aside, then grabs for the remote. “It is aaalmost time for Scorpion Treadmill!”

Leo snorts despite himself. “Sure, sounds great.”

Splinter finds the channel and settles into the chair next to Leo. Leo closes his eyes and listens to the Japanese he can barely understand and his dad’s laughter, and tries to ignore the way his own skin feels slimy.

-----

After dinner, and after his snack, Donnie shows him the new curtains.

The new rods are just as makeshift as the ones from the day before, with the same color and the same details. Leo loves them. He tells Donnie so, and Donnie grins big and happy, and Leo feels happy, too, that he can still make at least one brother look like that.

“Oh, I’m so glad you like them!” says Donnie, for what must be the fifth time. “But seriously, if you want me to add some smart tech to them, just say the word.”

“Thanks but no thanks, Dee. I don’t want my curtains to gain sentience on me.”

Donnie pouts, but it’s good natured. He comes over and sits on the bed next to Leo, the two of them looking around his room. It’s crazy to Leo, how different it looks now. Though, maybe the mess is contributing to that feeling…

“It’s so dark in here now,” Donnie observes. His tone is totally neutral in a way Donnie could never hope to fake, so Leo doesn’t take it as a judgment.

Which is good, because Leo doesn’t know how to explain that he likes it that way. That the dark makes him feel calm and safe. Hidden.

“I could always add more lighting,” he says instead. He has his lanterns and a desk lamp, but he has to admit, some things will be harder without the ambient lights from outside.

“Oh, I can do that next!” says Donnie. “What kind of lighting do you want? I can see what I have in the lab-”

“Whoa, hey,” says Leo quickly. He reaches over and flicks Donnie on his big forehead. (It lacks any force, because Leo is still weak, but Donnie says, “Ow!” exaggeratedly anyway.) “I get that you’re trying to help, but you’ve done enough. I know you must have some battleshell or robot or nuclear bomb you’re dying to work on instead.”

Donnie falters at that. He eyes Leo, the same way everyone does lately, like he’s some kind of timebomb that might go off.

“I just want you to be comfortable,” he says.

“What do you mean? I’m super comfy!” Leo waves the sleeve of his hoodie in demonstration. “It’s the lair, Don-ton. Same as always.”

Donnie’s expression goes even flatter. He turns his eyes on the train car walls. “Same as always? It hasn’t even been a year.”

Leo flinches. Right, well… So it’s not the same as ever. But it’s the same as the one he was stolen from, and that’s all that matters, right?

“You know what I mean.” He bumps their shoulders together. “It’s home. It’s where you guys are. I’m totally fine.”

And he means that.

He means it, he means it, he means it.

“...Right.” Donnie is trying to sound like he believes Leo. “Well, if you change your mind about the lighting, you know where to find me.”

“I sure do, hermano.” He bumps their shoulders again. “Thanks, though.”

They sit for a moment in silence. Leo wonders if he should offer a late night movie session, or if he should send Donnie on his way. He’s torn. He doesn’t really want to be alone. But he doesn’t want to bother Donnie more than he already has.

Before he can decide, Donnie’s phone dings. He picks it up and clicks something on his screen.

“What’s up?” asks Leo.

“Oh nothing.” Donnie waves a hand. “Draxum just finally decided to leave. About time…”

“Huh? How do you… know…”

Leo leans over on his shoulder to look, and answers his own question.

Cameras. Of course Donnie has cameras. This one is outside the entrance to the lair from the sewers, and Leo can see Draxum’s retreating back as he heads for the nearest manhole.

“The camera alerts me whenever anyone other than one of the five of us leaves,” Donnie is saying. “It’s part of the security upgrades I’ve been working on.”

“Security upgrades,” Leo repeats, feeling a little faint.

Donnie doesn’t notice, jumping on the chance to infodump. “Yes! I’ve added more cameras, and proximity alarms, and I’ve been working on more upgrades to our trackers, like I told you. Oh, and new security measures for my baby, of course. And once Shelldon’s new body is complete, I’ll integrate him with the system as well, and…”

Donnie’s still talking, but Leo can’t hear it. His eyes are tracking all around his train car - the dark corners, the shelves, the nooks and crannies.

Donnie has cameras all over the lair.

Where are the cameras in here?

-----

For another night in a row, Leo doesn’t sleep.

[maybanksmusings]

THE WALLS ; JJ MAYBANK

SYNOPSIS ; when an unknown face appears in the outer banks searching for a father she's never met, she's unaware of how her life is about to be completely turned upside down.

WARNINGS ; jjmaybank x routledge!oc, strong language, depictions of violence, afab!reader, sexual content, mentions of abuse, drug and alcohol consumption, strangers to lovers, fast burn to slow burn, canon adjacent, not proofread.

AUTHORS NOTE ; changes are being made! see this post to learn more. to me, this part seems a little like a filler, but i want to explore veronica as a character and develop each relationship with each character as something more than a side character, not just honing in on her relationship with jj, which of course is a huge part of the story also.

part one. part two. part three.

when veronica begins to stir, the sun had long set. there was no way of knowing how long the pair had been asleep, all she knew was the lights of the chateau were off and there was a bright pink post it note stuck to jj’s head.

‘gone fishin’. jb pissed.’

pope signed off on the note, a small smiley face drawn inside the o of his name. veronica knew the pouges hadn’t actually gone fishing, that is was some sort of code jj would decipher when he came to.

in this moment, veronica was content. wrapped in the arms of the most beautiful person she’d ever seen.

what could only be described as a war was ongoing in her head. she wasn’t exactly one to believe in love at first sight, she thought this entire ‘spark’ thing was something made up by male authors to keep women reading their shitty romance books to keep them hooked, waiting for it to happen to them.

but then she met jj, and he was like a magnet. every time veronica was in his presence she was mesmerised, whenever he was gone she felt like all the colour was drained from the world.

there was only two problems.

there was a maximum of forty eight hours that they knew each other, add to that he was her brothers best friend, then add to that said brother made it crystal clear that inter-group dating was not allowed.

oh, and then the whole ‘nobody knows i’m his sister but us’ thing.

“you’re staring, baby” jj mumbled, his voice low and tired as he stirred beneath her “can’t say i blame you”

with a sarcastic scoff, veronica sits upright in the hammock, her legs laid out across the blonds lap “just admiring the drool on your face”

“aren’t you funny.”

comfortable silence follows, jj crosses his arms behind his head and blinks the sleep out of his eyes. even though she was staring off into the water, veronica could feel jj’s eyes on her.

“can i help you?” veronica quipped, a teasing lilt to her words as she face the boy in question “use your words, you’ll get there.”

unexpectedly, jj sighs and lets his head fall back “what am i doing?”

veronica knows he didn’t intent for her to hear him, but she did. she would be lying if she said she wasn’t disappointed, but she was even more disappointed in herself at the pang of sadness that hit her.

before she can say, or do, anything, jj is sat up a little straighter and speaking again.

“listen, you’re a really cool girl,” he pauses, shaking his head and starting again “you’re hot as shit, damn it!”

barely, veronica manages to mask her giggle with a cough.

“don’t ask me how or why, but i gotta tell you i’m super into you.” he blurts out “yeah, makes no fuckin’ sense, we barely know each other, no pouge on pouge macking, you ain’t feeling me like that-“

her body is moving before her brain can even comprehend what she’s doing, chipped nail polish framing blond hair as she held his face in her hands and pressed their lips together.

then, her brain kicks in, and veronica jumps back like she’d just been burnt.

“fuck, jay i’m so sorry. i wasn’t thinking,”

seconds pass agonisingly slow and veronica can’t help but think about just how badly she had just fucked up.

but she doesn’t get to overthink for long.

a calloused hand tangled in long, brown hair. the other gripping her waist like it was a lifeline, helping her into his lap as his tongue makes its way into her mouth.

the kiss is messy, it’s desperate. like two people drowning, taking in the other like they were air. hands cling to whatever they can, afraid if they let go it would all be over.

any reservations veronica may have had about ‘the spark’ were discarded, undermined even, this wasn’t a spark, it was fireworks.

but fireworks don’t last forever, and when the sound of john b’s rickety van can be heard drawing closer. the newfound excitement being dulled by the shadow known as a protective older brother, a protective best friend.

by the time the missing pouges pour out of the twinkie, veronica and jj are in much less compromising positions, now sitting beside each other trading menial conversation about the earlier events of the day.

“welcome back to the land of the living,” kiara teases, a yellow vape coming up to her mouth as she took a hit “you two were out cold.”

instinctively, veronica’s hand shot out, wordlessly pleading for a hit of her vape. with a groan, kie handed it over.

veronica lets her head fall back against the hard oak of the tree behind her, relishing the feeling of her first hit of nicotine in two days. she had a vape when she left home, but it died before she even made it to the outer banks and being broke meant she couldn’t even go buy a replacement.

“you could’ve woke us up, y’know” jj defended, trying his hardest to act as if nothing happened, reminding himself to stop staring.

pope scoffs, not missing the longing stares sent the brunettes direction but purposefully ignoring them “we tried, it nearly cost us our lives.”

unamused, john b walks past the rest of the group in silence. when he gets to the door of the chateau he looks over his shoulder and nods for veronica to follow.

the girl is suddenly more attentive, climbing over the human embodiment of a golden retriever and padding her way into the house behind the older of the two.

“does the name redfield mean anything to you?” john b questions, passing a beer from the fridge and getting one for himself “like, the surname.”

veronica is quiet, her finger tracing the rim of the can as she goes through every crevice of her brain in search of any name even remotely close, there’s only one.

“chris redfield.” she answers with a nod, popping the tab of the can and taking a swig “but i don’t get how he’s involved.”

“why not? who is he!?”

“a video game character.”

with a huff of annoyance john b drags a chair across the kitchen to sit beside veronica, unscrewing his compass and placing it down on the table. the name ‘redfield’ is carved into the metal.

“we went back to the boat, found a motel key, whatever.” john b shrugs off the rest of their findings, more invested in whoever this redfield person was. “then i remembered when you showed me that note, the one in the compass. then i found this, figured you would know more than i do.”

veronica gently traced the carved metal, it was definitely their fathers scrawl, she’d memorised it from the note she read over and over and over.

it couldn’t be a coincidence, her fathers note asking her to meet, the matching compasses. now this?

“if i’m going to help you, i need to know..” she trailed off, biting at the edges of her nails as she wondered how to phrase her next question “does this have anything to do with dad dying?”

“he’s not dead.” john b’s voice is louder, stern. then his face softens and he tears his gaze away from the compass and to the floor “sorry, just, i know he’s out there. and this? this is proof.”

“john b, i get it.” the younger routledge speaks slowly, trying not to tread on any toes “you’re not the only one who wants him to be alive, that needs to see him. but i don’t see how this—”

“dad found the royal merchant. four hundred million dollars in gold, and he found it. he’s trying to tell us where to find it.”

veronica sighs, fingers rubbing at her tired eyes as she once again tried to think of any connection to any redfield. when it came to family, she only knew the bare minimum, her fathers name and her mothers maiden name.

what she did know, however, was the royal merchant. as a child her father sent her maps and books on birthdays and christmases without fail, until one day they stopped.

“you’ve got books and stuff, right?” she finally asked, not wanting to get either her or john b’s hopes up. a nagging feeling was telling her their dad was alive, but she knew he wouldn’t just up and abandon his son.

the walls of her fathers study feel like they’re closing in on her, john b let her inside and left her to it. veronicas hand ghosts over the framed maps and dusty books. blueprints of ships with her fathers messy scrawl written randomly around the paper.

there’s pictures of john b littered all over the office, all different life stages, a few feature jj and veronica can’t help but smile at the photo of two little boys holding a fish between them.

on the desk there’s a picture frame, immediately veronica recognises her mother, years younger and a gentle hand placed on her tummy. in the same frame, there’s an ultrasound that veronica almost bypassed as john b, but when she looked at the date it was a long time after he was born.

it was her ultrasound.

it was her in her moms tummy, framed and proudly placed right on her fathers desk.

everything comes back at once. finding the note, and in turn the years worth of letters her mother had hidden from her. the dateline special with john b pleading for information about his father, their father. the fight with her mother, packing a bag in the middle of the night and making her way to the address stored safely inside her compass.

the tears don’t register until they hit the glass of the frame, the last few weeks of pent up anger, sadness and hurt bubbling over from the flame that single photo sparked.

her dad loved her.

for years she’d heard about her absent father, then the absent father that passed when she was a baby. the father who didn’t want the responsibility of a child and ran away once he found out.

but the letters, the compass, this picture? john routledge loved the daughter he was forbidden from seeing, from the second he knew about her he loved her.

and now he was dead.

a sudden wave of anger rushes from her head to her toes, glass shattering when she throws the dusty old frame against the wall with a scream. papers fly and maps fall from the walls as she turns her fathers office into her own personal rage room.

the racket coming from the small room shakes the chateau, so it’s no surprise when the pouges come crashing through the door.

the pouges eyes briefly flash with fear when their eyes land on the destruction caused by the newest arrival, but it’s quickly replaced by a familiar sadness when veronica crumples to the ground, screaming as loud as her lungs would allow for them to get out.

they don’t know what’s wrong, but it doesn’t matter. veronica was now considered a friend, and they gathered that’s what she needed right about now.

jj is the first to enter, drawing closer slowly as if he were being cautious “it’s okay, ronnie.” he mutters softly, dodging shattered glass as he knelt beside her “we’re here, we got you.”

kiara, john b and pope are close behind, wrapping veronica in what could only be described as a group hug until her tears subsided.

taglist!

@ren-ni @marleymarleymarleymarley @miidollaasignnn @rainingcecilias @tanyaherondale @xspideyhollandx @sluterainterlude @loverofmarsss @xoxo-ada @gigistalked @genderlessmenance

[chelseaknoo]

hey love, could you please write a eminem x female reader where it takes place in 2001, just a few months after he and kim got divorced. the reader is a victoria secret model (she is like 24) and she and eminem start casually hooking up. it wasn't supposed to be anything serious since they both weren't looking for it. after a while, they start developing feelings but neither of them says anything about it. then the reader finds out she is pregnant with his baby, which obviously changes everything. when she first tells him she is pregnant, he doesn't believe it's his, saying she must have go around or something and it's leads to a fight.

2000s Eminem x Victoria secrets model!reader

caution:sexual content<3

The bar was alive with pulsing energy, music blaring and bodies moving. Marshall leaned against the counter, half-hidden beneath the brim of his cap, jaw tight. He wasn’t in the mood for small talk or smiles tonight, but being here was better than being stuck alone with his thoughts.

He took a slow sip of his drink, eyes scanning the room without interest—until they landed on her. You. You were perched at the far end of the bar, effortlessly magnetic. Your laughter carried through the noise, your smile lighting up the dim space. He tried to look away, but when your eyes met his, a challenge sparked between you.

You cocked your head slightly, amused by his attention. Deciding not to waste a moment, you sauntered over, weaving through the crowd like you owned the place. You stopped in front of him, the faintest smirk playing on your lips.

“Enjoying the view?” you teased.

He leaned back, raising an eyebrow. “You always fish for compliments, or just when it’s this easy?”

You blinked, momentarily thrown off. His tone was sharp, but there was a hint of a smile lurking beneath the surface. Intrigued, you crossed your arms. “Not my fault you’re staring.”

“Yeah?” He took another sip, eyes never leaving yours. “Must be my lucky night.”

You laughed, a low, genuine sound. “Is that your idea of flirting? No wonder you’re standing here alone.”

“Oh, I’m not alone.” He gestured vaguely at the crowd. “I’ve got all these people I don’t care about to keep me company.”

“Charming.” You rolled your eyes but didn’t move away. Something about his attitude was infuriating and intriguing all at once. “So, what’s your excuse tonight?”

“For what? Brooding in the corner?” He tilted his head, a flash of something darker crossing his eyes. “Maybe I like it here. Low expectations, fake smiles. Suits me.”

You studied him for a moment, catching the bitterness beneath the bravado. “You really do like pushing people away, don’t you?”

“Only when they get too close,” he shot back, but there was a glimmer of intrigue in his eyes. He leaned in, voice dropping. “Why? Planning to get close?”

“Depends,” you said, matching his intensity. “You gonna keep being an ass, or are you capable of real conversation?”

He chuckled, a mix of surprise and amusement. “You got guts, I’ll give you that.” For a moment, the mask slipped, and something genuine shone through. “What’s a model doing in a place like this anyway?”

“Looking for a real night.” Your gaze didn’t waver. “Not that you care.”

“Maybe I do.” He set his drink down and stepped closer, the space between you shrinking. His voice softened, but there was a rough edge to it. “Or maybe you’re just another pretty face looking for a story.”

“Maybe.” You smiled, defiant. “And maybe you’re just another angry guy with a chip on his shoulder.”

He paused, then nodded, an almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Touché.”

For a beat, neither of you spoke, tension crackling in the air. Then he broke it. “You wanna get outta here?”

“Is that your idea of an invitation?” you asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Take it or leave it,” he replied, already turning toward the door.

You followed, heart pounding. Whatever this was, it wasn’t ordinary—and that’s exactly what you both needed. No promises, no strings—just two people escaping for a night.

Marshall led you through the back door into the cool night air, the music’s pulse fading into the distance. His house was a short walk away, nestled between the shadows of the city’s skyscrapers. The silence between you was charged, a dance of anticipation that neither of you had the will to break.

Inside, the space was surprisingly neat, a stark contrast to the chaos of the bar. The only light came from a flickering neon sign in the window, casting an eerie glow on his face. You kicked off your heels, the click-clack of them hitting the floor echoing in the quiet. He offered you a seat on the couch, the leather cool against your bare legs.

