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unusualtfs · 5 months ago

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The Roommate Compatibility Program

this is my first time posting something like this to tumblr, hope it's an enjoyable read !

Arthur and Jimmy may have had the same last name, but that was the only thing they had in common.

Arthur Lee was, by all accounts, a nerd. When the Asian math major wasn’t dutifully taking notes on complex equations at his lectures or studying in silence at the library, he could usually be found holed up in his dorm, gaming until the wee hours of the morning. His only extracurricular activity to speak of was his weekly participation in the Chinese Student Union, if by “participation” one meant “sitting in the back of the room and not speaking to anyone.” His naturally pale skin was made even more so by a lack of sunlight, and his messy black hair resisted any attempt at styling. Short, shrimpy, and gay, he had clearly never seen the inside of a gym. In short, he was the exact opposite of his roommate.

Jimmy Lee was everything Arthur was not. Tall where Arthur was short, buff where Arthur was skinny, popular where Arthur was friendless. The straight white jock spent his days living out the all-American college fantasy — playing sports, pumping iron, and partying all night long. Of course, that hardly left any time for Jimmy to work toward his comms degree — but that hardly mattered, because everyone knew he was as dumb as a bag of rocks. His brutish Neanderthal features, extensive body hair, and blond buzz cut only added to that impression.

Maybe it would have been unrealistic to expect Arthur and Jimmy to be friends, but certainly no one could have anticipated the sheer antipathy that defined their roommate relationship. Arthur’s reasons for hating Jimmy were predictable — he was dumb, loud, and obnoxious; he left dirty clothes and sweaty exercise gear everywhere; and he stank up the dorm with his alpha musk. Jimmy equally couldn’t stand his prissy, prudish roommate. Arthur nagged him constantly, and he shot down all his invitations to work out or go out. Not to mention, he forbade Jimmy from getting laid while he was in the room, which was all the time. Nothing said unsexy like the presence of a judgmental Asian nerd hunched over his gaming PC at two in the morning.

Needless to say, it was not an ideal situation for anyone. So when a flier for the Roommate Compatibility Program was slipped under their door one evening, their interest was piqued.

Having issues with your roommate(s)? The Roommate Compatibility Program is here to help! Our trained experts use scientifically proven methods to ensure you and your roommate have a lifelong bond. 100% success rate, guaranteed!

In a rare moment of agreement for them, they decided they had nothing to lose.

That was how they found themselves entertaining a stranger in their dorm the next day. The man, who had introduced himself as “Mr. Thompson-Filipowski, from the RCP — but you can call me Mr. T.F. for short” had shown up out of the blue, giving them no time to prepare. So now they sat in their respective beds, answering Mr. T.F.’s questions as he appraised their living space thoughtfully. He wore a loud blue suit and had in hand a clipboard that he occasionally used to jot down notes, but otherwise he had no distinguishing features to speak of. Everything else about him, from his build to his skin tone to his hairstyle, was somehow impossible to pin down. He must have just had one of those faces.

“Thank you, boys,” he said after he was done interrogating them about their (lack of a) relationship. “I just have one more question for each of you before we can officially get started.” He turned to Jimmy first. “Jimmy, what would your ideal roommate be like?”

Jimmy had to think for quite a bit at that question. Finally, he responded in his vapid baritone: “Uh, I dunno… I guess he would just, like, be my bro.”

Mr. T.F. nodded, scribbling something on his clipboard. “Okay, excellent.” He turned to the Asian nerd next. “And Arthur, what about you?”

“My ideal roommate would be someone who’s, well, similar to me,” Arthur said, wincing at how his voice still cracked at every word. “Someone who shares my interests, and who I can spend time with, and… yeah.”

Mr. T.F. returned to his clipboard. “Right,” he said. “So, to summarize — Jimmy, you want your roommate to be your bro. And Arthur, you want your roommate to be similar to you. Is that correct?” There was a strange weight to his words, exuding the sense that something significant was carried within them, but Jimmy didn’t register this and Arthur thought it irrational, so both roommates ignored it. They nodded.

“Excellent!” Mr. T.F. said, the ominous presence now gone from his voice. “Okay, so often what we’ve found at the RCP is that roommate incompatibility is often a case of misapplied expectations. Often, our roommates do meet our expectations, you just need to keep an open mind about it. I’d wager you boys have much more in common than you think.”

Arthur rolled his eyes and Jimmy audibly scoffed at that, but they both kept listening anyway.

“For instance, looking around your dorm room, I can tell that both of you have a pretty similar fashion sense, wouldn’t you say?”

Arthur wanted to protest that all of the clothes strewn about belonged to Jimmy, not him, but the more he looked, the more he realized that wasn’t entirely true. That jersey on the floor definitely belonged to him, as did the baseball cap hanging from his bed and the sweaty white socks next to his desk. In fact, now that he thought about it, roughly half of the clothing he could see actually was his. Huh, he supposed he did dress similarly to Jimmy, then…

“I guess so,” Jimmy said as Arthur was distracted. “It’s hard to remember whose is whose sometimes because we dress the same and wear the same size, huhuh.”

As Jimmy spoke, his words became reality. He didn’t notice, but he shrunk down a few inches from his previously monstrous height until he was just under six feet — still respectable, but no longer anything more. Meanwhile, Arthur rose dramatically to meet him, until they stood at the exact same height. Since the two were equally small and shared the same taste in schlubby, sporty clothes, they essentially owned one wardrobe between them, borrowing and swapping constantly — although what looked tight and well-fitted on the muscular Ajimmy was loose and baggy on the lanky Jarthur. Curiously, the shirt Jarthur currently wore was the one item of clothing he wore that didn’t update itself to match his new reality; as such, it was now uncomfortably small on him.

Mr. T.F. continued, “And judging by the sports gear and gaming equipment in here, it looks like you also have similar interests, isn’t that right? Have you ever tried bonding over that?”

Again, it seemed Mr. T.F. was mistaken. Yes, their room indicated their respective interests in fitness and video games, but those interests were far from shared. Jarthur wanted to correct him, but then he had to reconsider. While he wasn’t into sports like Ajimmy, he certainly knew his way around them. He got as hyped as any other guy watching the Super Bowl, and he had fun whenever he was invited to play a quick game of basketball or soccer.