Marshall took his time getting you a drink, the clink of ice and the soft splash of whiskey punctuating the silence. He handed it to you without looking, his gaze lingering on the way your fingers wrapped around the glass. You took a sip, the fiery liquid doing little to soothe the storm brewing in your stomach.

You set the drink down and met his gaze, the air thick with something unspoken. In a single fluid motion, he closed the gap between you, his hands sliding around your waist, pulling you into him. Your breath hitched, your heart racing as his eyes searched yours for permission. You didn’t need to say a word—your body spoke for you.

Marshall’s lips found yours in a kiss that was as intense as it was unexpected, his touch gentle yet demanding. The taste of whiskey lingered on his tongue as you explored the contours of his mouth, the roughness of his stubble against your skin. You wrapped your arms around his neck, feeling the tension in his muscles, the rapid beat of his heart.

Without breaking the kiss, he lifted you off the couch and carried you to his bedroom, the world outside fading away as the door clicked shut behind you. The room was simple, the bed unmade—a stark reflection of his tumultuous mind. He set you down on the bed, and the softness of the mattress gave way beneath you, the smell of his cologne enveloping you as you fell back.

"Marshall—" You breathed his name, but he silenced you with another kiss, his hands roaming over your body, learning every curve and contour.

"Don't talk," he murmured against your skin. "You're too good at it."

You giggled despite the heat of the moment, pushing him away playfully. "You're an ass, you know that?"

"But you like it." He smirked, his eyes dark and gleaming.

You rolled your eyes, but the truth was, you did. There was something about his brusque demeanor that was oddly refreshing. "Keep telling yourself that."

"I don't need to tell myself anything. Your body's doing all the talking for you." His hand traced the line of your jaw, then down your neck, sending shivers down your spine.

"Is that your usual pick-up line?" You teased, trying to keep your voice light despite the growing heaviness in your chest.

"Don't need lines." He leaned in, his breath hot on your ear. "Just the truth."

You felt a thrill at his words, a delicious blend of excitement and annoyance. "And what's that?"

He whispered, "That you want this as much as I do."

And it was true. The way he held you, the way his eyes searched yours—there was something raw and vulnerable in his touch that you hadn't expected. You reached up, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.

"Prove it," you whispered, your voice a challenge.

Marshall's expression grew more intense, his eyes searching yours. He kissed you again, deeper this time, his hand sliding up your thigh, his thumb tracing circles that made you gasp into his mouth. You could feel the tension in his body, the need, the hunger—and it mirrored your own.

"I'm not playing games," he growled, his teeth grazing your lower lip.

"Neither am I." You met his gaze, unflinching. "But if you want this, you can't just take. You've got to give, too."

He paused, his hand stilling. For a moment, you saw a flicker of doubt in his eyes, but then he leaned back, his fingers tracing your cheek. "Fine," he said, his voice a gruff whisper. "But don't say I didn't warn you."

The next kiss was softer, more tender. He broke it to peel away your dress, revealing the lacy lingerie beneath. "Beautiful," he murmured, his eyes dark with appreciation.

You didn’t bother with his shirt. Instead, you slid your hands under the fabric, feeling the heat of his body and the ripple of his muscles. He groaned, the sound sending a thrill through you, urging you on. You kissed him again, his tongue dancing with yours, as you both fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. When it finally fell open, you ran your hands over his chest, feeling the beat of his heart, the rise and fall of his chest with every breath he took.

Marshall’s hands moved to the back of your bra, deftly unhooking it. He broke the kiss to pull the straps down your arms, leaving your breasts exposed to the cool air. He took one in his hand, his thumb brushing over the peak. You gasped, arching into his touch.

"You're perfect," he murmured, his eyes raking over you.

The words were simple, but the way he said them, like he truly meant them, made your stomach flip. You didn’t feel perfect, not after the day you’d had, but here, with him, you felt alive. You reached down to unbuckle his belt, the sound echoing through the quiet room. He watched you, his eyes never leaving yours, as you unzipped his jeans and slid them down his hips.

He was already hard, the evidence of his desire for you straining against his boxers. You reached down to touch him, feeling the heat and the power of him in your hand. He groaned, his eyes closing for a moment before snapping open again, a silent demand in them.

"Take them off," he said, his voice low and rough.

You smirked, enjoying the power you had over him, and slid his boxers down. He stepped out of them, his erection springing free. You took him in your hand again, stroking gently. He hissed, his eyes going half-lidded with pleasure.

"You're sure you want this?" he asked, his voice thick with desire.

"More than I've ever been," you assured him.

Marshall leaned in to kiss you again, his hand moving between your legs, finding you wet and ready. He stroked you through the fabric of your panties, the pressure building. You moaned into his mouth, your hips rocking against his hand.

You pulled away, panting. "Take these off," you demanded, hooking your thumbs into the waistband.

He smirked, enjoying your urgency. He slid your panties down, taking his time to kiss and nip at your thighs as he did. You kicked them off, eager to feel his bare skin against yours.

Marshall hovered over you, his eyes searching yours one last time. He positioned himself at your entrance, his hand still on your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin. You nodded, your eyes never leaving his.

He pushed into you, slow and steady, filling you completely. You gasped, your nails digging into his back. He paused, giving you a moment to adjust to his size, then began to move, his strokes long and deep.

You wrapped your legs around him, urging him deeper, your hips rising to meet each thrust. The pleasure was intense, a crescendo building inside you. He kissed your neck, his teeth scraping gently against your skin, his breath hot in your ear as he whispered, "You feel so good."

You moaned in response, the words lost in the symphony of sensations. Your hands roamed his back, your nails scoring his skin, urging him on.

Marshall’s pace quickened, his breathing ragged. You could feel him getting closer, his muscles tensing. "Come for me," he murmured.

And you did, the orgasm hitting you like a wave, crashing over you and pulling him under with you. He followed, his body tensing before he released with a guttural groan.

After, he collapsed on top of you, both of you panting and sweaty. The room was still, the only sound the distant hum of the city outside. You stared up at the ceiling, trying to catch your breath.

"You okay?" he asked after a moment, his voice gruff with satisfaction.

You nodded, still trying to catch your breath. "Yeah."

Marshall rolled onto his side, taking you with him so you were both lying face-to-face. His hand trailed down your spine, coming to rest on the curve of your ass. He squeezed gently, and you felt a new thrill run through you.

"Ready for round two?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that you felt in your core.

This pattern became our routine for weeks. We’d hook up, share nights of raw intensity and fleeting vulnerability, only to pull away and go silent afterward. Neither of us reached out; neither of us tried to bridge the gap. It was easier that way, or so we told ourselves. The walls we built kept things uncomplicated, even if the distance stung more than either of us would admit.

Then, one morning, as you prepared for a photoshoot for Victoria’s Secret’s new lingerie collection, a wave of nausea hit you out of nowhere. You tried to shake it off, blaming it on nerves or exhaustion, but your body had other plans. Within minutes, you found yourself rushing to the nearest bathroom, retching until there was nothing left. The sickness didn’t stop there. You steadied yourself against the sink, splashing cold water on your face, willing the dizziness to pass, but the nausea kept clawing at you.

Your team knocked on the door, concerned, but you assured them it was just a bug—something you’d shake off in time for the shoot. Deep down, though, a knot of worry twisted in your stomach. This wasn’t like you. As you tried to gather yourself, your mind raced, unwilling to confront the possibility that lingered at the edges of your thoughts. The routine you and Marshall had built—the one that kept feelings at bay—suddenly felt fragile, as if everything was about to change.

Your team, noticing how pale and unsteady you were, decided to cut you some slack and let you leave the shoot early. They offered sympathetic smiles and reassurances as you gathered your things, insisting you take care of yourself. The drive home was a blur; you couldn’t shake the nausea or the gnawing feeling that something bigger was happening. Once you stepped inside your apartment, the quiet only amplified your racing thoughts.

After pacing the living room for what felt like an eternity, you finally made a decision. You slipped on a hoodie and sunglasses, heading to the nearest pharmacy. Every step felt heavier than the last. Back home, with the pregnancy test in your hand, you locked yourself in the bathroom. The minutes ticked by with excruciating slowness as you waited for the results, your heart pounding in your chest.

When the test finally showed positive, you stared at it, unblinking. The truth hit you like a punch to the gut—you were pregnant. And it wasn’t just anyone’s baby; it was Marshall Mathers’. You sank onto the edge of the bathtub, the implications crashing down on you. This wasn’t what either of you had planned. The casual hookups, the silent stretches of avoidance, the unspoken boundaries—it all seemed to shatter under the weight of this reality. Whatever happened next, everything was about to change.

You decided you needed clarity, so you booked an appointment with your doctor to confirm what you already knew in your heart. Sitting in the sterile, quiet office, you felt a mixture of nerves and dread. When the doctor confirmed you were a few weeks pregnant, it made everything real in a way that no test could. You were carrying Marshall’s baby. You spent the rest of the day processing the news, your mind racing with questions and fears. What would this mean for you? For him? For the strange, fragile connection you both shared?

As days passed, you wrestled with when—or even how—you would tell him. But the longer you waited, the heavier the secret felt. Finally, you decided it was time. That evening, you found yourself standing outside Marshall’s house, nerves taut. The air was chilly, and you wrapped your arms around yourself for warmth. For a long moment, you just stood there, staring at the door, memories of all your past encounters flashing through your mind. Would this be the end of whatever unspoken bond you had? Or the beginning of something neither of you were ready for?

Steeling yourself, you knocked on the door. Each second that passed without an answer felt like an eternity. Just as you were about to reconsider, the door swung open. Marshall stood there, eyes shadowed with curiosity—and something else you couldn’t quite place. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, his usual guarded expression in place.

“Hey,” he said, the word heavy with unspoken questions.

“Hey,” you replied, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions inside. “We need to talk.”

Marshall stepped aside, his eyes narrowing as he took in your expression. Without a word, he led you inside, shutting the door firmly behind you. The air was thick with tension as he gestured toward the couch. You sat down, hands clasped tightly in your lap, feeling the weight of what you were about to say pressing down on your chest.

He stayed standing for a moment, studying you with a mix of impatience and concern. Finally, he moved to sit across from you, elbows resting on his knees, his gaze unrelenting. “Alright,” he said, his voice low and stern. “What’s this about?”

His reaction was instant, almost volcanic. “What?! You can’t be serious! This isn’t happening!” His voice rose, the familiar ferocity of the rapper spilling over, amplifying the tension in the room.

“I am serious, Marshall! I didn’t plan this—” you exclaimed, your heart racing.

“So, what, you think I’m just gonna believe you? You've been with other guys, right?” He paced the room, running a hand through his messy blond hair. “I can’t—no. This isn’t mine. It can’t be mine!”

You think I’m a whore?” your heart pounded as the hurt reverberated through your chest. “You’re the one who can’t commit to anything or anyone since Kim,” you shot back, the defensiveness bitter on your tongue.

“That's not fair! I'm not the one who’s out there in front of all those guys, flaunting myself in lingerie! What do you expect me to think?” he yelled, pacing the small space as if it would somehow help.

“I’m a model, Marshall! It’s my job! But that doesn’t mean I’m sleeping with every guy who looks my way,” you retorted, your own anger boiling over. You rose from your seat, your body instinctively wanting to challenge his accusations, but deep down, you felt the crack forming between you two.

“Then why the hell am I supposed to believe that this baby is mine?” he spat, his eyes narrowing. It was as if the atmosphere thickened with every accusatory word. “You think I don’t know what these kinds of girls do? You think I don’t see what guys have to say about you? Them drooling all over you!”

“Don’t you dare reduce me to a stereotype, Marshall!” you shouted back. “This isn’t about some random guys! I’ve spent months with you, not them! I thought we had something real, but clearly, it was just me!” The vulnerability you felt clashed against the fierce independence you’d cultivated, and the contrast was almost suffocating.

“Maybe you should have thought about that before playing house with me when you had God knows who else around you!” His words sliced through the air, leaving you stunned into silence. The pain of betrayal washed over you, mingling with the looming fear of the unknown.

The tension in the room was suffocating. You could feel it in every taut muscle, every word spoken through clenched teeth. Marshall’s disbelief had shifted into anger, and your patience was wearing thin. Neither of you seemed willing to back down, both too raw and vulnerable to soften the blows.

“So, that’s it?” Marshall spat, rising from the couch abruptly. “You just come in here, drop this on me, and expect me to what—roll over and be okay with it?”

“Of course not!” you shot back, standing too. “But I expected you to at least listen to me without jumping to the worst conclusions.”

“Yeah?” He laughed bitterly, a harsh, hollow sound. “And what am I supposed to think? You show up after weeks, out of nowhere, and tell me you’re pregnant—and I’m just supposed to take your word for it?”

You felt a sharp sting at his words, but you refused to back down. “You know damn well you’re the only one I’ve been with.”

“Do I?” He sneered, stepping closer, eyes blazing. “Or do you think I’m just some idiot who believes every word that comes out of your mouth?”

“Why are you doing this?” you demanded, voice cracking. “Why are you trying to push me away?”

“Maybe because this all feels like a setup!” he shouted, his voice echoing off the walls. “Like some sick game you’re playing!”

“Wow,” you whispered, blinking back tears. “I knew you were scared, but I didn’t think you’d go this far.”

“Don’t put this on me!” His anger flared, and his words came out harsher than he intended. “What, you think I’m supposed to just trust you? You’re a model—you’re used to attention, right? Maybe this is just another way to get it.”

You stared at him, stunned. “Do you even hear yourself right now? That’s not who I am, and you know it.”

He glared at you, the hurt in his eyes masked by cold fury. “Get out.”

“What?”

“I said, get out!” His voice dropped to a dangerous calm, but his words hit like a slap. “I don’t need this. I don’t need you. Go find someone else to play your games with.”

You stood frozen for a moment, disbelief and pain coursing through you. When you didn’t move, he took another step forward, voice dripping with venom. “What part of ‘get out’ didn’t you understand?”

“Fine,” you managed, choking back tears. “If this is how you want it…”

“Yeah, it is,” he said, turning his back to you. “Good luck with whatever story you’re trying to sell.”

With shaking hands, you grabbed your bag and walked to the door, your footsteps heavy. You paused, looking back one last time, hoping to see any sign of the man you thought you knew beneath the rage. But he refused to turn around, his shoulders rigid, a wall between you. Without another word, you walked out, the door closing behind you with a finality that echoed through the empty house.

You arrived at your house late that night, the driveway long and quiet, the grand, empty space feeling cold and foreign. The house was large—too large for one person, too empty without the laughter and conversation you once imagined filling its walls. You barely noticed the soft glow of the lights as you passed through the foyer, your mind consumed with the events of the evening. Marshall’s angry words echoed relentlessly in your mind as you climbed the staircase, your legs heavy, each step feeling like a small betrayal to your own body.

Once in your bedroom, you sank onto the edge of the bed, tears spilling down your face before you even knew what was happening. You tried to steady your breath, but it felt impossible. The pain of it all—the heartbreak, the confusion, the loneliness—was suffocating. Your mind kept replaying his words: *“Get out.”* His cold dismissal. The way he'd accused you, as if you were nothing more than a liar trying to trap him. You hugged your knees to your chest, curling into the quiet darkness of your room, wishing you could make it all go away.

The house, once so full of potential, felt enormous and alien now. Every empty hallway seemed to stretch farther than it should, and the silence was almost deafening. You should’ve been used to it—this house was a reminder of everything you’d worked for, everything you’d built—but tonight, it felt like a cage.

You moved through the spaces, your footsteps echoing through the empty halls. The grand living room with its towering windows, the kitchen with its marble countertops, the sleek, sterile bedrooms you’d never truly filled with warmth—none of it mattered now. You weren’t supposed to be here alone. The thought of raising a child, of carrying this responsibility by yourself, felt like too much. The realization hit hard: You were pregnant. And, somehow, you were going to have to face this alone. The weight of it pressed against your chest, stealing the air from your lungs.

Sitting by the large windows in the living room, you stared out at the dark expanse of the yard. The lights from the city flickered in the distance, but all you could focus on was the reflection of yourself in the glass—small, fragile, and lost. How had everything gotten so complicated? How had something that should’ve been beautiful become a mess of hurt and confusion?

You placed a hand over your stomach, the warmth of your palm the only comfort you had. There was a life growing inside you—his life, your life, their life. But it was yours to protect, and in that moment, as you whispered softly to the quiet house, you realized something: You might be alone in this, but you weren’t giving up.

“I’ll take care of you,” you murmured, the words soft and shaky. “I’ll figure this out. Even if it means doing it on my own.”

The silence in the house lingered, but it wasn’t as suffocating now. You had made a promise—to yourself and to the little one growing inside. Whatever this journey held, you would walk it, even if you had to walk it alone.

Months passed, and as time went on, your pregnancy became impossible to hide. Your belly grew rounder, each day a visible reminder of the life—and turmoil—inside you. The once casual glances of curious strangers transformed into pointed stares, whispers trailing behind you wherever you went. Every time you appeared in public, whether for work commitments or just living your life, the attention was unavoidable.

Interviewers asked about the father with veiled curiosity and prying persistence, hoping to dig up a story that wasn’t theirs to tell. You always deflected, keeping your answers vague, your composure as unwavering as you could manage. But behind the facade, their insinuations cut deep. The tabloids spun stories, headlines screaming speculation about your child’s paternity, painting you as a scandal, a figure of intrigue—and worse. The judgment was relentless, the whispering voices growing louder. To them, your silence was confirmation of every cruel assumption they made: that you were reckless, unworthy.

There were nights when the weight of it all bore down on you like a suffocating blanket. Alone in your large, quiet house, you would sit with your hands on your swollen belly, feeling the movement of life within you and reminding yourself why you endured it all. This wasn’t about anyone else; it was about you and your children. It was about giving them a life worth living, even if you had to stand against the tide of judgment alone.

The months rolled on, and your strength became something of a shield. By the time you reached the end of your pregnancy, you had learned to drown out the noise, to focus solely on what mattered. One quiet evening, under the soft glow of dimmed lights in a hospital room, all the fear, pain, and loneliness gave way to something indescribable. The cries of two newborns pierced the air, and suddenly, the world faded away.

They were perfect—tiny, fragile, and already so loved. Twin boys with the faintest tufts of hair and curious eyes that stole your breath the moment you held them. Tears streamed down your face as you cradled them, their warmth against your chest grounding you in a way nothing else ever had. In that moment, the noise of the outside world disappeared. None of the cruel whispers or speculation mattered anymore. This was your reality now—your beautiful sons, your purpose.

You whispered their names softly, pressing gentle kisses to their foreheads, promising to be everything they would ever need. You knew the road ahead would be difficult; you knew the questions wouldn’t stop. But as you held your boys close, you realized you were ready. Whatever it took, you would protect them, love them fiercely, and give them the life they deserved.

The relentless attention never seemed to let up. Since the birth of your sons, the media frenzy had only intensified. Interviewers clamored for a glimpse of the twins, desperate to capture the first exclusive photo. Paparazzi camped outside your house, their questions growing more invasive by the day. And at the heart of it all was the burning question they wouldn’t stop asking: “Who is the father?” You deflected, you ignored, but each passing day it became more exhausting. Every attempt to protect your sons felt like an uphill battle.

One afternoon, you were at home, cradling your boys against your chest as you nursed them. The room was peaceful, a soft light filtering through the curtains. For a few precious moments, the world fell away, leaving only you and your sons—their small hands grasping, their contented sighs a balm to your weary soul. But that peace shattered with a sudden knock at the door.

Startled, you carefully adjusted, making sure your babies were settled before wrapping yourself in a loose robe. Your heart pounded as you approached the door. Another journalist, perhaps? Another intrusion? You steeled yourself, ready to dismiss whoever it was. But when you opened the door, the words caught in your throat.

“Marshall?”

There he stood, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket, his eyes shadowed and wary. Time seemed to freeze as you took in the sight of him. He looked older, wearier—like he had been fighting his own battles. You couldn’t tell if it had been minutes or seconds before he spoke, his voice low and uncertain.

You stepped back, crossing your arms tightly over your chest. The sight of him there, in the house you had built for yourself and your sons, sent a wave of conflicting emotions crashing through you. Anger, hurt, confusion—all of it boiled over.

“What are you even doing here, Marshall?” you demanded, your voice sharp and laced with bitterness. “Haven’t you done enough?”

He paused in the doorway, eyes flicking around as if trying to take it all in. “Nice to see you too,” he shot back, a hint of defensiveness in his tone. “I thought maybe you’d be a little more… I don’t know… civil?”

You laughed, a hollow, humorless sound. “Civil? Really? You think you can just show up here after months of nothing and expect civility?”

He shifted uncomfortably, jaw tightening. “I know I screwed up, alright? I’m not here to pretend I didn’t. But I needed to come. I needed to see you.”

“Oh, now you need to see me?” You scoffed, feeling the anger bubble up again. “Funny how that works. I was on my own through all of it, Marshall. Every sleepless night, every doctor’s appointment, every time the world wouldn’t stop asking me who the father was.”

His eyes darkened, and he took a step closer. “You think it was easy for me? You think I just walked away without—”

“Yes!” you snapped, cutting him off. “That’s exactly what you did. You left, Marshall. You called me a liar, a whore, and then you told me to get out. Do you have any idea what that did to me?”

He flinched, his expression hardening before it softened with something like guilt. “I know I messed up,” he said, his voice low. “I was angry, confused—”

“Spare me the excuses,” you interrupted, voice trembling. “You don’t get to show up now and act like saying ‘sorry’ will fix it.”

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident. “Damn it, I’m not here to play hero, okay? I’m here because I can’t stop thinking about it. About you. About…” His gaze dropped to your stomach, then back up to your eyes. “About them.”

You swallowed hard, the walls you’d built around yourself trembling. “Them?”

“Yeah.” He nodded, his voice softer now, almost hesitant. “The twins. My—our kids. I want… I need to see them.”

Silence hung between you, thick and heavy. Part of you wanted to shut the door in his face, to protect yourself and your boys from any more pain. But another part of you, the one that still remembered the good moments before everything fell apart, wondered if this was a chance you needed to take.

“They’re asleep,” you said, your voice quieter now, the anger giving way to exhaustion.

You led Marshall down the hallway, each step heavy with tension, until you reached the nursery. The room was warm and softly lit, with a serene quiet that only came when your boys were deeply asleep. You paused just inside the doorway, watching as Marshall took in the space—the cribs, the hand-stitched blankets, the tiny toys carefully arranged. His eyes softened, and for a moment, the hardened exterior you’d come to expect seemed to melt away.

You nodded toward the cribs, silently giving him permission. Marshall approached one of the sleeping babies cautiously, as if afraid to disturb the delicate peace. He hesitated for a moment, then reached down, gently cradling his son in his arms. The baby stirred slightly, but Marshall held him close, lifting him to rest on his shoulder with surprising tenderness. His large hands rubbed slow, soothing circles on the tiny back, and the baby settled again, nuzzling into the warmth of his father’s touch.He carefully kissed the baby’s head and layer it back down on the crib.

Marshall turned his gaze back to you, his eyes full of a mix of emotions—regret, hope, and something that felt dangerously close to longing. For a long moment, neither of you spoke, the weight of everything unsaid filling the silence. Then, slowly, he reached out and took your hands in his, his touch gentle but firm. He lifted them to his lips, pressing a tender kiss to each knuckle, his breath warm against your skin.

“I swear,” he murmured, his voice low but unwavering, “I’m not leaving again. I’m here for you. For them. No more running.”

The sincerity in his words made your throat tighten. You wanted to believe him—desperately. But the fear of being hurt again was a barrier you couldn’t ignore. He must have seen the hesitation in your eyes, because his grip on your hands tightened just a little, as if silently urging you to trust him. The room was quiet except for the soft breaths of your sleeping children, the world beyond these walls momentarily forgotten.

Marshall stepped closer, his movements unhurried, giving you every chance to pull away. When you didn’t, he lifted a hand and cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing softly against your skin. The touch sent a shiver down your spine, a mix of old memories and new possibilities. He leaned in, pausing just a breath away, his eyes searching yours for any sign of resistance. When he found none, he closed the distance, his lips meeting yours in a slow, tender kiss.

It wasn’t like before—rushed, fueled by passion without direction. This kiss was different. It was a quiet promise, a tentative step toward something you both knew would be complicated but worth fighting for. You kissed him back, allowing yourself to feel the warmth, the sincerity, even as your mind reminded you to stay cautious. When you finally pulled apart, his forehead rested gently against yours, both of you catching your breath.

“I’m not perfect,” he whispered, his voice raw. “But I want to try. For you. For them.”

You nodded slowly, your hands still entwined. “It won’t be easy.”

“I know,” he said, a hint of a sad smile touching his lips. “But I’m willing to do whatever it takes.”

In that moment, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, things could be different. It was only a beginning, but it was a start. And for now, that was enough. <3

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Depths 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, stalking and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: fisherman!Geralt of Rivia x artist!reader

Summary: your sleepy existence is thrown into chaos by a mysterious man.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

The water crashes onto the coast. The sound is dulled by the distance of your perch. The sky melds into the lake's surface as the sun hides behind a swathe of clouds.

You lean in to squint at the strokes on the canvas, sweeping your brush in repetition of the rippled horizon. You use the wnd of the brush to scratch your cheek.

Almost...

You peek above the easel and watch the small speck growing larger as it moves across the water. The fishing boat is there so often that you've added its silhouette to the acrylic tides. A stalwart to your early mornings and listless afternoons.

Day after day is layered before you in shades of cerulean, slate, and lavender. The grey sky with a tinge of golden sunlight, the waters stirring in sparkling shades of aquamarine and pearl, the coast rippled in fawn and umber. Another eye might see it and deem it finished but not you.

You step back to let the paint dry and rinse your brushes in the jar. Hmm. You're out of clean water.

You close up the easel and hook the canvas on the backside, carrying it like a briefcase as you pick up your canvas bag with your roll of brushes and pots of paint, your palette around your index finger.

You make a slow descent down the cliffside and curl around towards the shore. You veer away from the dock and head down into the silt. You put your stuff on a flat rock. You take the used brushes and palette to rinse in the shallows.

The water laps over your sandals as you linger in the soothing cool foam. The approach of evening skews the water with emerald and jade. You shake it all off and step back to dry it with a paint-blotted cloth.

You rearrange the bag so it all fits and hook it over your shoulder. You look down at the your linen apron. You can recall where every splotch and streak came from.

You take your easel and canvas and head back up along the dock. As you reach the post, the fishing boat knocks against the other end. You peer over at the man that lays a board across the spanse between.

You see him every night. You couldn't forget a man with snow white hair and golden eyes. His age is less than his locks might suggest and his eyes seem to look through you, not at you.

You smile, like you do every night. He doesn't react. Just like every other time.

The smell of fish wafts in the boat as he drags his net across the wooden ramp. You turn and press on. He's much to busy for you. It doesn't bother you. You came out here to get away from people.

Your feet leave divets in the dirt as the rock of the boat knocks in a rhythm against the dock. The man's toil adds to thunks and thuds and they fade behind you. The peace here is immaculate, you wouldn't want to ruin it for anyone else.

Past the seaside houses left vacant in the colder seasons and the smaller basins of the lake, between the rocky ridges and grassy knolls, you return to your little house.The cornflower paint chips from the wooden siding and the stairs are worn in the middle from the tramp of feet. A bench stands on the other side of the white railing between a plinthed flowerpot and folding table with a book forgotten on its slats. Home.

The spindly wreath on the front door rattles as you push through and the screen door snaps behind you. The evening breezs drifts in through the mesh as you set your easel down and rest the canvas on crate just beside the mat. You put your bag in front of the wooden stand and bask in the calm.

You hang your wicker hat and untie your apron. Your hands are covered in paint. You'll wash them before you eat. You leave your wet sandals at the door.

You pull out the pot of chowder you made two nights past from the fridge. You put it over a burner and wait for it to warm. The fare lasts you near a week when you take the time to put it together. Every ingredient must be used to its last, especially when it is so far to market. And expensive.

You scoop out a bowl and eat it on the front porch. Your eyes are too tired to read. When you finish, you recline on the bench and yawn. You lay in the dimming hue of the evening as the stars wink down at you.

A whistle carries on the wind. You sit up and look for the culprit. They are close enough to hear but that could still be far. It could even be a bird.

You take the empty bowl inside and rinse it. You retreat to the bedroom and change

You open the window to let the night in. Around here, you can do that. Not like the city and its grated windows.

You laze in the dusk shade and drift slowly into yourself. Sleep enshrines you atop the cushy bed, the water stirring from afar, the loons calling into the dark. Tomorrow you'll figure out the exact right colour for the undertow.

You're more than due to sell a new piece. You need to if you want to stay in paradise.

[gojoidyll]

Aeon Flux | Ch. 1

Various x Aeon ! Reader

Summary | As an aeon in a human disguise, you traverse the cosmos because... you're bored. Immortal life, unchanging circumstances, the weak begging for power, the powerless asking for a second chance. It all got so boring for you. So, you decided to see why these humans continue to groan about the atrocities of everyday life. Thing is? It's turning out easier than you thought!!

Taglist:

@boothillssugarmomma @immahuman @nadiayuan @killerqueen1245 @seikouryuu @dorimimimimi @amistakehadhappened @tainted-artist4161 @missingtophat @diamondcookie45

“So let me get this straight,” Himeko began as she watched lay back into the couch, soda in hand with a bag of chips laying in your lap, “you went to Herta’s space station, met Stelle, played Go Fish with Stelle and Dan Heng before the Legion arrived, stood up and said ‘my job here is done,’ and then left?”

You grinned, “yep, and March 7th oh so loudly declared, ‘you didn’t even do anything!!’ it was quite hilarious,” you said as you took another swig of your soda, “besides, I’m not worried. Those three will be just fine.”

Welt was the next one to come up to you, “how are you sure?”

Glancing at the man, you gave him a thumbs up, “I’m not! Just a gut feeling is all, I mean, I’m not like the people on the Luofu who have the divine foresight and crap like that,” you took another sip of your soda, “but anyway, those guys should be here any moment… which reminds me, you all for real letting a stellaron aboard this train?”

“You’re on here, aren’t you?”

You winked at Himeko, “touché.”

“There you are!”

You looked over at the doors as they opened up, March coming barreling through a moment later, “yo!”

March shoved her pointer finger into your chest, “don’t you ‘yo’ me! You left us there.”

You pouted and raised your hands in mock surrender, “but I had to, I was going to miss the season finale of my favorite anime, and you know I hate watching reruns. Besides, I couldn’t let Pompom spoil it again for me…”

“You’re unbelievable!”

March says this with an exasperated expression while throwing her hands up in the air as she walked away. Waving goodbye to March as she was probably going to her room, you then brought your attention to Dan Heng, “well?”

“It was alright, we didn’t need you there.”

“See! I knew you three will be alright,” You stood up from the couch, your bag of chips and soda being placed onto the table as you walked up to Dan Heng and the new trailblazer.

“The name is y/n, and that was a fun game of Gold Fish! Let’s play again sometime, ok?”

“It’s Go Fish,” Dan Heng lightly reminded again as Stelle took your hand and gave it a good shake.

“You sure,” you asked.

“Positive.”

“But Gold Fish sounds so much better,” you say as you let go of Stelle’s hand and shift your focus to Dan Heng.

“It only sounds good and correct because that is what you got used to saying. It’s kind of like Roku and Ruko. You know that device you hook up to your tv for streaming different apps.”

“Ahhh, that makes sense.”

Dan Heng knew you were just playing around, but he found that he quite liked and even looked forward to these interactions with you, but he knew that it won’t last forever. He remembers when you first joined the Astral Express and how you said you won’t be staying long.

He’s not entirely sure when you plan on leaving, but he hopes it won’t be soon.

You felt a tap on your shoulder and looked to see Stelle, “what’s up?”

Stelle held up the playing cards from before and you grinned, “oh? Wanna get beat again?”

“I’m pretty sure you left when I started winning.”

You rolled your eyes, “whatever Dan Heng, let’s just play.”

You grabbed Dan Heng’s and Stelle’s hands and moved your way to the couch. Pompom, Himeko, and Welt all the while could only shake their heads at the scene.

“Well, while those three play around, it’s time to go to our next destination!”

You perked up at that from the spot on the couch, “aww… already? I didn’t get the chance to get souvenirs yet…”

Pompom ignored you “time to get this train moving!”

Before you could cry a river at being ignored, Dan Heng held out a small phone charm for you, “here.”

You grinned at the small piece of jewelry before nudging Dan Heng’s shoulder, “aww, it’s a spear and it looks like yours too! How thoughtful!”

“It may not be the souvenir that you were hoping for, but I’m glad you liked it.”

You nodded enthusiastically and quickly pulled out your phone to hook the charm on, and as you did so, the Express was beginning to warp so you looked to Stelle, “hold on tight, it’s going to get a bit…bumpy.”

When you looked away to shuffle the cards in your hands, you didn’t notice how both Dan Heng and Stelle grabbed onto your sleeve. They couldn’t quite explain the reason of why they did it, but they just felt like if something went wrong, you would be able to save them just fine (even if you didn’t do anything on the space station or did anything ever as March liked to put it).

And they would be right on that feeling. You may have been the type to sit back and let them handle their own problems. But if the Epxress blew up or was going to crash, well, maybe it would of been alright for an aeon like yourself to save them.

Granted, you hoped something like that doesn't have to happen because you quite liked having them not know you're an aeon. Heh.

[buntobeans]

spilled ice cream is a great wingman - venture x brother’s best friend reader

Nsfw utc. this is FILTHY FILTHY!!!!

Thanx venture’s burrow for this image..

amab sloan 

afab reader but is referred to with gender neutral terms (or at least as gender neutral as spanish gets)

you guys are both adults, just to clear up if anything seems uncomfy! i envision Sloan to be around 23 and you’re 21 :))

this is FILTH

like DESCRIBED FILTH!

wrote this on a plane sorry if it’s delulu or uncomfy or grossly described. I think I’m also sick.. also barely edited SORRRYYY also there’s like a severe lack of lube here sad face wahhh wahh ouchie 

More italics needed but.. WOMP WOMP!!!!!

i spent way too much time on this

i’ve taken like two classes of Spanish but hoopefully I’ve got it right.. I used the masculine form for some words because I wasn’t sure if I should just make a female reader but— hey anyone can read, regardless of their bits n bobs— let the punana in your heart be your guide <3

OK NOTES OVER!! LOVE YOU E-KITTENS!!!! IM GOING HOMEEEE AND SEEING MY DOG!!!

-

How the hell did you get here? 

Your thighs twitched as you struggled to clamp them shut, but the assured little hushes of Sloan’s voice and their large fingers prying your legs apart strayed you away from doing so. 