Meanwhile, Ajimmy was trying not to laugh at the implication that he liked video games. What did Mr. T.F. take him for, some nerd like Jarthur? But now that he thought about it… he did have fond memories of owning his bros with his mad gaming skills. He didn’t really want to call himself a gamer — he wasn’t into any of that anime or Nintendo kiddie shit. But Madden, CoD? Yeah, he fucked with those.

Imperceptibly, the dorm room shifted to match the roommates’ changing interests. Posters of popular players duplicated themselves from Ajimmy’s side of the room and pinned themselves into the wall above Jarthur’s bed. At the same time, the gaming computer vanished from Jarthur’s desk, swiftly replaced by a small TV between their beds. Well-used controllers popped into existence, one for each of them. The roommates themselves weren’t spared from the wave of changes, either. The tan leached out of Asjimm’s skin until he was quite pale, although not unhealthily so. Meanwhile, muscles made themselves known for the first time all across Joethur’s body. He was still lanky, but there was a definite sculptedness to his body that had never been there before, demonstrating his newfound appreciation of physical activity and straining his shirt even further.

“Yeah, all the time,” Joethur responded to Mr. T.F.’s questions. “I can destroy Asjimm at basketball in real life and in 2K,” he bragged.

“As if!” Asjimm retorted good-naturedly. “Next time, I’m kicking your ass, nerd!”

Joethur laughed. He may have had some problems with his roommate, but their shared competitiveness was not one of them.

“Ah, that’s lovely to hear,” Mr. T.F. said, checking a box on his clipboard. “The best way to become closer is to spend time together, after all. But that should be easy for you two — I’d imagine your class schedules are quite similar, since you’re in the same major.”

What was Mr. T.F. talking about? Joethur had never taken a comms class in his life, and Asjimm would certainly never be caught dead in a math classroom. But then Joethur went over his class schedule in his head again, and he realized that he did share most of his classes with his roommate. There was Accounting 101 on Mondays and Wednesdays, and Entrepreneurship every Thursday morning… In fact, aside from Joethur’s one math class and Asjimm’s lone comms class, their schedules were identical! But how could that be the case…?

“Well, I mean, yeah, I guess we do,” Asjimm said. His face twisted into a cocky smirk. “But just between you and me, it’s not like we bother to show up to class most of the time, right Joethyr?”

Everything suddenly snapped into place for Joethyr. Ausjim was right, of course — being a business major required confidence, charisma, and leadership skills more than anything else, and both Joethyr and Ausjim had that in spades. It certainly didn’t require studying or smarts, which was fortunate for Joethyr, as his brain was rapidly shrinking to match his meatheaded roommate’s. In fact, it was even smaller than Ausjim’s — he had scored highly enough in high school math that he was able to take an elective comms class for an easy A this semester, while Joethyr was being forced to struggle through calculus for a second time.

Records across campus rapidly rewrote themselves to reflect this new reality. Ausjim’s grades rose slightly, even as Joethyr’s GPA dropped from a 4.0 to a 2.0 — but whatever, C’s got degrees. In turn, the two roommates underwent their own changes. Joethyr’s unkempt hair retreated into his skull, leaving behind a slick fade. Moreover, the spark of intelligence retreated from his eyes, leaving them dark and hard. Ausjim’s hair experienced the opposite change, growing out into an impeccably groomed quiff that perfectly framed his face, neutralizing his unattractive Neanderthal features. His body hair also faded into nothingness, leaving him totally clean-shaven. The business classes he was taking had taught him the importance of presentation, after all.

“Yeah, bruh,” Joethyr agreed, now speaking in the same vacant timbre as Ausjim.

“Well, how do you boys spend your time then?” Mr. T.F. prompted. He was nearly at the bottom of his checklist — this far into the process, he didn’t even need to guide the roommates’ transformation. Their new personalities had largely subsumed who they used to be, and would be happy to fill the remaining gaps by themselves.

“Isn’t it obvious, bruh?” Ausjim said. “The gym — duh! Gotta get those gains!”

At his roommate’s proclamation, Joethy underwent a startling change. At last, his muscles ballooned all across his body until they were identical in size to Ausjim’s. No longer did he have to settle for merely toned — he was well and truly ripped. So dramatic was the change that his shirt was instantly torn apart, revealing his glorious pecs and washboard abs for the world to see. The Asian hunk subconsciously flexed as he thought about his answer to Mr. T.F.’s question, realizing something funny in the process.

“Hell, we probably even spend more time at the Chinese Student Union than class, right bruh?” Joethy nudged his equally jockish roommate.

The word “Chinese” resonated in Ausjin’s mind as he experienced sudden changes of his own. His lush hair was quickly thickening and inexorably staining itself midnight black. And as for the rest of his body, his lack of hair down there became much easier to maintain, as he naturally had less of it. Meanwhile, his facial features were shifting all at once — brow softening, nose broadening, eyes narrowing, lips plumpening. Eventually, they settled on what the rest of his body had already become — a carbon copy of his roommate.

“Yeah, bro, totally…”

At the word “bro,” the roommates’ final changes began. The physical refinements were over, but there was still work to do mentally. Ausjin’s brain was purged of the faces of his former family, their white features morphing into far more familiar Asian ones. Fond memories shifted as his mother’s famous meatloaf became her authentic dumpling recipe, and the destination of his childhood summer vacations was corrected from Europe to China. Through it all, he remained the dumb, popular jock he had always been. That was also true of Joethy, who could no longer remember being a lame, skinny nerd. Nights spent studying were replaced with nights spent partying, and members of an extensive social circle easily entered the parts of his brain that had never experienced true friendship. His memories of his family remained the same, however — with one key addition. The newcomer’s face was blurry, but the more that he focused on it, the more familiar it seemed. Almost like… his own face…? Or was it Ausjin’s face? That seemed closer, but…

By Joethy’s side, Ausjin found his memories haunted by an identical face. The two jocks sat there in dumbfounded silence, both trying to recall who it was that featured so prominently in their memories. What was his name? Not Joethy or Ausjin, but rather… rather…

“Joey! Austin!”

Joey and Austin Lee snapped back to attention, refocusing on their strange guest.