You opened your mouth and closed it, akin to a fish out of water. Forgetting what you were going to say, your words died on your tongue, shifting into small little whimpers as Sloan rolled their thumb over your swollen clit. 

“Doing so good, cariño.” They murmured, tenderly kissing your earlobe. “Mierda. Always dreamed of seein’ you like this.”

-

“Sloan!” You bounded up to your brother’s best friend as they plopped down the couch of your living room. 

“Hey!” They gave you that gorgeous, million dollar grin with their chipped tooth that you’d grown to find so attractive. Sloan instinctually opened their arms for you to leap into, giving you a small affectionate hug. “¿Qué onda? How’s it hangin’?”

“It’s good!” You cheerily piped. Your brother groaned at the sight of you unceremoniously interrupting his time with his best friend, but you ignored it— perhaps you stuck out a tongue at him and gave him a little side eye, but in Sloan’s eyes, you weren’t doing anything wrong! They’d defend you!

Your brother’s best friend. Sloan Cameron. The two had been friends for a while, so it was common for them to come over to your house to chill with your brother. Naturally, you found yourself acquainted with them, popping in to occasionally annoy your brother or include yourself in their conversations. While your brother was most irked by it, Sloan didn’t seem to mind in the slightest, instead treating you like a little sibling, often fondly smiling at you and ruffling your hair. 

Oh, how you longed for those eyes to gaze at you with a different kind of affection. 

You had the biggest crush on your brother’s best friend. You couldn’t help it— Sloan was so darn attractive with their messy brown hair and skin decorated in the occasional freckle, large frame walking around your house in shirts with the sleeves sloppily cut off, highlighting their muscle, and baggy cargo pants. You soaked up all the attention they’d give you like a sponge, eagerly awaiting them to come over to your house and hang out with your brother so you could brush your fingers with their larger ones while handing them snacks under the guise of showing them hospitality. 

But they never seemed to notice. So you kept your pining for sweet Sloan a secret, tucked away in the corners of your heart for your silly little crush to never come to fruition. 

“I’m going to the store to get some beer,” your brother announced, grabbing his keys and slipping on his shoes. “Need anything?”

“Hook me up with some ice cream!” Sloan yelled as your brother opened the door. 

Your brother left the house and it was eerily quiet, Sloan and you being the only presences in the home. You pulled yourself out of Sloan’s arms, suddenly flustered by the proximity— but, of course, missing their warmth. 

“We have ice cream. I bought some recently.” You piped up, hopping off the couch to skitter to the kitchen. 

Over your dead body would you admit you’d bought the ice cream with Sloan in mind. 

“Ooh, sweet! Haha. Pun intended. What flavor?” Sloan asked, eyeing you as you opened the freezer. They let out a little breath as they watched you bend over to find the sweet treat.

“Vanilla.” You answered, taking out the tub of ice cream, opening it, and sticking a spoon in it. It wasn’t like you’d documented Sloan’s favorite flavor in the archives of your mind… not at all. 

You eagerly took the tub and ran over to Sloan on the couch.

“It might be a little bit melted because it sat out but—“

You let out a yelp as you stumbled, the ice cream going flying. Panic set in as you realized you were falling. 

“Whoa, whoa! Hey there.” Sloan’s arms wrapped around you.

You swore all the oxygen left your body. Their arms were so big, so warm— you gulped, not daring to meet their eyes in fear of the chipped shit-eating grin they might be wearing on their stupidly gorgeous face. 

What you did look at, however, was their shirt. 

A mess of ice cream coated their body, and you internally screamed. 

Mortified, your heart dropped. “Oh my gosh, I’m so so sorry— I didn’t mean to drop it at all oh no no—“ Hot tears of frustration pooled in your eyes as your lips tugged into a frown. 

“Hey, hey!” Their voice cut you out of your rant and meltdown-in-progress. “It’s okay. Everything’s fine. It’s just a little ice cream.”

That was a TOTAL lie. They were practically drenched in vanilla. 

You wailed in embarrassment. 

“Ay, está bien. Don’t worry! I can just take it off.”

You gulped. You punched yourself in your mind for the lewd thoughts running rampant in your brain, searching for anything to distract yourself with, anything to reply with—

“Y-Yeah?” Fuck. You stuttered. “If you give it to me I can wash it—“

Stupid! Stupid! You were totally feeding into this! Thoughts of Sloan shirtless attacked your mind, and suddenly the room was way hotter than you’d recalled a minute ago. 

Sloan chuckled and your soul left your body as you watched them peel their shirt off, showcasing their toned body. They made a show of it, too, confidently lifting their shirt off their body. Holy fuck. Their body was no joke. Accompanied with a bit of chub, they proudly displayed a set of prominent abs. Tattoos of runes, sigils, and ancient gibberish you couldn’t understand (or maybe your head was too clouded to read) were scattered across their body. Their bellybutton had a little piercing and a line of hair trailed down their chest to a place you quickly looked away from before your eyes could meet. 

“Like what you see?” They chuckled. You cursed yourself internally. You were practically drooling over them! 

“No— I mean yes— I mean—“ You were so close to slamming your head against the wall. 

They handed you their shirt and you shakily took it, nervously clutching it like a lifeline to ground you to your surroundings. Thank GOD you were washing it, because you were practically sweating buckets into the fabric from your clammy hands. 

“So..? You gonna get off my lap, or..?”

Oh, just kill me already, you thought. Bury me alive and don’t let anybody see my body. Especially my brother. He’d probably laugh his ass off. 

You mustered the courage to stare at Sloan. They were so close to you, almost brushing their nose with you and—

Oh. 

“There’s something.. poking me..?”

It was Sloan’s turn to be flustered. Heat rose to their cheeks as they gazed down, met with their little “problem”. 

“Dios mio,” they gasped. “Don’t pay any attention to that. Lo siento, I am sooo soo sorry—“

You gulped. Was this really happening? No, but— what the hell? Had Sloan really gotten turned on from you sitting in their lap?

Gods. And they were big. Their hardness pressing against you— it wasn’t a joke. You struggled to pick up the pieces of your mind as thoughts flitted about— what would it feel like— what would it be like inside you—

“..Do you need help with that?” You squeaked out before you could even register the words in your mind. 

Oh, you’ve really done it now. 

Sloan stared at you with wide eyes, cheeks heated. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sor—“

“You mean that?”

Your hands unconsciously curled further into their shirt. You wanted so desperately for a distraction, to leave this awkward situation, but a tinge of hope and an indescribable pull left you staring helplessly into their eyes. 

You nodded. A small nod, but a nod nonetheless. 

“…You don’t want this.” Sloan laughed nervously. So you weren’t the only horribly mortified one here. It was almost relieving. Almost. “Do you..?”

Fuck it. 

“..I like you. I want this with you. I always have. I mean, I want not just this.. I want you as a whole, I want Sloan Cameron—“ You squeezed your eyes shut as you spoke, too afraid to see their expression. Every moment they didn’t respond to you felt like a century. Your heart dropped with each passing second, wholly terrified of their response. 

“..Que lindo..” They softly murmured. Their hand reached under your shirt to gently stroke your hip with their thumb, and you shuddered at the sensation. Their hand was big. And warm. You’d spent too much time staring at it, wondering how it would truly feel against you. 

“I’ve always thought you were cute.” They finally said. You opened an eye to peek at them. They were looking away, expression unreadable. “Your excited little smile.. the way you always greet me whenever I come here..” They chuckled anxiously. “Heck, it’d be a lie to say I just come here to hang out with your brother.” They were flustered. You could see it. It was your first time seeing this expression on Sloan, but you prayed to whatever deity that existed that it wouldn’t be the last. You held your breath, hanging onto their every word. “Why do you think I choose your house to hang out with him..? I like.. seeing you.. ah,

demonios, I can’t do this at all..”

Their shirt dropped from your grasp and onto the couch as you stared at them, agape. Were you dreaming?

“So.. are you gonna get off my lap, or are we gonna.. canoodle? Ah, that was stupid of me.. idiot Sloan.. who even says canoodle..” You laughed with a mix of bewilderment and adoration as Sloan spoke, wiggling their eyebrows at you. 

Before you knew it, you were kissing them. Kissing them like there was no tomorrow. Savoring their lips. Like this would be the last time you’d ever experience their lips at all. Oh, but you knew it wouldn’t be. You knew you’d have so many more moments like this with them. 

Sloan’s hands roamed aimlessly over your body, slipping under your shirt. You let out a soft whimper at the sensation, noting the way goosebumps appeared on Sloan’s skin at the sound and the way they were touching you got more possessive; the way they were touching you got greedier. 

“Sloan.” A kiss. “My room is much—“ Another one, this time they missed, landing their lips on the corner of yours. “—Comfier than this—“ You threw your head back like a drowning person gasping for air. 

Sloan’s brain was too fuzzy to fully comprehend your words, but they seemed to understand the notion, hoisting you up in their arms by your thighs. You let out a yelp at the sudden sensation of being lifted off the ground. Their discarded shirt covered in ice cream that was probably melted by now (with the help of your ever-growing body heat) was long forgotten on the couch as Sloan mapped a course to your room, their lips never leaving your face. 

“Abre la boca.” They ordered. You looked up at them, dazed eyes confused by the sudden Spanish. “Ah.. I mean, open your mouth.” You obediently complied, allowing them to greedily shove their tongue into your mouth. You surely would’ve fallen if it weren’t for their big arms keeping you up. 

Their energetic tongue seemed to have a will of its own, messily dancing with yours, rolling over your teeth and mixing their saliva with yours. It was like they were trying to explore every inch of your mouth, charting all the places that had never been reached by anyone else. It was unlike anything you’d ever experienced— if there was one thing you knew for sure tonight, it was that Sloan Cameron’s tongue game was insane. 

You only understood you were in your room when the sheets hit your back, Sloan atop of you. Their kissing never ceased; your mouth was starting to cramp, but hell, your mind was full of joyful delirium. You’d kiss them for eternity if you could. 

You whined as their chipped tooth caught on your lip, the slight stinging sensation surprisingly pleasant. Sloan apologetically sucked on your lip, leaning back to stare at you. 

Your lips were a mess. Drool leaked everywhere, and they weren’t too sure if it was from you or them— maybe both— but they were too aroused to care. You made them feel like a horny teen all over again. You, splayed out on your bed, legs quivering, shirt slightly riding up from the sensation of being practically thrown down by Sloan; you looked like a cute little  present, one Sloan was itching to unwrap. 

“Can I take this off?” Sloan was too impatient for you to answer the question that they themself had asked, fingers eagerly working to strip you of your clothes. You would’ve laughed at their eagerness if it wasn’t for the burning need you felt for them in the moment, instead opting to gaze up at them dumbly. 

Sloan sucked in a breath as they gazed at your shirtless figure. You were even more stunning than they’d imagined. Those nights of rubbing one out to the thoughts of their best friend’s cute sibling faded away as they registered that you were truly real and there, under them. 

They wanted to ravish you. 

They nearly whined, large fingers palming your bra-clad breasts. With shaky hands, they clumsily took your bra off. It took Sloan longer than it should have, them constantly kissing you like they couldn’t be away from your lips for two seconds and them fumbling with the bra strap and trying to stop themself from ripping it off entirely. But damn, if it wasn’t worth it. You looked absolutely beautiful. Sloan’s eyes roved over your body like a hawk to its prey. You shivered, entertaining the possibility of being swallowed up by them. 

Their cock pulsed with need at the sight of your bare chest, aching to be relieved. It was almost painful, but Sloan was determined to make this pleasant for you, even in their lust-clouded haze. 

“Mierda. So pretty.. I want you. I need you.” They moved their mouth down to greedily attack your breasts, rolling their tongue around your left nipple. They occupied the other with their hand, alternating between gently scratching the bud, flicking it with their thumb and forefinger, and cupping your breast. You squirmed in their hold and they let out a gentle hum of comfort to try and still your movements, which, admittedly, did nothing but make you wetter than you already were. 

“Sloan..” They momentarily stopped their ministrations to soak up that heavenly noise, but quickly resumed when you let out a whine of protest. 

“Mm?” They mumbled against your breast, stopping their sucking and tongue-prodding to dot kisses down your stomach. “What is it, cariño?”

You shakily sighed, fingers tangling in their hair as you watched them with glazed eyes. 

“‘S not enough, I need more.” You protested softly. Sloan’s eyes softened at the sensation. A hint of their teasing nature sparked up and they thought about making you wait for the reprieve you so desperately desired, but they squashed the whim, deciding instead there was plenty of time for that later. Later, when you two were more prepared.

They pulled away from you and groping your tits and you groaned with disappointment, to which they chuckled softly at. 

“C’mere.” They shifted on the bed so they were laying down. “Take your pants off.”

That sounded appealing. You gulped, scooting over to them, and obediently stripped yourself to your panties, to which Sloan let out a low whistle at. 

Your panties were so cute. Did you doll yourself up in the hopes they’d see you like this and fuck you silly? Sloan sighed dreamily at the thought. 

They pulled you onto their lap with ease, and you prayed that your wetness wasn’t soaking through your underwear and onto them. You bit your lip as Sloan hooked their fingers in your panties, slowly pulling them down. They let out a breathy sigh as they stared at the wetness coating your panties. It was them that you were so drenched for. Them. Sloan Cameron. 

Fuck, they were so lucky. You were just the cutest. 

“On my face.” They said softly, staring at you with love. 

“What?” You sputtered. Sloan tossed your panties aside (as much as they enjoyed them) to who-knows-where in your bedroom, occupying their hands with grabbing your thighs. They marveled at the sensation, squeezing gently.

“On my face.” They repeated. “Sit on it.” 

You stared at them incredulously. “You want me to sit on your face? But what if I’m too heavy?”

They chuckled, the sound rippling through your body. 

“I think I have more than enough strength to handle you sitting on my face.” They said, a bit cockily. You gulped at their brazenness, casting a gaze to the muscles you’d been ogling over earlier. 

The offer did seem tempting…

“But what if you, I don’t know, lose air? What if I suffocate you?” 

“Suffocating between your thighs sounds like an honorable death.” They flashed that chipped tooth grin at you that you had grown to adore so much. “Sloan Cameron— died because they were too devoted to eating some pussy.” You snorted at their inability to stay serious even when extremely horny, knowing arguing with them was useless. 

You shakily clambered atop them. They licked their lips as your sopping wet cunt entered their vision. You hovered over their face apprehensively, but Sloan wasn’t having any of it— you squeaked as they pulled you down onto their face. 

You felt your brain turning to mush as you felt Sloan’s face between your legs. Their nose brushed your clit just perfectly, tingling your spine; it was like their face was made for you to sit on— a.. rather odd way of saying you were meant for each other. You gripped their hair in an attempt to steady yourself, but all hopes of regaining some sense of clarity were dashed as you felt them inhale you. 

“You smell so good,” they moaned out. “I wanna taste you, I wanna taste you.. amor, oh, mi amor..”

You let out a keen as they ran their tongue along your folds, lapping up your wetness. They sighed like they were in heaven at its taste; You were everything they imagined and more, so much more. 

You squealed as they traced your tongue around your entrance prodded their tongue at it. 

“C’mon.” They shakily breathed out. “Move for me. You can do it.”

You gulped, knowing nothing but the feeling of their mouth buried in your cunt. The vestiges of embarrassment faded away as you first grinded on their face, replaced by a wave of overwhelming white-hot pleasure. 

It was too quick, how you lost yourself in the sensations of their mouth. You let out soft sobs of ecstasy as Sloan ate you out like a starved human. They made no move to stop you from tugging on their hair as you ground yourself against their face, basking in your enjoyment and rather enjoying the pain. 

“Sloan, oh, oh, I’m so clo—“

“I’m home! I brought your dumb ice cream!” Yelled the familiar voice of your brother. You immediately snapped out of your lusty trance, eyes widening to the size of dinner plates. You stared at Sloan like you’d been caught stealing from a cookie jar— they looked back with the same ‘oh shit’ gaze. 

Your brother made his presence known in the living room, setting down the spoils from his trip to the grocery store with a loud, annoyed grunt.

“Where are you two?! Why the hell is Sloan’s shirt on the couch..? And is that ice cream??”

Fuck. You’d forgotten the shirt. 

Sloan looked up at you. You looked back, face full of embarrassment, looking to them for help. 

“Say something!” They urged you. 

“What do I even say??”

“I don’t know!” They whisper-yelled, panic palpable. 

You groaned in annoyance. It took every inch of your willpower not to squeeze their face from where it was with your thighs, but they’d probably enjoy that. 

“Sloan went home!!” You yelled quickly, trying to sound normal— as if you hadn’t just been given the best damn head of your life. 

“Without their shirt?” Your brother yelled back. 

You looked at them for an answer. They pursed their lips and creased their eyebrows at you to as if to say “I don’t know!”, but all it did was send ripples of ecstasy through your body. You managed to silence a moan at the sensation of their pursed lips on you, and their eyes tinged with a rekindled fire. 

“T-Turns out we had ice cream!!” You yelled back. “They spilled it and just went home without it! Th-they said they were tired!”

Your brother groaned in annoyance, mumbling a “That sounds like something Sloan would do”. You sighed in relief, though it was short lived as Sloan’s lips closed around your clit. Your eyes nearly rolled into the back of your head and you had to stifle the loudest whine— with limited success, as it came out like a little grunt. You slapped them from where you were, though it was light, your head too consumed with pleasure to truly do any damage. 

“Keep moving,” Sloan murmured against you. You moaned softly at their breath against the sensitive bundle of nerves. 

“Are you crazy?” You whimpered. 

They raised an eyebrow at you, as if asking you to really answer that question. Yes. Yes, Sloan Cameron was batshit insane. And yes. You loved them. And the idea was turning you on far too much for you to admit.

You slowly continued rolling your hips across their face, gasping quietly at the sensation. 

“Yo, are you sick up there?! You sound awful! Like, more than usual!” Your brother yelled. You cursed under your breath. Of all the times your brother had to show a semblance of care (even if it was backhanded), why now?

You gripped Sloan’s hair tighter, trembling with each roll of your hips. Drool fell from your mouth and onto the bed. 

“Yeah, I’m fine! I’m- uh- I’m naked-!” You screamed. You cursed softly under your breath. Your tone was far too shaky to even sound believable. 

Sloan giggled against your skin. You squealed, kicking what you could of their body lightly with your foot. They let out a quiet “oomph”, which did little to help you, as it blew air against your swollen clit. You threw your head forward, nearly burying your face in the bed. You really dug yourself a hole with anything you did. 

“Ew!” Your brother blanched from the living room. “So I bought all this beer for nothing?” 

Please leave, please leave, please leave-

“I’m not gonna waste this. And I definitely don’t wanna see you naked! I’m gonna go to a friend’s house and drink this!!” You sighed in extreme relief. “I’ll probably stay over! Don’t burn down the house! And clean up that shirt and fucking ice cream!” Even better. He’d be gone the whole night. You felt almost giddy at the thought. 

You halted your movements, which Sloan pouted at, until you heard the door click shut. You almost burst into tears in relief. 

“Thank goodne—“ You trailed off into a loud yelp as Sloan flattened their tongue against your clit. Any possible words escaped you, torn from your mind as Sloan endlessly abused the sensitive bud. 

Their hands squeezed your thighs, nails gently scratching small marks into it, heightening your pleasure. 

“Close— I think ‘m— Sloan— Sloan!!” You shrieked, clenching their hair and tugging. They moaned into you at the feeling, speeding up their movements to help you reach your peak. You assisted, grinding faster against their face, your imminent release the only thing in your mind. 

You cried as you felt yourself cum, digging your heels into the sheets. Your whole body seized up in the most intense orgasm you’d ever experienced, and you collapsed on them, exhausted. Your thighs ached, but you couldn’t imagine how Sloan felt. 

..actually, you could. They were beaming, licking off the traces off wetness you’d left on their face like it was fine dining. You were thoroughly embarrassed by the picture, but it was so addicting to stare at. 

You panted softly, burrowing your face in their neck. You could feel yourself sweating, the heat in your body doing little in terms of leaving. 

“Good?”

“Way too good.. What ab’t you?” You murmured into their neck. They blinked, as if the thought hadn’t even crossed their mind. 

“What about me?” They looked just like a clueless puppy. You wrapped your arms around their waist, absentmindedly squeezing their stomach. 

“This whole thing started ‘cuz you were hard.” You mumbled, gently raking your nails across their body. 

They groaned in embarrassment. “Oh, right.. umm.. don’t worry about it.”

You pouted up at them. They cooed internally at the sight; you were just the cutest!

“No. You pleased me.. I should please you back..”

They sighed with a soft little chuckle. “I pleased you, and by pleasing you, I was pleased. Wait, does that even make any sense?” They hummed, thinking. 

You still weren’t satisfied, fingers tugging at the band of their pants. Sloan gulped nervously, feeling heat spread through their body again. Their large, clammy hands covered yours, dwarfing them. 

“Honestly, cariño, you really don’t have to—“

“But what if I wanna?” You asked softly. 

Sloan let out a sigh. 

“I can’t argue with that.”

You eagerly slipped their pants down along with their boxers decorated with assortments of puppies on them, admiring their built legs. You traced the trail of hair from the bellybutton piercing on their stomach down to where their pubes peeked out. You mewled softly, taking in the sight of them. 

Your eyes trailed down. 

“Oh.” You mumbled. 

Sloan laughed nervously. Was that a good “Oh” or a bad “Oh”?

You were taken aback. By no means was it not long, but what you were impressed by was.. the girth. Sloan’s cock was thick. You gulped at the size, but were determined not to let yourself be intimidated. 

You spat in your hand, slowly wrapping a hand around them. Awed by the way one hand barely fit around their length, you slowly pumped your hand. It was like you were entranced. 

Sloan was weak. They were on the verge of crumbling. You looked so adorable, so fucking innocent, staring at their cock oozing precum with fascination, quickly looking up at them with each stroke to gage their reaction. You were so, so, eager to please them, and they felt like they were going to cum embarrassingly quick. 

They felt like they were in some porn— except nothing they were feeling was an act— you were really there, with them, their skin was on fire, oh, they loved you so much. Oh, they felt depraved. Your hand on them was bliss. Pure bliss. 

When you licked the tip of their cock, they almost came immediately. They cursed and willed themself to hold out a little longer. 

You were thoroughly enjoying their reactions; Every shake, every shiver, every keen was addicting to you. You wanted to draw more from Sloan, discover more, feel more. With them. 

You gave a vein a little kitten lick and they pulled on your hair. You gasped in surprise, sending more of their length down your throat. You gagged on it, hot tears forming in your eyes, but oh, seeing them keel over was so worth it. 

You absentmindedly cupped their balls, giving them a soft squeeze. Sloan grunted. They were so, so close. 

“Mierda, mierda.. te quiero, ah..”

You understood the gist of what they were saying, and let out a muffled “wuvvvyoutoo” against their cock, to which they finally threw their head back with a loud groan. 

They came. Hard. 

You gulped down a bit, pondering the salty taste. You pulled back, the rest coating your mouth. Sloan looked at you.

You were absolutely filthy, their cum coating your face. They reached out a thumb to wipe your mouth, but you licked it off your lips, just like they’d done when they ate you out. 

Sloan gulped. 

Yeah, you would never be their best friend’s sibling again. 

Just you. 

You plopped into their lap, too exhausted to say anything. They sighed, absolutely lovesick, caging you in their arms. They peppered your face with much more innocent kisses.

“I love you.” They mumbled softly.

“Mm.” You tiredly leaned into them, finding entertainment in tracing your hands along their tattoos. “..love you too..”

They smiled softly, nuzzling into your neck. 

Sloan was whipped. 

-

so like i kinda fell off at the end 😺 but yeah this is FILTH! if you read this far you’re a SINNER!!! A FREAK!!

plsplspls tell me if it’s not as gender neutral as it can b and if I can fix anything with sloan or you !! love you mwah 

sighs I need to write sloan putting it in and becoming absolutlyelyl pathetic

[sydsaint]

I'm a sucker for an enemies to lovers + forced proximity arc, what can I say?

Summary: Reader gets an unlucky break when she gets stuck traveling with Tyler for a couple of weeks for AEW's tour of the Pacific North West before Double or Nothing. She and Tyler have never bothered to get along. But truth be told, she doesn't quite know why.

You read the text from your wonderful AEW EVP's over again, making sure that you've read it right. And unfortunately you have.

Somehow, after some kind of vague mix-up or other, according to the message anyway, you've been stuck with the infamous HOOK as a travel partner for AEW's PNW tour.

Begrudgingly, you collect your bags from the hotel room you're staying at and decide to meet your new travel partner in the lobby. You check out of your room at the main desk and glance around for any sign of Tyler hanging around. You spot Taz's broody kid leaning against a far wall in the lobby and head over to him.

"Hey, Tyler." You attempt to be civil since you're going to be stuck with him all week.

"Hey." Tyler nods to you, an emotionless expression on his face. He pushes off the wall and slings his bag over his shoulder. "You ready to head out?" He asks you. "We're due for a house show in Portland tomorrow. Drive is a couple of hours."

You nod and adjust your bag hanging off your shoulder. "Yeah, I'm ready whenever you are." You step off to the side and let Tyler lead the way.

Tyler leads the way out into the parking lot and over to a black SUV he's renting for the week. He pops the trunk open and tosses his bag into the back before moving off to the side so you can do the same. You toss your bags down next to his, your brightly colored luggage a stark contrast to his black ones, and Tyler slams the trunk shut.

"I'm driving." Tyler fishes the keys to the SUV out of his pocket and flashes them at you.

"Fine by me." You shrug and walk over to the passenger side of the car.

Both of you climb into the car in silence, and Tyler pulls the SUV out of the parking lot and out into the hectic Seattle traffic. Neither of you bother to make conversation, so Tyler switches on the radio to some random hip-hop channel.

"If you're not into the station, I'll change it here in a bit." Tyler speaks up after a couple of songs pass.

"This one is fine." You reply with a shrug.

Silence falls over the two of you again as the SUV flies down the road in the dark. You grow bored pretty fast and hum along to the radio for a bit while you scroll through your phone. What you don't notice is Tyler glancing your way once in a while as you quietly sing along to the radio when a good song comes in.

A couple of hours into the ride, Tyler stops off at some gas station in some nowhere off-ramp town.

"I'm gonna use the bathroom and grab some food." Tyler explains as he turns the car off.

"Cool. I'll do the same." You nod and unbuckle yourself out of your seat.

You and Tyler head inside and he heads to the bathroom while you make a b-line for the snack aisle. You grab an energy drink from one of the fridges on the back wall, then start looking through the chips and other salty snacks on the shelf in front of you.

Tyler comes back from the bathroom a few minutes later and you see him grab the same brand of energy drink out of the fridge as you from the corner of your eye. You pick out a small bag of chips before moving to the candy aisle for something sweet.

Once you've collected a nice round-up of snacks, you head up to the check-out and set everything onto the counter. Tyler comes up from behind you and sets his stuff down as well, and you can't help but notice that your choices in snacks are almost identical.

You fish out your wallet from your pocket to pay for your snacks but Tyler shoulders in front of you before you can pull it out of the confines of your pocket.

"I got it." Tyler mumbles as he pushes past you.

You stumble back a couple of steps as Tyler hands a couple of bills over to the cashier. The cashier takes the cash and returns some change to Tyler who pockets the extra's and grabs his stuff off the counter.

"...Thanks." You give Tyler a quick thank you as he steps passed you with his food and drink in hand.

You grab your stuff off the counter and follow Tyler back out to the car in silece. Tyler sets his stuff inside the car and turns back around to pump some gas before the two off you depart. You stop in front of the car and frown.

"You should have let me at least pay for some gas." You complain, feeling like a leech.

"Nah. It's my rental." Tyler replies as he leans against the side of the car. "Don't worry about it." He assures you.

You huff out a breath and watch the screen on the pump climb in price. "Well do you at least want me to drive for a while?" You ask Tyler, tired of feeling halpless this whole trip.

"Nah." Tyler replies again nonchalantly. "We're more than halfway there. It's fine." He insists.

"Whatever." You grumble to yourself at Tyler's aloofness and climb back into the passenger side of the car.

You climb into the passenger seat and settle into your spot. You glance out the window at Tyler as he finishes up pumping gas. Your phone buzzes and you check your messages. You find a text from Skye waiting for you.

-How the trip going?

-fine I guess. hes just so cold. idk what to do

-hang in there babe! u got this!

-I'll try. wish me luck!

Tyler climbs back into the car and you put your phone back into your pocket. He switches the car back on and pulls back onto the road.

Tyler drives for about another hour in silence before you can't take it anymore. You glance over at him and muster up the courage to say something.

"Are you sure that you don't want me to drive?" You ask. "I'm more than happy to take over for a while." You assure him.

"I've got it." Tyler shakes his head. "Besides, we're almost there."

You nod and bite the inside of your lip. "Are you sure?" You speak up again. "You've been driving for like 4 hours straight." You remind him.

"I'm fine, Y/N." Tyler insists. "If you want to help with something you can do me a solid and crack open my drink for me." He suggests.

"Yeah, sure." You nod and crack open his drink for him. "You need me to hand feed you Dorito's too?" You quip.

Your eyes are fixed on the road so you don't see the hint of a smile crack on Tyler's face at your quip.

Silence once again overtakes the car ride until you and Tyler finally make it to the hotel at around 1am. You grab your bags and head inside to the front desk. You get checked into your shared room and are given two keycards, giving one to Tyler when he joins you in the lobby.

The two of you head up to the room in silence. You make it into the room first and set your bags down onto one of the queen beds in the room. Tyler takes the other bed and the two of you silently unpack.

"I'm going to grab a quick shower before I go to sleep." You inform Tyler as you fish your sleepwear out of your bag.

You grab your comfy oversized tshirt and the comfy underwear you like to sleep in and head into the bathroom. Tyler unpacks his bag and changes into some more loose-fitting sweats before setting his bags down onto the floor and climbing into his bed for the night.

Tyler plugs in his phone and scrolls through it for a while. He can hear you singing to yourself from the bathroom and cracks a small smile.

"There's still hot water if you want to rinse off." You come out of the bathroom a bit later, toweling off your hair.

"I'll shower in the morning." Tyler shrugs and looks up from his phone at you as you discard your towel into the bascket sitting by the bathroom door.

You shrug and climb into your bed. "Suit yourself. I'm going to bed." You plug in your phone to your charger and switch the bedside lamp off.

Tyler does the same and you both get some sleep.

Much later into the morning you are woken up by the sound of someone rummaging around the hotel room. You yawn and prop yourself up in bed and check the time on your phone. 7am.

"Please don't tell me that you're a morning person?" You groan and sit up in bed.

You rub the sleep from your eyes and find Tyler digging through his bags for his gym clothes. Your breath hitches in your throat when your eyes land on his bare back, muscles flexing and moving with every movement. His sweats hang low on his hips, and you can only imagine what they look like from the front.

"Always have been." Tyler answers your question. "I'm going to change and then head to the gym for a couple of hours." He explains.

"Okay." You nod and stretch your arms above your head. "I think I'm just going to hang out here for a couple more hours. Maybe grab some breakfast."

Tyler nods and you watch him walk off with his gym bag slung over his shoulder. You lay in bed for another hour or so before you decide to get dressed and grab something to eat. You pull a cute outfit from your bag and strip off your sleeping shirt in front of your bed.

You switch your underwear and bra and are in the middle of squeezing into a pair of jeans when the door clicks open.

"I'm back. You in here?" Tyler steps through the door as you move to grab something to cover yourself up with. "Oh, sorry. I'll just, step back out." Tyler see's that you're changing and retreats back into the hall.

You pull your shirt over your head and call for Tyler to come back inside the room. He cautiously comes back through the door and tosses his bag onto the floor.

"Sorry, YN. I didn't mean to barge in on you." He apologizes for almost catching you naked. "I guess I should have knocked." He muses.

"It's fine." You shrug and zip your suitcase back up. "My ring gear is way more provocative, right?" You joke. "I was just going to grab breakfast at that place across the street. You're welcome to come if you want."

Tyler nods and grabs a fresh hoodie from his bag. He pulls it over his head and gets the door for you. "Sure, I could eat."

You and Tyler head over to the diner and eat in a comfortable silence. You eventually get him to casually chat with you about some stuff and learn that the two of you share a few hobbies.

After your breakfast has finished you reach for your bag to fish your wallet out of it and pay the bill. Tyler spots your gesture and grabs your hand that's still on the table.

"Hey, I've got it, YN." Tyler insists.

"Again?" You look back up at him with narrowed eyes. "Are you sure? I'm kind of starting to feel like a mooch." You admit, but you can see that Tyler doesn't plan on changing his mind any time soon. "Can I at least get the tip?" You ask him.

Tyler cracks a small grin and nods, letting go of your hand. "Sure." He agrees to let you leave a tip.

You smile happily and pull a couple of bills out of your wallet. You leave them on the table and head out with Tyler back to the hotel room. The two of you have different schedules for the show so you part ways for a few hours.

Much later into the night you are packed up and getting ready to head back to the hotel. You stop outside the arena where there are some fans grouped up and waiting to see some of the people from the show. You run into them and agree to sign a couple of things and take a few photos with some of the girls hanging out.

"What about me, beautiful?" One of the guys with the group of girls breaks through the crowd and approaches you. "Can I get a picture too?" He asks you with a cocky grin.

Reluctantly, you nod and agree to a photo. Normally you'd never agree to take a photo with some tool like this. But you don't want to make a scene in front of the girls that were being polite and waited so long to have a chance at meeting you.

"Sure, why not. One wont hurt, right?" You gesture for the guy to step next to you.

The guy eagerly fishes his phone out of his pocket and steps over to you. You force a smile on your face as he slings an arm around you for the picture. The scent of his nasty colonge assaults your senses but you bear it and wait for the photo to be taken.

The fan pulls you into his side as close as he can get and goes to take the photo. His hand thats slung over the back of your shoulders slides down your back and stops dangerously close to your ass.

You grimace and step away from the fan, intent on telling him off. But someone beats you to the punch. "Hey! What the fuck? Get off of her!" Tyler suddenly appears and stomps towards you and the fanboy.

The fanboy scoffs and turns to confront Tyler. "Excuse me? Do you mind, man? I'm trying to get a picture!" He nods toward you.

"Looks more to me like you were trying to cop a feel." Tyler replies and steps between you and the fanboy.

"What it to you?" The fanboy sneers. "You her boyfriend or something?"

You grab Tylers arm thats posistioned toward you and catch his attention. "Ty, it's fine." You assure him. "Come on. Let's just get out of here." You tug gently on his arm. "He's not worth getting into a brawl over. He's a loser." You shoot a glare at the fanboy. "Who thinks that he's way cooler than he is. Trust me bro, these girls? They know you're a loser too." You nod toward the group of girls standing silently a few feet away.