Mr. T.F. chuckled, putting his clipboard away. “You boys zoned out there for a sec! It’s okay, I’ll get out of your hair soon. I just have one last question for you — are you getting along as roommates?”

“Well, of course we’re getting along, bruh!” Austin exclaimed.

“We’re basically the same person already!” Joey finished his twin’s sentence with a pure, dull guffaw.

Because it was true. Joey and Austin Lee were clearly cut from the same cloth: The identical twin Asian jocks were both brainless, buff, bisexual business-major bros. The only appreciable difference between the twins was their hairstyles. Austin fancied himself a pretty boy, spending hours by the mirror meticulously maintaining his gelled hair. Joey, meanwhile, rocked a utilitarian crew cut, confident enough to put his angelic face on full display. But other than that, they were totally inseparable — everything they did, from working out to gaming to partying, they did together. (Rumor had it that they even fucked together, only bringing a lucky girl or guy home when he or she was willing to share.)

“Great to hear that! Thanks for participating in our Roommate Compatibility Survey, you two — although I don’t know what results we were expecting from twins like you… Anyway, have a great one!” As Mr. T.F. exited the room, he allowed himself one last glance back at the Lee twins as they mindlessly bantered. Both of them had certainly gotten their wishes. Joey was exactly like Austin, and Austin was exactly like Joey, and they were certainly each other’s bros — in both senses of the word. Another success for the Roommate Compatibility Program.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind Mr. T.F., the Lee twins promptly forgot he had ever existed, returning to their existences as paragons of young Asian American masculinity.

“So, what’s the plan for today, bro?” Austin said. “Hit the gym, then hit the streets?”

Joey smirked, admiring himself and his twin in the mirror. “You know me so well, bro!”

#male transformation #male tf #racial change #race change #personality change #mental transformation #jock tf #twinning tf #broification #jockification #dumber tf #gay to bi #straight to bi

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honeypiehotchner · 2 months ago

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The Gambit (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- part two

I'm bored so [smashes plate] ANOTHER! I've been writing this faster than I thought I would 🤭 Hope everyone is having lovely and relaxing holidays xx

Warnings: just angst and the case progressing! Hotch is kinda an asshole but it's just how they show their love to each other xoxo

“You and Hotch still got it, huh?” Morgan teases, leaning his head over to grin at you. Part of you missed car rides with Derek, and the other part of you remembers just how much of a little shit he can be.

“Shut up and look at the road,” you mutter, pushing his face away from you.

“I’m looking, I’m looking,” Derek taps the wheel, shaking his head to get your hand off him. “What is it with you two, anyway?”

You shrug nonchalantly. “We’ve never gotten along, you know that. You were there when we met.”

“Uh, yeah, I remember being glad Hotch got all the heat instead of me,” Derek chuckles. “You’re intimidating when you’re pissed off.”

“Good,” you say, smirking. “That’s the point.”

“Alright,” Derek says, letting the topic go. For now. “We’ve got five minutes ‘til we reach her house. What are we telling her?”

“Well, I want to take a look around, if you’d like to talk.”

“I can stall,” Derek nods.

“Five bucks says there will be no pictures of the father in the house, at least not in the living area or hallway, where family photos most commonly are.”

“You sound like Reid,” Morgan quips.

“Our IQ’s are really close,” you remind him. “I just don’t have a damn eidetic memory. That shit is insane. I don’t envy him there.”

“Me either,” Derek shakes his head. “I remember things plenty without a magic memory.”

“I hear that.”

Derek turns into the driveway of Lila’s home. One car is in the driveway, a silver Ford. Her mom’s car.

“Ready?” Derek asks.

“Never,” you reply, opening your door. “But it’s our job.”

Derek knocks on the front door, but stands back so you’re the first face the mom will see. Given who her ex-husband is, you suspect she might be distrustful of all men, regardless of whether or not they’re here to help.

As expected, the mom eyes Morgan’s badge more closely than yours.

“May we come inside?” you ask.

“Yes,” she says, pulling the door open to let you both inside.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Morgan says politely.

After shutting the door, the mom begins talking — rambling incoherently, more like.

“I don’t know what I was thinking, dropping her off at school this morning. I knew something felt off when I woke up, it just— I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Ma’am,” Derek says. “Please, sit down.”

“I can’t,” she says, waving both of her hands like windshield wipers in front of her body. “I need to pace. Helps me think better.”

Derek looks at you, and you shrug. She’s obviously too wound up to sit down. Which is a good sign. If she was indifferent or resigned, there would be a bigger issue at hand. Clearly, she had no idea this would happen, so she definitely wasn’t in on it.

You take a look around the living room while Derek calms the mother down, mostly just letting her ramble, and take mental notes of what to ask her about later.

As you predicted, there are no photos with the father in the picture. All of them are the mother and Lila, mostly baby photos. Lila is a pre-teen, she clearly doesn’t want her photo taken. There is one where Lila looks older, but she’s not happy.

You take a closer look. She’s really unhappy.

“Mrs. Monroe?” You turn toward her, a sympathetic smile on your lips. “Has Lila been depressed lately?”

Her mom nods. “She’s been struggling ever since uhm— Ever since her father left. I’ve had her in therapy every week, but her therapist says she’s not really opening up. She might later, but right now she just doesn’t talk at all. She doesn’t want to.”

“I understand,” you murmur. “You’ve done the right thing by getting her help. Even if it doesn’t seem like it right now.”

“She still ran away!” Mrs. Monroe cries.

“Please,” you move toward her, resting your hand on her arm. “Let’s sit. Can Agent Morgan get you a glass of water?”

She nods, looking up at Morgan. “Thank you.”

Derek disappears into the kitchen.

“What makes you think Lila ran away? Other than her mood, were there any other signs?”

Mrs. Monroe shakes her head. “She’s talked about it before, told me she wanted to run away and that she hated me. I thought therapy would help with that, but it hasn’t.”

“Would her father help her at all? Run away, I mean.”

“Richard?” Mrs. Monroe asks. Derek reappears with a glass of water, handing it to her. “Thank you. No, he wouldn’t, he— She doesn’t even know what he’s done. I’ve never told her.”

“Would she be capable of finding out?” Derek asks. He takes a seat in the chair adjacent to you, resting his elbows on his knees.