"Whatever, bitch." The fanboy snarls at you and Tyler takes a step toward him.

"Ty, come on." You give Tyler's arm another tug and he backs off the fanboy.

Tyler turns back toward you and the two of you walk off. "Whatever man. Let's get out of here, YN. Before I change my mind." He lets you drag him off.

"You two make a cute couple!" One of the girls in the group shouts as you drag Tyler away from the crowd.

You and Tyler glance at one another and you let go of his arm. You turn away first to hide the blush on your cheeks and don't notice Tyler's sly little smile.

"Thanks for having my back, Tyler." You thank him. "You're not so bad after all, mister cold-hearted badboy." You knock into his side playfully.

"I got your back, YN. No sweat." Tyler knocks back into you with a grin.

[rxckhxrdrxckstxr]

"Eh, it's really not that far - but... I can get there faster, if you'd like."

Pay turns to Omaha, gripping him into a tight hug, "This is gonna take most of my mana..."

He teleports.

In an instant, he and Omaha are at his doorstep in a cloud of sparkles.

He coughs softly, "Fuck, I got stars in my lungs- jesus, at least they'll clear up in a sec-"

"Anyway, uh... let's head in, babe."

“Fish? What a strange request for breakfast— I’m not judging, though.”

Seems the innuendo flew right over his head.

“..Yeah, we can have pancakes. Uuuh, I think I can manage to make them..”

“Alright, let’s go.”

( @o-my-heart-daily )

"...Fish cake, Omie, your fish cake." Pay explains.

"Gosh, I've spent all this time flirting with you, how'd you miss that?"

His tone is rather playful as he speaks, he's messing around.

"It's okay, though - I'm sure I could teach you what I mean." he smirks, "If you, uh, wanted me to, that is..."

"Uh- after breakfast though, c'mon." he smiles.

Pay stands up, heading for the kitchen.

[hellfirenacht]

Wing Man: End Credit Scene

Fic Summary: Steve ‘the Hair’ Harrington is your best friend, and is constantly striking out. Sick of this, you two make a deal; you’ll wing man for each other. Hooking Steve up with dates is easy, but he finds himself struggling to find you a date. At least, until Dustin starts talking about his new cool friend Eddie.

Chapter Summary: Post Credit Scene

Words: 786

(Master List 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 Epilogue Post Credit)

A young boy with short and unruly curls stares at the vending machines. He has very limited pocket money, having spent the morning poking through every payphone and looking under every couch cushion for the last quarter to allow him to buy a bag of chips and a TAB. 

He punches in the code for the soda, double and triple checking to make sure he’s going to get his desired treat. With success, the soda falls with a satisfying THUNK and he carefully tucks it into his coat pocket. 

Now he moves to the snack machine and punches in the number for the chips, again double checking that it is correct. The machine makes a noise, and the swirly metal that holds the chips shakes for a moment and then... nothing. 

No satisfying fall of the chips, just a mechanical hum and then silence. 

The boy frowns and reached out to push the coin return button. 

Nothing happens. 

He pushes it again, a few more times in a row, and is still met with a stillness. 

He gives the machine a shake and a smack before letting out a defeated sigh. He leans against the machine, and tries to remind himself that at least he got his soda, which is more than he could normally say. The thought that he could ask a teacher or the principal for a refund crosses his mind, but that’s quickly shut down by common sense. No one would give a shit about letting the poor freak get his quarter back. 

“Is it broken again?” Someone asks him, and he looks up to see a girl about his age. She’s holding a library book and a few sheets of loose paper. 

The boy nods. “Yeah, it ate my quarter.” He says. 

The girl moves next to him, and he’s unsure how to feel about someone so close to him. Ever since middle school started, most people avoided him like the plague but this girl seems more concerned about the vending machine. 

She digs into her pocket and pulls out her own shiny set of quarters and drops one. Both kids reach down to pick the coins up but end up bumping their heads together and laughing awkwardly. The boy picks up the quarter while the girl rubs her forehead. 

The girl takes the quarter and looks at the machine. “Which one screwed you?”

“B3.” The boy replies. 

She looks at the vending machine and pokes at the 3 button a few times before handing over her library book to him. He looks down at the cover, it’s a book on how to do origami which seems pretty random to him. The girl pulls out a folded piece of paper (is that supposed to be a fish or a frog?) and starts rubbing the folded seam between the buttons. 

“3 sticks.” she said. “That’s what someone told me at least.” 

She pushes B3 again. Nothing happens. 

“They might have also been full of shit.” she shrugs and the boy laughs at the bluntness. “Is there a different one you want?” 

He looks at the options and settles on a candy bar at the bottom. “That one.”

She pushes the buttons, and this time, it falls successfully. The boy pulls it out and quickly unwraps it. 

“Here.” he says and snaps it in half, handing it over to the girl who takes it, along with her book. 

“Are you sure?” she asks, and he nods. 

The bell rings, signaling that they have about 30 seconds to get to home room before either of them would be in trouble. The girl hands over the piece of paper she had tried to use to help him. (Maybe it’s a car? No, cars don’t have legs but neither do fish... this has to be a fish, right?)

“Trade you.” She says with a smile and quickly runs off towards her class. The boy awkwardly waves before turning and hurrying towards his own homeroom. 

The alleged frog would eventually get covered in chocolate and tossed with other garbage at the end of the week. The half of the girls candy bar would be eaten in three bites and forgotten about. Ultimately, this interaction that only lasted three minutes at most shouldn’t mean anything. 

Most meetings are rarely memorable or dramatic. Sometimes, you meet someone once and never see them again. Sometimes, you’re lucky enough to meet someone for the first time over and over. 

Eddie Munson never thought of himself as lucky. You never thought of yourself as much of anything. 

It’s a good thing that it never mattered, as the two of you met over and over until there were no more firsts and only continuations.

I've never finished a fic that was more than 3 chapters. Say something nice to me, please 💜

Dividers by: @strangergraphics

Tag List @k8loo @terrormonster55 @sp1dyb0y1008 @crocwork-clockodile @ali-r3n

@mxcheese @josephquinnschesthair @gagasbee @peaches-roses-sins @witchwolflea

@vintagehellfire @royale1803 @cumslutforaemond @prestinalove @browneyedgirly93

@perpetualmessmachine @thebook-hobbit @cultish-corner @grishaversecaptivated @sortagaysortahigh

@siriuslysmoking @huffledor-able541 @pookiesnatcher @eddiesguitarskills @browneyes-8288

@sheneedsrocknroll92 @kores-mun-son-n-more @eddiebuttcheeks @kirsteng42 @dreamerjj

@moonisu @em022O @cosmorant @kurdtbean

[woodenplank-gt]

A Not So Average Night

CW: Minor character death

Next: Definitely Not A Mouse

————-

Tiny feet padded quietly through the dark tunnels. Particles of dust swirled through the paths as the sudden movement disturbed them. The air was stale and musty after being blocked from the outside world for so long, but that never bothered its resident.

The almost silent sound of tiny footsteps stopped and a minuscule brown hand pushed a kitchen tile out of the way. The 3.7-inch borrower poked his head out of the walls and surveyed his surroundings before cautiously stepping onto the open counter. The resident humans had called it a night, giving Tucker plenty of time to scavenge what he can.

He walked across the counter as his eyes scanned the area for any packages of food left out. His food stores have depleted immensely over the last few weeks. For some reason, the humans have been out of the house more often which meant less food in the home. Tucker had been forced to eat the tiniest amounts so he at least had a little bit of energy. His stomach rumbled loudly at the reminder.

Frowning, he squinted through the darkness towards the table in the middle of the kitchen. His brown eyes lit up at the most incredible sight in the world: an open bag full of chips left on the table.

Without missing a beat, the borrower unlatched his fishhook from his satchel and jammed it into the edge of the counter. He let the clear fishing line fall from his fingers all the way to the floor before scaling down himself. Leather boots landed silently on the tiled floor, and with a flick of his wrist, the hook detached from the counter high above him. Tucker caught the hook in midair with practiced ease after so many years of the same repetitive motions.

The small man wasted no time running across the open floor to the table as fast as his legs would carry him. The instincts ingrained in Tucker's mind screamed at him to find cover and stick by the walls, but he stubbornly continued through the quicker route through the middle of the room. There was no point in wasting valuable time when there were no signs of the human couple.

Tucker reached the looming table and hurriedly started swinging his hook to latch onto the table. With a quick tug to ensure the hook wouldn't pop out on him, Tucker confidently scaled the cliff-like height with expert speed.

The yellow bag sat nearby and Tucker's mouth watered. It was like finding an oasis in the middle of the desert. He crouched down to peer inside the bag which was completely full of the greasy chips. Very carefully, Tucker crawled into the bag. Each movement slow and precise as he entered the aluminum cave and made his way to the chips. He shifted ever so slightly to his knees and cautiously pulled a chip closer to him. Tucker grimaced as the bag crinkled loudly around him. To Tucker, It might as well had been an alarm announcing the borrower's presence.

His heart rate spiked and he froze like a deer in headlights. His little hands clutching the chip to his chest like it was a life raft as Tucker anxiously listened for any human noises coming from the bedroom.

Tucker waited with bated breath for what felt like an eternity before deeming himself safe. He hung his head and willed his body to stop shaking for a moment. Glaring at the chip that nearly got him caught, he dragged the chip into the open air using more care than ever before.

The borrower eventually made it out with his prize in hand and backed a good couple inches away from the crinkly bag. There, he began breaking the yellow chip into smaller pieces and stuffed them into his satchel. Grease coated his hands and clothes, but the satchel heavy with food was more than worth it.

Tucker uncoiled his string from around his shoulder as he jogged towards the edge of the table. He smiled to himself as he neared the edge. This was going to be his most efficient borrowing trip yet.

Until he heard a loud squeak of a door across the small home.

Frantic brown eyes shot towards the door to the bedroom as the woman quietly tiptoed out of the room. She quickly, but carefully, made her way to the kitchen, the occasional floorboard creaking under her weight.

Tucker wasted no time breaking into a mad dash towards the closest cover and all but dove into the bag of chips. The plastic crinkled loudly around him and he grimaced. He desperately hoped her mind was tired enough to drown out whatever noise he made. Tucker inched further into the bag with ragged breaths, curling into a small ball. His eyes watered and his throat stung from the greasy salt coating him and his surroundings.

The overhead light flicked on and the ground shook slightly from her footsteps. The sound of her rummaging through the fridge was drowned out by the blood roaring in Tucker's ears. His heart couldn't keep up with the panic coursing through his entire body. He was in the absolute worst hiding spot ever! All she had to do was peer inside and she'll spot him, then he would either end up dead or a pet. Tucker couldn't decide which fate was worse.

Just calm down. She hasn't found you yet. You've gotten out of tough situations before. He reminded himself. Tucker focused on his frantic breaths and managed to slow them down to a more manageable level. His watery eyes watched the bag's opening with trepidation. His fingers curled around the nail strapped to his satchel as he mentally prepared himself to use the weapon against the giant. Of course, he knew it wouldn't really do much against her but he'd rather go down swinging than begging.

He remained crouched and silently listened as she continued searching for something. The seconds seemed to tick by excruciatingly slow when she finally whispered "a-ha!" And something clunked onto the counter. It took a few minutes for her to finish whatever she was doing before turning back to tiptoe to her room.

Tucker let his head hang down in relief as he waited for the click of the bedroom door signaling she was gone. He needed to go back into the walls as soon as possible. It was a miracle he made it out of this situation unscathed and Tucker was in no hurry to test his luck. He heard a click in the distance and began creeping out of the bag.

"Huh? What are y-" The shock was clear in the human woman's voice.

Tucker froze, half of his body out of the bag. His muscles tensed and his heart slammed against his rib cage. His eyes frantically searched for the human that undoubtedly found him while he mentally prepared for death.

"What are you doing?" She demanded.

Her voice came from a different room and Tucker sighed in relief. He held a hand over his heart. At this rate he'll die from a heart attack rather than a human or rat. It was tempting to try and run to one of his many entrances in the walls, but he knew the risk was too high. As his parents explained to him time and time again; one wrong move could be the end of every single borrower. Tucker begrudgingly ducked back into the greasy, crinkly bag to wait out whatever was happening. Hopefully it will be quick.

"Go away!" The human yelled, her voice becoming louder and louder. Floorboards creaked as she hurriedly moved around the house.

"You know why I'm here." Said a new voice. It was a man's, but it was too deep to belong to the resident male.

Tucker's hand tightened on his weapon at the realization there was an unknown human in the house. His breaths became shorter and shorter as the ever-present fear seeped into his body. He backed further into the bag as the ground beneath him shook violently. The woman appeared in front of the table, her lower half being the only thing visible from Tucker's limited line of sight. Her hands were curled into fists and her chest heaved with panicked breaths.

"J, Don't do this!" She pleaded.

The shaking ground signaled the arrival of the stranger. "I love you," he stated quietly.

Shivers ran down Tucker's spine from the way the stranger said it. The words weren't filled with love and warmth and adoration, they were cold and desperate. And from the way the woman shook, she recognized the stranger's alarming behavior as well. Tucker found himself feeling bad for the resident human. Fear was an everyday thing for a borrower, it's what kept them alive, but she didn't deserve to feel the same way. The stranger was obviously dangerous and Tucker could only hope the resident male will wake up and help before it was too late.

She quickly raised her fist in preparation to punch him, but the stranger's hand closed around her wrist before she could do anything. Tucker winced as the hand squeezed harder and harder to the point where the woman's tan skin was turning white. She struggled against the grip but he never let up.

"Stev-" she began to desperately scream for her mate. The stranger swiftly grabbed her hair with his other hand and slammed her head onto the table. Then again. And again.

Tucker gasped and toppled over from the force. He heard a crunch, but he wasn't sure if it was the chips around him or the woman's head. A shadow covered the opening of the bag and he fearfully glanced up. Instead of a hand coming for him, he met the eyes of the woman whose head laid on the table not even a foot away from Tucker. Blood pooled around her and her cheeks were stained with tears as a gloved hand held her in place. Her hazel eyes were pleading as she weakly stared at the tiny man inside the bag.

The borrower didn't know what to do. He was just spotted by a human, an extremely powerful being compared to him. But she was hurt. Her large eyes were losing focus as more and more blood settled around her head. There was a strange temptation inside Tucker to help her. He had to stop the bleeding or get help or something! But that would be impossible. He was just a borrower living a life unnoticed.

All he could do was stare into her teary eyes and hope the sympathetic look on his face told her he was sorry.

Her lips parted, and if Tucker didn't have excellent hearing, he would have never heard her last words: "Josh," she said weakly as her eyes closed.

A door slammed in the distance followed by rapid footsteps. "Kirstie!" The resident human male shouted.

The stranger let go of her head and she collapsed to the ground with a heavy thud. As the man's frantic footsteps grew closer the stranger fled the scene, leaving just as quietly as he came in. The only sign of him ever being there was the bloody scene the husband walked in on.

—————

Time passed slowly. Red and blue lights flashed through the window blinds as humans wearing identical uniforms searched the kitchen. There were loud clicks followed by bright white flashes that occasionally blinded him.

Tucker remained curled up in the bag of chips. He had managed to move a large chip in front of him for cover if anyone decided to check the bag. He also tugged the hood of his black poncho over his short afro to hopefully blend in better with the shadows. Tucker's muscles were tense and primed to run at any moments notice.

This was supposed to be a quick and easy borrowing trip, he groused to himself. His stomach rumbled and he held a hand over it as if it could muffle the noise. Even though he was surrounded by food, he hadn't eaten anything yet. With all the excitement and humans hustling around he couldn't risk making more noise than necessary. Tucker was used to being hungry anyways, a few more hours couldn't hurt.

A deep voice knocked Tucker out of his thoughts. The room growing quiet as the human spoke, "What do we got?" The man demanded, his voice was confident and authoritative.

He crouched in front of the table where the body presumably laid, putting him in Tucker's line of sight. Tucker noticed he wore different clothes and less gear than the others. His skin was pale and his black hair was cut short. And his eyes made Tucker forget how to breathe. They were icy blue, their intense stare seemed to pierce through everything they looked at.

A woman cleared her throat, "Her name is Kirstin Blum, 32 years old."

The scary man scanned the crime scene, his icy gaze briefly passing over Tucker's hiding place. The borrower curled into a smaller ball behind the chip. He could have sworn he felt a chill go up his spine as the eyes passed over him. It was getting harder and harder to breathe, the salt and grease covering him definitely wasn't doing him any favors.

"Alright," the man rumbled after a few moments. He rose back up to a stand, putting his face high above Tucker and out of sight. The small man's shoulders slumped slightly when those eyes disappeared. "We got any suspects?" He asked.

"Yes detective Lassiter, the husband. His name is Steven Blum, he was the one who called 911. He's in the backyard." The woman replied.

"Perfect," Lassiter murmured quietly to himself as he walked away. The woman followed behind him, leaving the borrower alone in the kitchen.

Tucker desperately wished no one else would come in. He was tired and scared and hungry and he just wanted to be back in his home in the walls. He could practically hear his comfortable nest calling his name and couldn't wait to curl up inside and sleep for days. Tucker rolled his shoulders and stretched out his legs. They were becoming stiff from staying in the same place for so damn long. He wondered if he'd be able to stand after this ordeal.

Tucker couldn't help a quiet groan when a new human voice cut through the empty room. He reluctantly curled up behind the chip again to wait out the newcomer.

"I could really use some coffee right about now." The voice of a man complained.