“No,” Mrs. Monroe shakes her head. “I monitor all of her Internet searches, who she texts, who she emails, everything. She thinks I drove him away. That I didn’t love him anymore and told him to get out. She doesn’t know that it was because I caught him burying a body.” She sobs into her hand, her words barely decipherable now. “And now she’s gone and she hates me and I don’t even know where she’d go— it’s like I don’t even know my own daughter.”

You take the glass from her hand and allow her to sob into your shoulder. You know what this is like. Because you were once Lila, a runaway who left her mother in pieces until she returned home. Your circumstances were different, but not by much at all.

“We will bring her home, I promise,” you say, despite yourself. Despite not knowing what the rest of this case will entail, what else you’ll uncover. “Did Lila have any friends that you didn’t approve of?”

Mrs. Monroe shakes her head again. “She doesn’t have many friends, but she talks to one girl, Marie, almost every day.”

“Where is Marie right now?”

“At school,” Mrs. Monroe says, sniffling. “I called her mom right away. My mind went to the worst case scenario, you know, I thought Lila would grab Marie and convince her to go with her—”

“Convince?” you question.

Derek hears you and asks the next question you have on your mind. “Does Lila ‘convince’ Marie to do things she doesn’t want to do often?”

“Sometimes,” Mrs. Monroe admits, beginning to sob again. “Oh, God.”

You share a look with Derek, not liking where this is going, but you don’t know if you’ll get much else out of her right now.

“What things would Lila convince Marie to do?” you ask.

“Just small things, I don’t know,” Mrs. Monroe replies. She’s shutting down. “I don’t know why I said that, I—”

“Okay, okay, it’s okay,” you try to calm her down. “Do you mind if Agent Morgan and I take a look in Lila’s room?”

“How will that help?”

“We might be able to find something that could tell us where Lila might have gone,” Morgan explains. “Sometimes kids leave clues. We might be able to find them.”

Mrs. Monroe nods. “Okay. Can I— Is it alright if I lay down while you do that?”

“Of course,” you smile. “Come on, let’s get you to your room.”

You help her stand and walk back toward her bedroom, getting her inside. She lays down on top of the covers and shuts her eyes.

You close her door and meet Morgan back in the living room, his phone pressed to his ear.

“Y/N’s back, you’re on speaker, Hotch.”

You roll your eyes involuntarily. Hotch couldn’t leave the two of you — mainly you — alone, could he?

“Alright, I want the two of you to stay there and go through Lila’s room. Tell us anything you find. The school has given Garcia their security camera footage; she’s going through it now. It’s like she’s disappeared into thin air and that is not good.”

“We’ll find her, Hotch,” Morgan says.

Hotch is quiet.

“Mrs. Monroe doesn’t think Richard had anything to do with this. She says Lila doesn’t even know—”

“Morgan told me,” Hotch says. “Call me back when you have something new.” He hangs up and you roll your eyes again.

“I’m gonna keep a tally of how many times you do that,” Morgan teases.

“Be my guest,” you reply. “And keep me updated. I bet it’ll be in the hundreds by the time this case is over.”

Lila’s room is everything you’d expect from a regular pre-teen girl. And reminds you too much of your room when you were her age.

It’s almost like she’s too open. Posters are everywhere. Her favorite movies, actors, and bands. Her bed is made. Her closet is neat. The desk is covered in schoolbooks, yet also clean.

“Morgan, I know this room.”

He turns around. “What?”

“We can know everything about her from one glance. She’s organized. She loves English, hates science, but is very good at math. She likes alternative music, not boybands,” you point to the posters. “Fantasy movies only. Her closet is too neat. It’s like she’s not even living here.”

“I’m not following.”

“I think she’s been planning her escape for a long time,” you say. “Which makes me think she had help.”

“Okay,” Morgan goes with it. “From who? You heard her mom, she watches everything Lila does.”

My mom did too, you think to yourself as you pull out your phone. You already have Garcia on speed dial, something she suggested for you.

“What can I do for you, my new angel?”

Morgan chuckles while you answer Garcia. “Can you possibly see the search history after it’s been deleted?”

“Duh,” Garcia says. “Give me the IP address and I can show you all the dirty, dirty secrets on there.”

“Perfect, I’m going now,” you leave Lila’s room, peeking in Mrs. Monroe’s room to be sure she’s still resting. She is.

You head to the living room where you saw Mrs. Monroe’s computer. Thankfully, after wiggling the mouse, it comes right up. No password or anything.

“Okay, she must really watch what Lila does,” you mumble. As in, Mrs. Monroe must stand over her daughter’s shoulder before even letting her turn the computer on. “How do I…?”

Garcia laughs and tells you what to click to pull up the information she needs. You recite it to her and she quickly works her magic.

“Oh, no.”

“Garcia,” you reply warily. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

Morgan hears you and comes into the living room. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” you glance at him. “Garcia, what is it?”

“I’m going to need a minute to go through everything but…”

“Garcia, spit it out,” you put her on speaker, lowering the volume so only you and Morgan can hear her. “Garcia?”

“I don’t know for sure, but at first glance, this looks…it looks like she wanted to go with this person.”

“Shit,” you mutter. “Okay. We’ll call Hotch, you keep digging.”

“Aye, aye.”

You turn the computer off and pocket your phone. “We need to go back to the precinct. I don’t want to risk her overhearing.”

“Okay. Good call.”

“I’m gonna let her know we’re leaving,” you say. “I’ll meet you in the car.”

You wake Mrs. Monroe briefly to let her know you and Agent Morgan are leaving. You assure her that you’re going to bring Lila home, but that you’re needed at the precinct right now, and don’t want to disturb her rest. You hand her your card, telling her the number is the same, even though it doesn’t have BAU yet on it.

Morgan is leaning against the car when you emerge outside, sick to your stomach.

“You alright?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you say. “Just hate lying to mothers.”

+++

You and Morgan decide to wait until you’re at the precinct to tell everyone what Garcia found. Better to break this news quietly in person than on the phone.

Hotch is speaking to a deputy when you walk in, but you flag him down with a nod, hoping he won’t take it personally. You’re too on edge right now to bother being irritated with him.

Once everyone is in the conference room, you shut the door.