"I tried to pick some up! You told me to keep goin'." Another man retorted.

They both walked into Tucker's view, although he could only see two pairs of pants. He could immediately tell they weren't like everyone else who'd come by. They didn't wear any belts full of tools or hold any equipment. He curiously peered through a crack in the chip in front of him to watch the new humans.

The man wearing jeans crouched down, his green eyes carefully scanning the body. "We couldn't just stop, I need to see everything before the cops start moving things around." It was the voice of the first human. He ran a hand through the spike in his short brown hair, "Hey Gus, check the cabinets for coffee pods or something." He whispered up to his friend.

The second human -Gus- hit the man in the shoulder,"There's a dead person here Shawn!" He snapped back.

"I think she'll want me to be awake if I'm gonna solve her murder." Shawn retorted without missing a beat.

Gus stepped away from the body and leaned on the counter further back. He crossed his arms as he looked around the kitchen for clues, but not as intently as Shawn. The man had dark skin that contrasted with his bright blue button up. He seemed slightly shorter than the other human, but that didn't make a difference to Tucker.

"You're just trying to get this girl's ghost to haunt me," he accused. "If you wanna steal coffee from a dead person then be my guest."

Shawn simply huffed and shook his head in resignation. He stopped looking at the body and began examining the pool of blood nearby on the table much to Tucker's dismay. Hopefully the bag of chips he was hiding in didn't spark any interest. Tucker watched with bated breath as the green eyes squinted at all the little details, then finally widening.

He gestured wildly with his hand, "Dude! Get over here!" Shawn exclaimed excitedly.

Gus hurried over and Shawn pointed to a spot on the table. Both humans leaned in, their faces right in front of Tucker's hiding place. All they had to do was look up and they could make the discovery of a lifetime. He hunkered down lower to remain out of sight. The borrower put his hand on his nail and squeezed his eyes shut as he listened to the loud breaths coming from the humans so close by.

Gus' brows furrowed. "What am I looking at?" He asked.

Shawn's large finger came into view as he pointed at more spots, "Right here and here and here. Don't these look like little-"

"What the hell are you two doing here?" A deep voice demanded. Tucker recognized it as the scary man's voice from earlier: Detective Lassiter.

Both humans stood straight up, giving Tucker the confidence to breathe again without alerting the giants.

"Hey Lassie," Shawn drawled with a smile in his voice. "We didn't know you were here too. What a coincidence." He said innocently.

Gus smiled beside him, "If we had known I would have picked you up something to eat." He added.

The ground shook as the scary man stepped into the kitchen. "This is my crime scene. I don't need two idiot consultants contaminating everything." He growled.

"Since when have we ever done such a thing?" Shawn sounded absolutely offended. If he was scared of the icy blue eyes piercing through him, he definitely didn't show it. He then leaned over to peer behind the taller detective, "Is Juliet here?" He asked eagerly.

"Out." Lassiter stated with no room to argue. He grabbed Shawn's arm and tugged at the flannel shirt he was wearing to usher him out the room.

Shawn loudly complained and resisted being dragged away. "But you need our help!" He protested as he dug his feet into the floor.

"No I don't. We already caught the killer."

Tucker perked up at that. The bag crinkled softly around him and he winced. Luckily no one seemed to notice over the commotion Shawn was causing. He knew this meant the humans will leave and Tucker will soon be the only one in the house.

"Really? Who was it?" Gus asked from the side as he casually watched Lassiter and Shawn struggle. It was clear he also wanted to leave, probably because of the corpse still in the room.

Lassiter finally gave up and let Shawn free his wrist from his grip. He pointedly straightened his black suit jacket before answering, "Steven, the husband. I'm going to take him back to the station and get a confession."

The borrower balked at that conclusion. How in the world did they think the husband did it? Wasn't it their whole job to find the right person? Humans were dumber than he initially thought.

Something in the back of his mind urged him to come out and tell them the truth. How else are they supposed to figure it out if their best hope is in cuffs. But it was a human issue that had nothing to do with him. It's not Tucker's fault humans are destructive beings that hurt everyone and everything they come across. With that in mind, the last thing he was about to do was reveal the existence of borrowers to the world just to get justice for one human.

Shawn briefly seemed to consider what the detective said before his hands suddenly shot up to the sides of his head. He rested his pointer fingers against his temple and closed his eyes. "I'm having a vision!" He declared.

Lassiter started shaking his head and resumed his efforts to drag Shawn out of the room. "No! No psychic bullshit in my crime scene!" He protested angrily.

The man promptly ignored the detective. His left hand hovering over the victim lying on the ground. Tucker leaned slightly forwards and watched in complete bewilderment as the man waved his hand in circular motions in the air.

"I sense..... ow!" He suddenly held his left hand to the side of his head, stumbling out of the detective’s grip. "I sense the killer hit her head against the table over and over again, until she was dead." Shawn slowly walked closer to the table, his eyes scanning the surface once more. Once he seemed to find what he was looking for, he closed his eyes again with his hand still on his temple. "I'm getting something else.... Steven is not the killer." Shawn concluded confidently, opening his eyes.

Tucker was left speechless. How did the human do that? He just waved his hand around and knew the correct answer. A pit of worry grew inside of him. What if the strange human found him by doing the same thing. Tucker swallowed nervously and resisted the urge to make more noise by adding more chips in front of him for cover.

Gus glanced at Shawn with a quirked brow. At this point he knew better than to question his friend, but it's always the husband in the shows. He was definitely looking forward to hearing what Shawn found. It had to be something good.

However, the detective was less than pleased with that theory. "Really?" Lassiter's lips formed a tight smile. "Do you have any evidence someone else was in the house? 'Cause I can tell you right now there was no forced entry and nothing was stolen."

Shawn didn't flinch under the man's menacing tone, instead he gave him a cocky grin. "Not right now, but I will prove it wasn't Steven. The spirits never lie." He turned towards his friend still standing near the counter. "Right Gus!" He said and gave Gus a hard pat on the back.

Gus, who was completely unprepared for the force of the action, stumbled forward and ran right into the detective. While Lassiter was busying keeping both him and Gus from falling to the floor, Shawn snatched the bag of chips off the table. He hid it behind his back as he strode out the door before Lassiter can give him a piece of his mind.

Gus hurriedly apologized and ran after him, barely avoiding the string of curses coming from the detective's mouth.

[descendantsramblings]

Descendants Rambling Masterlist

♡Welcome to my page/Master list♡

My Requests are always open

I'm willing to write readers with she/her, he/him, or they/them pronouns

I'm willing to write 1-2 love interests

I only write for villains/vks unless it's a VK x reader x Ak situation (ex: mal x reader x ben, Jane x reader x Carlos)

I'll make suggestive comments/make out sessions but I don't write smut, these characters are all underage regardless of their actor's age

𝓜𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽

Key:

♡ personal favorite

✎ least favorite (i might eventually rewrite)

⋆ head canons

♤ AU

𝓒𝓸𝓻𝓮 𝓕𝓸𝓾𝓻

Mal Bertha

Game Planner (He/him) After finding out how much she misses Halloween on the Isle, Mal's boyfriend does everything he can to bring her a slice of home. - Written 10/2021

Evie

Candy Apple (She/her) Evie's family history leads to her trying to back out of a chemistry project. - Written 09/2021

Carlos de Vil

Saved ♤✎ (She/her) Going back to the Isle leads to the Hook!Reader being kidnapped by her own brother, leavig Carlos to save her. - Written 10/2017

Carlos Having a Crush on You ⋆(she/her) Ben's Twin!Reader x Carlos -Written 12/2017

I've Got You✎ (She/her) Carlos has a nightmare about his mother. (Trigger Warning!!)- Written 07/2018

PB&J (They/Them) Finding out their boyfriend hates their favorite holiday leads the reader to graveling to give him a good Halloween. - Written 09/2021

I Loved You First ♡ (They/Them) Inspired by "Loved You First" By One Direction. Carlos didn't expect them to wait for him to come back to the Isle, but that doesn't make it easier to see them with someone else. (minor Gil x reader) - Written 10/2021

Jay

Dating Jay ⋆ (no pronouns used but the reader wears leggings) Jay x Cheerleader!Reader - Written 10/2018

Spidermonkey (she/her) Gothel!Reader has Jay surprise her when he sneaks through her window. Loosely inspired by twilight- Written 04/2020

Stuffed Spook (They/Them) Jay's partner gets excited by a stuffed bat and he's determined to win it. -Written 09/2021

𝓢𝓮𝓪 𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓮𝓮

Uma

Letters to the Sea♤♡ (They/Them) Soulmate AU: everything you write on your skin appears on your soulmate's skin too. Uma and the Reader write letters until they can meet. - Written 07/2021

Baking (They/them) Uma watches her partner try to prepare for the Halloween escape room. Evie's Sibling!Reader - Written 10/2021

Gil

Hook's Daughter ⋆ (She/her) Harry's younger sister is Gil's closest friend (minor Gil x Jay) - Written 07/2021

Orchard (They/Them) Gil's partner takes him apple picking during his first September in Auradon - Written 09/2021

Harry Hook

Jafar's Child ⋆ (They/them) A flirty joke leads to Harry dating Jay's sibling - Written 07/2021

Fever ♡ (She/her) Harry and Captain take care of his sick girlfriend (requested) - Written 06/2021

Haunted Castle (He/him) Harry drags his scaredy-cat boyfriend to a haunted castle - Written 09/2021

Making a Splash (she/her) One wrong move leads to two people panicking and one person hurt on the docks. Jay's Sister!Reader. (Requested) - Written 12/2021

Flirting Pirate (She/her) She only hangs around the fish and chips shop to watch after he brother, it would be easier if she didn't have to deal with the flirty first mate. Gil's Sister!Reader (Requested) - Written 02/2022

Sealed With a Kiss ♡ (She/her) Ben's twin gets kidnapped with him by a pirate who's had a crush on her his whole life. Ben's Twin!Reader (Requested) - Written 04/2022

𝓓:𝓡𝓸𝓡 𝓥𝓲𝓵𝓵𝓪𝓲𝓷𝓼

Morgie le Fay

Sunday Night ♡ (She/her) After his friends let him down, Morgie runs to his girlfriend for comfort. - Written 08/2024

In Another Life (he/him) When Rapunzel's son gets thrown back in time he finds himself to be the object of two villains' affection. Minor James Hook x Reader (Requested)- Written 08/2024

I Would Be Yours (he/him) He never thought the lips he spent years thinking about would appear to him again 3 years later. Sequels to “In Another Life” (Requested)-Written 09/2024

True to Heart (he/him) Without the pressure of parents and villains, how hard is it to be true to heart? Especially when you’re holding a book that tells you your truth. (Requested)-Written 08/2024

Tree Bark (they/them) Everyone deserves their time alone, sometimes though that well deserved time alone has to be interrupted by the sound of animal noises coming from a tree. (Requested)-Written 08/2024

Crushing (they/them) Morgie had never been good at hiding when he had a crush on someone, and they don’t mind playing the long game with his affections (requested) - Written 08/2024

Win You Over (they/them) Magical history had always been their favorite class, but this assigned partner situation had the ability to dampen that. (Requested)-Written 08/2024

Mindless Touch (she/her) Morgie hasn’t meant to upset her, he only wanted to have his hands on what was his. (TRIGGER WARNING: body image issues) (requested)-Written 08/2024

The Dominant Type ⋆(no pronouns used/GN reader) Hook x reader x Morgie head canons with a dominant leaning reader (requested) - Written 08/2024

Warm Greens (she/her) Red discovers she has a secret aunt when she sees her face next to the people who ruined her mother’s life. (Requested)-Written 09/2024

Cool Reds (she/her) She would do anything to keep him, wouldn’t she? Prequel to “Warm Greens” (Requested) -Written 10/2024

One Sided (he/him) If he has to listen to Morgie talk about Uliana one more time, he’s going to be sick (requested) -Written 09/2024

Love Letters (he/him) Morgie was growing far too attached to those little silver envelopes (Requested)-Written 09/2024

Babydoll ⋆(no pronouns used/GN reader) Hook x reader x Morgie head canons with a submissive leaning reader (Requested) -Written 09/2024

Scales (They/them) Morgie could think of 100 things he would rather do than parent a dragon with the sweetheart of Merlin Academy (requested)-Written 09/2024

Doesn't Matter (he/him) Morgana le Fay is coming to Merlin Academy's family day, and she has no idea that her son's boyfriend is a prince (Requested) - Written 09/2024

Second Place (he/him) Just once he wants to feel like his boyfriend’s first choice (Requested)-Written 09/2024

Emerald Comfort (he/him) Morgie might just be dating the sleepiest boy to ever live -Written 09/2024

Snake Eyes (she/her) Lions, tiger, and bears; just anything but snakes (Requested) - Written 10/2024

Flash Photography (She/her) Who would have thought that they would make such a good pair? (Requested) -Written 10/2024

James Hook

Call of the Sirens (She/her) As Hook sells his ship to Uma, he and his wife recall a time that she had to save him back in their prime. (Requested)- Written 08/2024

Side Effects (she/her) If Hook knew the side effects that came with those Malibu sprites, would he take them? (Requested)-Written 08/2024

Red Dress (she/her) He hadn’t meant to upset her when he picked the dress out, now Hook was set on making her see how good she looked in it. (TRIGGER WARNING: Body Image issues) (Requested) - Written 08/2024

The Dominant Type ⋆(no pronouns used/GN reader) Hook x reader x Morgie head canons with a dominant leaning reader (requested) - Written 08/2024

Eyes on Me (They/Them) The fairy wasn’t thinking about the pirates past when they excitedly called for him. They definitely didn’t mean to upset him. (TRIGGER WARNING; animal attacks and panic attacks) (Requested)- Written 08/2024

Wake Up Slow ♡ (she/her) Everyone needs a place to fully relax, and he found his in a heavy duvet and needy hands (Requested)-Written 09/2024

Babydoll ⋆(no pronouns used/GN reader) Hook x reader x Morgie head canons with a submissive leaning reader (Requested) -Written 09/2024

Bloody Charming (they/them) Hook’s flirting leads to an argument being blown way out of proportion (TRIGGER WARNING: just, yeah. I got a little too silly) (Requested)- Written 09/2024

Studious ♡ (they/them) Hook might not mind tutoring, as long as it’s for them. (Requested)-Written 09/2024

Hades

Body Better (he/him) Sometimes the weight of life can lead to your insecurities coming out in peculiar ways. (TRIGGER WARNING: Body image issues) (Requested)- Written 08/2024

Let me See (she/her) Her need to be independent keeps getting her hurt, and she really did it this time. (Requested) - Written 08/2024

Play With Fire (they/them) their mother warned them not to play with fire, now look at them getting burned (requested) -Written 09/2024

Hitting Every Mark (she/her) Turns out she had nothing to worry about, her fans love him (requested)- Written 10/2024

Uliana

Family Lines (she/her) After seeing Bridget's sister at Family Day, Uliana will do anything to earn the girl's affection. Even being nice to her ray of sunshine sister. (Requested)-Written 08/2024

Rivalry (She/her) It was only a matter of time until the two groupd of VKs either came together or tore themselves to shreds. (Requested) -Written 08/2024

Double the Trouble (she/her) Uliana might be able to date Hook’s sister, but that doesn’t mean she’s able to make Hook like the whole ordeal. (Requested) -Written 08/2024

Breathe (they/them) Sometimes the biggest villain is not knowing how people see you. (TRIGGER WARNING: Anxiety attack) (Requested)-Written 09/2024

Strongest Tides (she/her) When the leader of their crew is emotionally taken out of commission, it’s up to her girlfriend to pick up the pieces (requested)-09/2024

Maleficent

Stylized (she/her) Artistry is the highest form of flattery and Maleficent has found herself as a princess’ muse. (Requested)-Written 08/2024

Play (she/her) watching your girlfriend study can get just so boring (requested) - Written 09/2024

𝓝𝓸 𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻

Descendants, Not Made for Kids ⋆ Changes I'd make if I made the Descendants movies as a series for teens or adults. - Written 06/2021

Style Headcanons ⋆ How I'd restyle the main characters from the OG Descendants movies - Writen 06/2021

[spacedustmantis]

list of shipnames in jrwi and who they are referring to

this is (and probably forever will be) a work in progress. i plan on expanding this list with any and all shipnames i come across, so if you want to see the up-to-date list, make sure to open the original post. also feel free to send me shipnames that are missing from this list to my inbox or over dms.

note: not all of these are extremely common or in circulation quite yet, but you might encounter them every now and then anyways.

note x2: for some of these ships there are multiple names in use, i tried to sort them by how common they are (most common to least common)