“Garcia should be calling any minute,” you begin. “She’s going through Mrs. Monroe’s computer. Mrs. Monroe said she watches everything Lila does, but clearly not close enough, because Lila was on a popular chatting site talking with someone regularly.”

“Right she was,” Garcia joins in, having been listening on the nearby computer. Her smile is sad. “And it does not look good. I’m still digging, but a Rich34 was in constant contact with her. I’m talking every single night for hours. Mostly from 1am to 4am, while I’m assuming her mother was sleeping.”

“What do the chats say, Garcia?” Emily asks.

“Nothing more than small talk right now, but I’m digging. It’ll take a while though, sir, I’m afraid they’ve been talking for months. Almost a year, I think.”

“Dammit,” you mutter. “I was afraid of that.”

Morgan sends you a sympathetic look.

“Garcia, see if you can track Rich’s identity in any way possible. It could be her father,” Hotch says.

“Or someone posing as her father,” you suggest, earning a glare from Hotch.

“Hey Garcia, send over all the chats, I can help you look through them,” Spencer offers.

“Alright kiddo, PG out.” The line clicks.

“Reid, look for anything relating to Richard Monroe’s history, or maybe Lila’s mother. Lila and her mother haven’t been getting along, and Rich might’ve used that to get Lila away,” Hotch instructs.

Reid nods, already leaning over to grab the chat messages off the fax machine. Garcia knows him so well; she sent over hardcopies instead of electronic.

“Do we think it’s Richard Monroe in the chat room?” Emily asks.

“I’m not convinced,” Rossi says with a small shake of his head.

“I don’t,” you answer, shaking your head. “The username is too obvious.”

“He could be taunting us by using an obvious screen name,” Hotch counters. “He’s evaded us for this long. Why would he bother hiding now?”

“Yes, but I don’t think Richard Monroe is behind this,” you argue. “Murder in cold blood is his thing. So why wouldn’t he just go grab her from the house? Why is he playing the long game like this? Why form this emotional connection if he’s just going to kill her?”

“Because he’s a murderer with no regard for anyone’s emotions other than his own,” Hotch fires back. “And because he likely holds a grudge against his ex-wife for divorcing him and taking Lila away.”

Now all eyes of the team are on the two of you, going back and forth like a tennis match.

“He murders women his own age. Lila is barely thirteen. If he wanted her so badly, he could have easily grabbed her by now and killed her. Why wait almost a year?”

“Her mother is watching her closely, and he—”

“Oh now you agree that her mother is overbearing.”

“Yes, because you met with her and confirmed it with actual evidence,” Hotch snaps. He pauses, staring at you. “We cannot rule out Richard Monroe.”

“We’ll be wasting our time if we don’t.”

“Why are you so insistent?”

“Call it a gut feeling.”

“You haven’t been doing this job long enough to have a trustworthy gut feeling,” Hotch says coldly. “Now, if you want to continue arguing, I suggest you do so with the wall. Otherwise, we have a young girl to find and her father is a priority suspect. Am I clear?”

“As river water,” you mutter. “Excuse me.” You push past your new boss, hating that he’s already gotten so deep under your skin. Again.

#aaron hotchner #criminal minds #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotch x reader #hotch x you #hotch x fem!reader #hotch fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner fanfic #hotch fanfic #The Gambit #enemies to lovers #angst angst angst

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myster-roca · 8 months ago

Text

The Catfish Incident

"Thanks for the energy drink, man," Jake said, cracking open his can of blue energy soda as we ambled down the dimly lit hallway back to our apartments. The gym members' party had left us both hot and sweaty, and I thought a refreshing drink would be the perfect cap to our evening.

"Yeah, no problem, bro. You owe me one next time!" I replied, although I was thinking something else entirely as I watched him guzzle his beverage.

He was tall, about six feet three inches, with a toned physique that would make anyone envious. His hair, the color of wheat, was slicked back with some kind of product, and he wore a tank top that hugged his chest tightly, emphasizing his broad shoulders and thick arms. His shorts were tight enough to show off his wide hips and well-defined ass.

Standing beside him, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of insecurity. While I was reasonably fit and steadily working towards what I hoped would be my ideal body, Jake's presence ignited a deeper yearning within me. It wasn’t just about having muscular broad shoulders and a confident stride—it was about embodying that effortless aura of masculinity, the kind of identity that defines an alpha male.

"Oh yeah, almost forgot—I need to head back to my apartment now," Jake said abruptly. "I have a little rendezvous tonight," he added, flashing a smile.

"Sounds like a plan. What time is your date?" I asked casually, pausing beside him.

“About an hour from now, so I should probably hit the showers first. Gotta freshen up and work out these guns again,” he laughed. Then, without warning, he raised his left arm above his head and flexed his bicep, staring intently into my eyes. “It’s been too long since they’ve seen any action.”

I felt myself blush uncontrollably at his words, but luckily Jake didn't see it, and he continued heading down the hallway.

"See you tomorrow, Dave!" he called out over his shoulder before disappearing through his apartment door.

Little did he know, I was well aware of who he was meeting tonight.

As I stepped into my apartment, the familiar walls and furnishings offered no comfort to the restless longing stirring within me.

Each well-placed book and neatly aligned chair seemed to echo the structured, unyielding life I had sculpted for myself—a life of discipline as a respected professor, always mindful of reputation and societal expectations.

With a sigh, I removed my glasses and set them aside on the table. The lenses caught the fading light of the day, scattering beams that danced across the blandness of my living space, teasing me with glimpses of brightness in my otherwise predictable world.

This simple act felt like peeling away the layers of a persona crafted over years.

It felt symbolic, like I was discarding a part of myself that was too familiar, too constricted by old fears and inhibitions. Tonight was not a night for the timid David hidden behind those lenses; it was a night for someone entirely new.

I pulled off my tank top, feeling the cool air hit my bare skin, followed by the soft cotton of my white gym shorts. Finally, I slid down my underwear and tossed them aside. I felt incredibly vulnerable, standing there nude with no one else around.

Across the room, my gaze then shifted to the bed, where the realistic bodysuit of a Latino model lay outstretched. The room lighting cast a bright hue over its meticulously detailed surface, accentuating each muscular contour and shadow, making it look almost alive. It wasn’t just a garment; it was a gateway to another existence.

As soon as I saw it, I couldn’t resist touching its smooth skin. I ran my fingers over its chest and arms, feeling the softness of its skin. Then I slid my hands down to its waist and squeezed its firm butt cheeks. It even had a built-in penis that was larger than my own, which gave me a sense of excitement.

"Alright," I muttered under my breath, "let’s get started."

I could feel my dick twitch as I reached down and grabbed hold of the slit at the back of the bodysuit. The suit itself was made of a special material that allowed for easy movement and flexibility. Slowly, I began pulling the two sides apart so that there would be enough room for me to get inside.

As I sat down in the chair, I began sliding my right leg into one of the muscular legs. They were tight but not uncomfortable. As I pulled them up over my thigh, I could feel the skin stretching slightly as it moved up my leg. This was going to be so fucking hot!

I continued moving my left leg into the second leg until both feet were on the ground. Next, I positioned my shaft to the built-in dick and slid my arms into the sleeves. My biceps bulged with each movement.

Standing up, I took a few steps forward, feeling the incredible strength of my legs against my skin. I flexed my arm, watching the veins pulsate under the surface. I couldn’t help but smile at my new, sexy body.

Finally, I put on the built-in mask that resembled the handsome face of a Latino model.

As I slid it over my head, I felt the soft material conform to the contours of my face.

Once the mask was fully secured, the ’Heddon’ app on my phone opened up.

In order for the bodysuit to work properly, it needed to be activated. I selected “Start Sealing” and watched as the screen filled with images of the process.

Suddenly, there was a click, and the suit began to seal shut around me. I felt the muscles of my legs begin to tingle as they fused with the suit.

My thighs and calves became more defined as the skin tightened around them. The same sensation spread across my chest and shoulders, making them bulge outward. My arms seemed to grow larger as the suit conformed to my muscles.

Within seconds, the transformation was complete, and the suit fully integrated with my body, leaving no trace of its presence. It was as if I had become one with this sexy, lifelike skin.

With a grin, I stepped towards the mirror, admiring my reflection. The face staring back at me was that of a young, fit Hispanic man with broad shoulders and narrow hips.

“Welcome back,” I whispered to myself as I looked in the mirror at my new reflection. “Diego.”

My jawline was strong and defined, giving me a masculine appearance. I flexed my biceps, showing off the definition in my arms.

I ran my hands over my hard chest, feeling the firmness beneath my fingers. Then, I squeezed my pecs, enjoying the way they rippled beneath my touch.

I let my hands travel down to the bulge between my legs, squeezing it gently. My cock throbbed with excitement as I imagined what it would feel like to fuck someone with this body.

I picked up my phone, opened a dating app and messaged Jake using the Diego profile. We’d chatted a little bit on the app a few weeks earlier, and he seemed really interested in meeting up.

“Hey sexy,” I typed into the chat window. “Want to see some pics?”

“Sure thing, stud,” Jake responded. “Whatcha got?”

I smiled as I sent him a couple of pictures of myself wearing different leather and latex outfits.

“That’s hot,” Jake wrote. “Do you think you can do something even hotter tonight?”

I grinned as I typed back, “Of course, baby. Anything for you.”

****************************************************

A few weeks ago, I stumbled upon a Reddit thread mentioning "Heddon: House of Transformation" — a service offering realistic bodysuits that promised an entirely new level of personal transformation. Intrigued yet skeptical, I clicked through.

The website was adorned with glossy images of transformations and detailed testimonials from users who spoke of life-altering experiences. Video demos showcased the suits’ incredible realism and functionality, portraying seamless transitions from person to suit.

Admittedly, the site and service were new, which did little to alleviate my skepticism. However, a promotional offer for first-time users—a significant discount on their first order—was enough to tip the scales.

Despite my initial doubts and the nagging thought that it could all be an elaborate scam, I decided to take the plunge with some disposable income I’ve set aside.

I ordered a customized bodysuit modeled after a muscular Latino—a physique and persona so starkly different from my own that it felt like it could only exist in fantasies.

When the package arrived, it included not just the bodysuit but also detailed instructions for using the accompanying "Heddon: House of Transformation" app.

The app, once downloaded, allowed me to control the bodysuit’s features, including the crucial sealing process which would integrate the suit seamlessly with my own body.

When I first donned my new Diego bodysuit a few nights ago, I created a fake profile on the dating app and got tons of messages but one message caught my attention— it was my gym buddy Jake.

“Hi there! You’re so hot and cute!” he wrote.

“Thank you! You’re pretty handsome yourself,” I responded.

We chatted for a bit, discussing our hobbies and interests. I told him that I was looking for someone to share my fetishes with, and that I loved wearing latex.

He responded quickly, saying that he was also interested in exploring his kinks and that he loved wearing leather and latex. Before long, we were messaging each other every night, sharing our deepest desires and fantasies.

A few days later, Jake asked me if I would be willing to come over to his apartment and have some fun. I agreed, excited to finally meet him in person.

“I’m so glad you’re coming over,” he wrote back. “I’ve been dying to meet you in person.”

“Me too,” I replied. “I can’t wait to see you.”

****************************************************

Now, here I am, standing outside Jake’s apartment door, feeling nervous and excited all at once. I knocked on Jake's door and soon heard the sound of footsteps approaching. The door swung open, revealing Jake standing there in nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist.

Diego! Come in!” he says, grinning at me. I follow him into the apartment, and he shuts the door behind us.

Jake leans against the door, studying my body. “Wow, you look amazing,” he says. “I never imagined you would actually look like this.”

“Thanks. It feels good to finally be able to meet you in person,” I reply. Jake smiles and directs me toward the living room. I remove my jacket, revealing my tight black muscle shirt and latex pants.

Jake’s eyes widen, and he lets out a low groan. “Damn, you’re fucking hot,” he says, running his hands along my chest. His hand then slides down my chest and over my crotch. “And you’re hard.”

“I am,” I whisper. “You make me feel so horny.”

We sit down on the couch, and Jake pours us some drinks. “So, tell me more about yourself,” he says. “What kind of stuff do you like doing?”

“Well, I love wearing leather and latex,” I say. “And I love playing different characters. Sometimes I dress up as a superhero, sometimes as a villain. It really depends on my mood.”