‼️ important disclaimer! this is an archival work, meant to list as many ship names as possible for a variety of uses. this means this list does include ships that might be triggering for some. regardless of my feelings about it, abusive, unrealistic, or violent ships as well as underage and incest are pretty much always a facet of fandom, and as such they are represented here, partially to give people the necessary information to be able to circumvent being confronted with said content (e.g. via muting tags) should they want/need to. ‼️

riptide:

pc/pc

fish and chips (fnc): chip/gillion

navyseal: jay/gillion

mockingjay/phoenix: chip/jay

poly pirates: chip/jay/gillon

pc/npc

catnip: chip/la alma

sailorsong/scarlet captains: chip/jazz

fools gold/bargaining chip: chip/niklaus

drunken sailors: chip/caspian

chiptune/chipped crown: chip/queen

stoneflame: chip/igneous

midnight memories: chip/drey

homeowners association: chip/ensa

tboy polycule: chip/jazz/igneous

birdbolt/clockwork rivals/women in STEM: jay/ensa

pistolwhip: jay/lizzie

sharpshooter: jay/kira

bloodshot: jay/anastasia

sheshells: jay/edyn

artemisanchor: jay/aslana

songbird: jay/queen

bloodbath: jay/anastasia/aslana

hook, line and sinker: jay/edyn/lizzie

jay's harem/let's go lesbians: jay/her many girlfriends (ever changing, always evolving)

swordfish: gillion/caspian

dealbreaker: gillion/niklaus

sea shanty: gillion/queen

goldfish/dragonfish: gillion/clorten

sunken anchor: gillion/marshal john

catfish: gillion/kuba kenta

destined sails: gillion/caspian/marshal john

fish and chips and more fish: chip/gillion/caspian

manlet, manwhore, manslayer: chip/gillion/niklaus

sea sharp: chip/gillion/queen

deal with the devil (dwtd): chip/jay/gillion/niklaus

bardic inspiration: chip/jay/gillion/queen

full ensemble: chip/jay/gillion/queen/jazz

npc/npc

drearl: drey/earl

watergun: drey/finn

old man yaoi/drearlinn: drey/finn/earl

cattlepunk: drey/ichabod

roseshot: drey/captain rose

dreyson: drey/jayson

metal detector/gunmetal/robopanda: alphonze/gryffon

popshot: gryffon/queen

precious metals: gryffon/igneous

seawitch: niklaus/edyn

frigatebird/warbird/waning crescent: lizzie/ava

fighting chance/boxer briefs: la alma/clorten

naval orange: marshal john/amanda rinn

message in a bottle: marshal john/edyn

field medic: marshal john/rudith

rose tides: lizzie/edyn

rosewater: lizzie/caspian

lunar eclipse/sea serpents: ava/lizzie/edyn

smoothjazz/singing the blues: jazz/caspian

jam session: jazz/queen

saltwater pearl: caspian/edyn

soundwaves/sea shanty: caspian/queen

frost flowers: caspian/rudith

pearlescent: edyn/aslana

hammer to fall/songsmith: queen/alasse

lamprey: anastasia/aslana

starcrossed survivors/starstruck: zamia/star

apotheosis:

pc/pc

angelstone/stonesong: peter/rumi

deicide: rumi/thanatos

tech support: peter/thanatos

eldritchstrings: rumi/exandroth

pc/npc

divineshifter/shape4shifter: rumi/rhymir

prime defenders:

pc/pc

ghostknife: william/vyncent

ghostkicks/blue raspberry: william/dakota

cardiac arrest: william/dakota/ashe

dancebattle/spacejam: vyncent/dakota

revenant/wispy winters/evildead/haunted house: william/ashe

tomeblade/gamecube/demondagger: vyncent/ashe

demonkicks: dakota/ashe

polypd: william/vyncent/dakota/ashe

pc/npc

decharge/soulfire: william/doug

sunghost/sunshade: william/summer

parasol: william/vyncent/summer

spare the dying/exquisite corpses: william/cantrip

ghostlysigns: william/jimmy

npc/npc

tidalwave: tide/mark winters

suntrip: summer/cantrip

doodlejump/pencilfrog: le frog/pencilman

cops and froggers: le frog/officer frank

zebrafish: tide/harlem

car manual: wordsmith/pretender

shooting star: mrs g/lightspeed

shadowfold: harlem/jason

blood in the bayou:

pc/pc

keeperschampion: rand/rolan

rollingstones: kian/rolan

smokeshow: kian/rand

nightmare blunt rotation (nbr): kian/rand/rolan

pc/npc

heartstrings: kian/becky

meddling kids: kian/rand/rolan/becky

bleacher ghosts: kian/becky/jesse

milf season: kian/donna

private performance: kian/donna/john

the suckening:

pc/pc

guarddog: emizel/shilo

alleycat: emizel/arthur

royal pain: shilo/arthur

boynabbing: emizel/shilo/arthur

pc/npc

fizzfangs/monster energy: emizel/soda

backalley kiss: emizel/gabriel

armored pheasant: shilo/grefgor

woodland prince: shilo/grangel

vampistol/shadowhorse: arthur/deacon

burnt stake: arthur/magnus

wisdomtooth: arthur/viv

wailing crown: emizel/shilo/vex/viv

npc/npc

weylincest: viv/vex

wailing flesh: viv/vex/the unseen one

total monster kill

n/a

wonderlust

pc/pc

featherfall: troy/blink

pc/npc

lintroller: troy/lint

old campaigns and one-shots under the cut

mythborne

supernova: connor/aster

achilles heel: connor/ryan

sunspot: aster/ryan

paperball: ryan/gary

spotlight: connor/aster/ryan

playwrat: connor/aster/ryan/romeo

final episode one shot

bluecherrylite: cherry/jebediah/aren

jebebriadic/ringbearers: jebediah/brian

twitch chat one shot

hoofin' it: icarus/gravel

convergence:

krangle: kasper/strangle

the fated:

br'aaxi: br'aad/taxi

scythebelts: sylnan/velrisa

kathnan: sylnan/katherine

sylgarth: sylnan/ugarth

velriana: velrisa/oriana

[smittywing]

Dearly Beloved if still possible?

Sure!

Dearly Beloved is another fake married fic, (because tropes are my jam) this time for a case. The case, naturally, is what's gumming up the works. It's over 13,000 words but God save me from plot.

# 

The neighborhood bar was a place called Gilbert’s and reminded Jason of the Manor library. Lots of leather and polished wood, a relaxed, somewhat subdued atmosphere, and just about anything he wanted delivered by a man with a British accent. 

They sat at the bar and ordered fish and chips with mashed peas and Tim doused his fries in a good quarter bottle of malt vinegar. Neither of them were legitimately old enough to drink, but their cover IDs were, so Jason ordered a Guiness and Tim ordered a craft beer and talked excessively about the merits of sour ales until someone else at the bar had to weigh in. 

Jason could go undercover with the best of them, but he had to admit that he was impressed with how gracefully Tim could duck and weave in and out between his true self and the role he needed to play. It made Jason wonder if he ever really saw the real Tim. 

The kid Tim was chattering with was named Mike - Jason looked up when he heard introductions going down - and despite being an easy five years younger, Tim treated him with casual seniority. 

“This is my husband, Jay,” Tim said, glancing over his shoulder and granting a smile that made even Jay - Jason - believe that they were finally settled and happy after a tumultuous courtship and an avalanche of complicated feelings. 

Replacement was fucking *good* at this shit. 

“Nice to meet you,” Jason said, offering his hand to Mike. “You here alone?”

“Jay,” Tim breathed and Jason felt a hard grip on his knee. Wow. Replacement was going all in. 

Mike flushed. “I uh, I was waiting for someone,” he mumbled. “Don’t think he’s showing though.”

“This guy stood me up on our first date,” Jason said casually. 

“You gave me the wrong address,” Tim said without missing a beat. And Tim claimed to hate it when Jason improvised. 

“And now you’re married?” Mike asked eagerly. “How did you meet?”

“I went down on him in the bathroom of a dance club,” Jason said, pleased with his own straight face. 

“Jay!”

Their meet-cute was in the legend, because Tim apparently had a very clear idea of how his grand imaginary romance with Golden Boy had gone. They had played on the same intramural soccer team in college but were set up on a blind date by a mutual friend. It had been a textbook romance but Jason knew it wouldn’t have been textbook, not with him. 

Tim palmed the back of Jason’s neck and squeezed, hard enough for Jason to feel the rebuke in it but simultaneously swept his thumb up the throbbing tendon in the side of Jason’s neck. Jason immediately popped a stiffie. Fuck. 

“That’s how it happened,” Jason doubled down. “I’m good at what I do,” he said, leaning around Tim to leer at Mike. 

“That’s not what we tell polite company,” Tim muttered. His hand hadn’t left Jason’s neck and his fingers were sliding up Jason’s neck and into his hair. 

Jason’s cock twitched again, and he shifted on the stool. 

“Aw, Mikey’s not polite company, he’s our neighbor now, right?” Jay asked, hooking his hand around Tim’s hip. He could feel the jut of Tim’s hipbone through his khakis and yeah, that wasn’t helping the situation in Jason’s pants *at all*.  

Tim laughed, not his usual quiet chuckle but an actual laugh Jason knew had to be fake because he had never, ever heard it before. “You are the worst,” he said affectionately, which Jason had *definitely* heard before though maybe not in that tone. “Let him decide for himself, okay?” 

He stood up on the rung of his barstool, briefly towering above Jason, and - holy shit - dropped a kiss, equally sweet and dirty, into Jason’s mouth. Tim tasted like his stupid apricot beer as he leaned away and stepped off the stool, heading for the men’s room. 

Jason licked his lower lip - fucking *apricot*, really Tim? - and watched Tim’s trim ass disappear into the restroom before he looked back at Mike, whose pupils had gone heart-shaped. 

“This isn’t that kind of place,” Mike volunteered before Jason could say anything. 

“What kind of place?” Jay asked, his mind still on Tim’s perfect ass. 

“The kind of place where you follow him and recreate your first meeting,” Mike said, but it wasn’t even a leer. Poor kid was just a hopeless romantic. 

Jason shook his head and smiled into his beer. He hoped it looked abashed, like maybe that was what he was actually thinking. “What are you doing drinking that fruity shit, kid?” he asked. “C’mon, pick out something that will put hair on your chest.”

“I actually like a nice lambic,” Mike said.

God save him from people who wanted to call their beer anything other than beer. 

“You been here long?” Jason asked as Mike studied the beer menu like he’d never seen it before.

“My whole life,” he answered idly. “I mean, I’ve been in Bludhaven my whole life. I only moved down here after my parents died.”

“Sorry to hear,” Jason said. Almost everyone Jason knew was an orphan but this was not usually the conversation he had with them. 

“It’s, I mean, I miss them but it’s easier, kind of. They weren’t very good with me being - you know. Out.”

Jason hummed in sympathy. He didn’t really know much about that either. He glanced toward the restrooms wondering when Tim was going to *get his ass back here.* He needed at least another topic or two of small talk before he could comfortably discuss the bloody murder spree without seeming suspicious. 

“Hey.” 

Jason turned to see a tall, heartbreakingly handsome man standing over Mike with a hand on his shoulder. He appeared to be talking to Jason.

“You must be Mike’s date,” the man said, squaring his free hand at Jason. Jason met it, going for firm, but friendly. The other guy gripped harder.

“Not me,” he said, holding up his left hand in defense. “I’m here with my husband. We were just chatting with Mike.”

“Oh yeah?” the guy drawled, sizing Jason up. He seemed skeptical. “You new to the neighborhood?”

“We are,” Jason acknowledged, finally getting his hand back. “We’re subletting a place in the Remington building. I’m Jay.”

“Danny Ramirez,” the man grunted.

“You can call me Al,” Tim cut in, appearing at Jason’s shoulder. 

“Yeah, hi,” Danny said, taking Tim’s hand in a far gentler grip and doing the most obvious wedding ring check in the history of ever. “Danny.”

“I can’t leave you along for a minute, can I?” Tim chided Jason softly.

“Hey, you’re the one who picked up Mike,” Jason reminded him. “I just found his bodyguard.”

“Danny’s not my bodyguard,” Mike interrupted. “He’s just a friend. He’s protective.”

“Gotta watch out for our little buddy,” Danny said. He seemed to be warming up. Marginally.

“I like that neighbors watch out for each other,” Tim said. “I work in Gotham but Jay’s a writer and he works from home.”

Jason stepped on Tim’s foot. Tim snaked his foot away before Jason could press down and snagged his ankle around Jason’s. 

*Writer* was not in the legend.  Jason was supposed to be a fucking *insurance agent*.

“What kind of books do you write?” Mike piped up eagerly. “Or do you write magazine articles? Or something else?”

“I’m, uh - “ Jason started, but Tim was way ahead of him.

“He’s writing a crime novel,” he said, fucking *beaming*. His hand pressed warmly into the small of Jason’s back, under his jacket and dammit, Jason was going to get all hot and bothered again.  “He was a reporter for *years* and now he’s going to write a novel. A series of them.”

“Wow really?” Mike asked, clearly awed by Jason’s impending fame. “Like Michael Connelly? Or Harlan Coban? Or -”

“I mean, I haven’t written anything yet,” Jason cautioned because what the actual fuck. 

“But when he gets published, we’ll have a big party,” Tim volunteered. “Maybe we can rent out this place.”

“Don’t see why not,” Danny said. “Seamus Finnegan owns the place. He’s always up for a party.”

“I have to write this book first,” Jason said, but clearly nobody gave a shit what he thought about the matter. 

#

“I don’t want to hear anything else about me improvising,” Jason told Tim as they finally escaped Mike and Danny - and their friends, who all wanted to hear about Jason’s book - and trudged back to their base. “What the fuck? Am I Raymond Chandler, now? I’m supposed to be an insurance salesman!”

“Dick was supposed to be an insurance salesman,” Tim noted. “Dick can sell ice to penguins. You needed a job that lets you move around the neighborhood during work hours. I’ll be at Wayne Enterprises most days but you’re the one who’s going to be making heavy contact with this group and it shouldn’t be weird that you’re around a lot.”

“I couldn’t just be unemployed?” Jason asked, because he knew all about that. His dad had been unemployed on a professional basis, when he wasn’t working random thuggery jobs for criminals with actual brains.

“You *are* unemployed, honey,” Tim said, letting them into the building with a wicked grin. “It just sounds better to say that you’re writing a book.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Jason said without heat, punching the button to summon the elevator. “And what do I do when someone wants to read this book, huh?”

“I mean, you could actually write a book while we’re here,” Tim said. “If you need another income stream. Or you get bored.”

“Yeah,” Jason said, steering Tim gently into the elevator by the back of the neck. “In case I get bored.”  

[cheolsblackgf]

bags

⇒ woozi x reader

⇒ word count: 750 (it was last time i checked, but then i added some stuff so just disregard this)

⇒ warnings: none

⇒ content: certified fluff zone; established relationship with dare I say tsundere!jihoon

⇒ note: enjoy ♡

“i’m bored.” you say, throwing another crumbled paper ball in the recycling bin. your boyfriend’s eyes dart to you quickly, before going back to his computer screen. “you’re always bored when you come here,” he remarks, followed by some audible clicking, “I don’t know why you keep coming.” he adds in a barely audible voice. you pretend you don’t hear him, and he pretends he didn’t say anything. he knows why you come here every tuesday after work and he loves when you come, though he won’t say it in as many words. ever since you first got into a relationship with him, he’s made it seem like he doesn’t like having you around. though it’s probably because his confession could’ve been described as embarrassing, you don’t see it that way. (your name spelled (incorrectly) in butter on a piece of toast, followed by “I like you”.)

at that point in your life, you didn’t have an adequate amount of time to make breakfast since you were always running late, so it was always toast. he picked up on that and managed to catch you one day outside of your office building. the piece of toast was cold, and the butter was barely visible, but he had a whole little speech planned out and even through the obvious sleep deprivation, he was adorable and you’ve liked him ever since.

now, in order to somehow make up for the dignity he supposedly lost during that encounter (and the relentless teasing from you), he pretends you’re a nuisance any chance he gets. at first, you just thought he was being silly, but over time, and the more he called you silly names very obviously filled with love like “dummy” (your favourite) among others, you realised he was totally committed to this bit. it didn’t annoy you like it may annoy someone else because he’s jihoon, and you know what he’s capable of.

about six months from the beginning of your relationship, jihoon invited you to his workplace. it’s a cozy little studio on the middle floor of a big building in the city. it’s about a fifteen minute walk from your office, but you don’t mind it.

at the start, he wasn’t really meaning for it to become a routine or expecting you to come each time, but the more he invited you, the more you built it into your schedule. tuesday was always the golden day. work ends early for you on that day, and you don’t have as many errands.

he always orders takeout for you when he knows you’re coming by, too, which might be the sweetest thing. you don’t always get to eat lunch on tuesdays because you wouldn’t be able to leave early if you took the optional lunch break they offered at your office. jihoon knows this, and he always makes sure to ask you what you’re feeling that day so he can order accordingly.

today, he ordered fish and chips from the “anything” restaurant down the street. he never gets anything when he orders you food, but he “tastes” your food each time. so much so that you portion off every meal with him. this should bug you, but how could it? you almost never finish all your food by yourself anyways.

“oh shit,” you exclaim as a notification comes through your phone. it’s the grocery carrier announcing your groceries being dropped off. “I have to go, my groceries are sitting outside my doorstep and I don’t want them to go bad. damn, I thought he would’ve come later.” you curse. when they say speedy delivery, they mean it.

jihoon’s pout is barely visible, but when he turns to look at you, you see he’s not thrilled to hear you’re leaving. he goes to grab your bag from the hook on the wall for you, but moves like there’s double sided tape on the bottom of his shoes.

you get up and tidy your area before going to stand in front of your boyfriend to bid him goodbye. he grabs both your arms and pulls you in, causing you to completely forget your script. “see you later.” he says placing a fairly quick peck to your lips. he lets you go soon after, but when you don’t move, he’s confused.

“do that again.” you request. jihoon doesn’t usually kiss you. he’s usually on the receiving end because his version of affection involves less intimate contact, which is fine with you. it won’t stop you from kissing him, though.

“you’re pathetic.” he replies, and kisses you again. “okay, again.”

“your groceries–” he reminds you, though you haven’t forgotten. to hell with the goddamn groceries.

“it’s just yogurt. kiss me again.”

“okay, okay!”