“That’s cool,” Jake says. “Me too. I love wearing my costumes, especially when I’m out with friends. It helps me let loose and have fun.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” I say. “Sometimes it’s hard to be yourself when you’re around other people, but when you’re in your costume, you can let go and be whoever you want to be.”

“Exactly,” Jake says, smiling. “It’s like a whole new world opens up when you put on a costume.”

Jake leans closer, his eyes locked on mine. “And sometimes, they bring us closer to our true selves than we ever thought possible. Maybe because we feel safe behind the mask, we can express our true feelings.”

The air between us charges with an unspoken understanding. I swallow hard, my heart pounding in my chest. “Have you ever felt that way? Like you’ve discovered something real about yourself through a character?”

Jake nods slowly, his gaze intensifying. “More often than you might think. Sometimes, it’s only when I'm someone else that I can express what I really feel... what I really want.”

I watch as he removes his towel, revealing his hard cock. I gasp in pleasure as he strokes himself slowly, looking straight into my eyes. The moment hangs heavy between us, laden with unvoiced desires.

Then, impulsively, Jake closes the distance, his lips meeting mine in a passionate kiss that feels like the culmination of our shared revelations. Our tongues dance together, exploring each other's mouths, as I moan softly and my fingers thread through Jake's soft hair.

Jake breaks away from our fervent kiss, leaving me breathless and longing for more. With a sultry grin, he stands up and begins to undress me, one piece at a time.

My excitement grows as he pulls my tight latex shirt over my head, exposing my toned chest and chiseled abs. He trails his fingers down my torso, sending delicious tingles through my entire body.

As Jake continues to undress me, his touch becomes increasingly intimate and sensual. He caresses my skin, grazing his fingertips along my shoulders, arms, and sides. I lean into his touch, letting the warmth of his hands linger on my skin.

Finally, Jake reaches my pants and skillfully slips them down my legs, revealing my matching black briefs. He pauses for a moment, admiring the sight of me in my underwear, before slowly removing them as well. Standing before him completely naked, I feel exposed yet empowered by his admiration.

Jake's eyes sparkle with lust as he looks me up and down. "You're beautiful," he whispers, his voice thick with desire.

My heart races as he bends down to press his lips against my chest, trailing kisses down to my abdomen. His hands explore my body, massaging my muscles and stroking my skin. I close my eyes, surrendering to the waves of pleasure that wash over me.

Just as I start to drift into blissful oblivion, Jake abruptly stops. I open my eyes to find him looking intently into my eyes, a small smile playing on his lips.

"What's wrong?" I ask, confused by the sudden pause.

"Come with me," he murmurs. "I have something I want to show you. It’s my private collection."

He then gestured to a door at the end of the hall. My heart pounded in my chest as I followed him into the room.

Entering, I gasped in surprise at the sight. Scattered all over the room were several realistic bodysuits, each one more impressive than the last.

While pretending to be amazed, I wondered if Jake realized I was wearing a fake body.

Jake grinned. "My job has its perks," he explained. "I'm a beta tester for 'Heddon', so I get access to their entire collection."

"This is amazing," I remarked, feigning ignorance. My hands ran over one of the suits. "What are these things and how do they work?"

"Don't pretend you don't know," Jake chuckled. "You may think you're fooling me, but you aren't."

He was right. Staring at him in disbelief, I asked, "What?... what do you mean?"

"It's not a secret," Jake replied. "These suits have a distinct smell, and I've gotten used to it. I know when someone is wearing one."

I sighed, knowing I couldn't deny it any longer. "Okay, fine," I admitted. "You caught me. But please, don't tell anyone else. This is just between us."

"Of course," Jake nodded. "I understand."

He reached out and touched the side of my fake face. "I don't care who you are or what you're doing. I like the idea of someone else being able to take on a new identity for a while."

"Thank you," I said, smiling. "But seriously, why are you showing me all of these suits?"

Jake shrugged. "Since you're wearing one, I thought of wearing one as well," he suggested. "Maybe we can have a little role-play fun."

He then picked up a bodysuit that resembled a tanned male model with long hair. "Do you think this fits the bill?" he asked, holding it up.

I smirked and touched the bodysuit Jake had chosen. "Let's find out, shall we?"

#male body transformation #male transformation #male bodysuit #male disguise #male body suit #male impersonation #male skinsuit #male skin

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guiltyasdave · 11 months ago

Text

i can see the end as it begins

chapter 1 • series masterlist

pairing: Dave York x f!reader

summary: You meet your father’s new friend for the first time, but he’s a lot different than you expected.

word count: ~5k

tags/warnings: explicit smut -> 18+ mdni, dbf!Dave, unhealthy relationship dynamics, dom/sub dynamics, angst, daddy issues (reader’s dad isn’t a nice person), able-bodied reader, reader has hair, no use of y/n, divorced Dave, unprotected p in v, semi-public sex, fingering, dirty talk, praise kink, degradation kink, spanking, pet names, let me know if i missed anything 🫶🏻

a/n: my favorite person on this app @joelscurls planted the idea of dbf!dave in both our heads and after many many feral dms, porn gifs, plotting and just generally freaking out, we have finally managed to put the first chapter together :) we’re currently planning with 4 chapters in total that we’re gonna take turns posting, so go follow jess if you don’t already (criminal behavior tbh)! i’m beyond excited to be able to do this with someone whose writing i adore sooo much, we’re both beyond excited about this story, and we hope that you enjoy it 🫶🏻

follow @joelscurlsupdates and @guiltyasdavenotifs for updates and find jess’s masterlist here and my masterlist here :)

dividers by the lovely @saradika-graphics!

“I want a divorce.”

It’s been almost a year since Carol spoke those words into the tense silence of their dining room and they still echo in Dave’s mind as if it happened yesterday.

He doesn’t mourn the marriage, doesn’t miss Carol, not in the way he probably should. But he mourns the life that he had, the perfect suburban family, the stability. A little boring maybe, but safe, calming. Predictable.

And he misses his girls. He misses the sound of small feet on the hardwood-floor greeting him as soon as he opened the front door, giggly exclamations of “Daddy’s home!” and tiny hands grabbing at him, begging to be picked up. Now he opens the door to an empty, silent apartment. He has them every second weekend, which he rationally knows makes the most sense with his often irregular working hours, but it’s simply not enough. It’s like time is constantly running through his fingers and he just can’t make it stop, can’t bring his life back under control.

He’s doing what he can to keep himself busy, anything to keep his mind occupied and his thoughts from spiraling into that pit of loneliness that he’s found himself in. He started reconnecting with friends, going out with his colleagues and contacting people from his army days that he hasn’t spoken to in years, trying to build a social life outside of his family and the neighbors that he no longer lives next to.

It’s tedious, making him realize that he really doesn’t like people all that much, but it’s better than spending his evenings by himself and wondering where things went so awfully wrong.

He spends a lot of time with Jim, one of the guys that trained with him and that he always got along with rather well. Jim was delighted when Dave called, promptly inviting him to join him at golf the next day, which somehow turned into a weekly event on Dave’s schedule. It’s nice enough, giving him some sense of routine and he finds that he’s rather good at it. Jim runs his own company by now, the thing that he invests all of his time in, which got him a lot of money, but also a divorce.

It’s all he talks about, too, but it’s fine with Dave, not being forced to contribute that much to the conversation – because really, there’s not much worth mentioning happening in his life anyway – and he’s content to just nod along and hum in agreement most of the time.

Jim has a daughter too, a lot older than Dave’s though, already out of the house, attending law school. He can tell that Jim is proud when he talks about her, but it always seems to be connected to achievements, an underlying pressure to their relationship that leaves Dave a little uneasy and he silently vows to himself to never apply any sort of conditions to his love for his daughters.

But he's never met the young woman and he probably never will, so he doesn’t dwell on it, because what does it matter to him, really?

You huff a sigh as the familiar sight of the country club that your father loves to frequent comes into view and hand the Uber driver a tip before sliding out of the car.

You had thought you’d be getting a night out with your Dad, just the two of you, a rare occurrence. Not that you had been particularly looking forward to being grilled about law school, your grades, networking and internship opportunities, but at least he would be listening to you, paying attention. Joking that he was making sure that the money he put into your education was well invested, a joke that felt less funny every time you were reminded just how financially dependent you were on your father.

If the topic of conversation wasn’t school, it was what kind of acquaintances you’ve made, if maybe you’d met a guy with good connections, someone who could introduce you to the right people. Cautionary warnings not to get involved with the wrong sort, not to get on the wrong track.

Just once, you would like to talk about if you were enjoying school, what living on your own was like, how you got along with your roommate, the fun times you had with your girlfriends, anything about your life that wasn’t somehow connected to success or keeping up appearances. But your relationship wasn’t like that. He didn’t care about these sorts of things, he never had.

You continuously swallowed down the heavy feeling of envy in your stomach when your friends talked about their parents, painting a picture of unconditional love and support that was foreign to you, telling yourself that everything was fine the way it was.

“I invited Dave to join us tomorrow,” he then told you yesterday morning, offhandedly, sipping his coffee and his eyes already glued to his phone. You nodded silently, forcing your lips into something that resembled a smile. He had mentioned someone named Dave before, an old friend from his army days that he had recently reconnected with, if you remembered correctly. It didn’t matter, really, your father’s countless acquaintances blurred into a mix of vaguely familiar faces in your head anyway. If you had mixed feelings about the evening plans before, this new development made it clear that you wouldn’t partake in the conversation much, just smile politely, sit pretty and let the grown ups talk.

Steeling yourself, you walk in, your heels clicking against the floor. After spotting your dad almost immediately and waving in his direction, you make a beeline for the bar. He was sitting alone, you think, furrowing your brow in thought. You’re running a little late yourself, maybe that Dave guy couldn’t make it? You don’t hate the idea of that.

Dave had been reluctant to come out tonight, couldn’t help the feeling that he was intruding on his friend’s father-daughter time, something that he was desperate to have more of, but Jim had insisted.

“Lots of women you could meet there!”

He had scoffed under his breath, not able to picture himself meeting someone new, going through the motions of getting to know them, opening up, adjusting his routine to someone else’s again. He could much less picture himself meeting a woman he’d be interested in at a fucking country club of all places. Eventually, the thought of another evening in his silent and empty apartment with nothing but his thoughts to keep him company made him accept anyway.

He’s drumming his fingers against the polished wooden bar, waiting to pick up the second round of beers for Jim and himself, when someone slides up to the counter beside him. He glances over, eyes focusing in on the woman who is studying the drinks menu.

He feels an inexplicable pull towards her, couldn’t look away again even if he tried. She’s beautiful, he thinks as he takes in her features in the soft warm light, lingering on the shape of her lips, before his gaze trails down her body, over the short black dress that’s clinging to her in the most enticing way. She’s also younger than him; too young, the responsible part of his mind argues. Not the kind of woman that he should be interested in meeting. He still can’t look away.

“Evening.” The greeting comes out before he can stop himself. She looks up, a hint of annoyance on her pretty face, but her gaze softens as her eyes meet his. A smirk plays on her lips.

“Hi.” Her eyes flicker down his own body and up again, something akin to excitement taking over her expression. He’s rusty, hasn’t done this in ages, but her interest is palpable, and it shoots a thrill of pleasure through him.

“I’m David,” he introduces himself. No one has called him David in… god knows how long, but it feels better than Dave in this moment, right somehow. Like he can be a different person, just for a little while.

“Pleasure,” she grins, tells him her name and shakes his hand, her eyes glinting in the warm lights of the bar. Her touch on his skin, even just his hand, is like electricity is flowing through the air between them. She feels so soft and his life has been so devoid of softness lately that he has to force himself to let go of her hand again.

Something tugs at the back of his mind, like this name should ring a bell, but he shoves the thought aside. He’s too busy picturing himself taking her home this evening, imagining how soft her skin would feel in other places, how she would look splayed out underneath him on his sheets, how her breath would sound when he–

“I’ve never seen you around here before, are you new?” her melodic voice interrupts the vivid daydream playing in his mind. She has taken a step towards him and hints of the sweet notes of her perfume are beginning to surround the air around him. It’s getting a little hard to think straight.

“I– yes. First time actually,” he laughs and delights in the way her face lights up at the sound. “You come here a lot, then?” The cliché line makes him want to cringe, but she doesn’t falter, only shrugs and lets her eyes slowly trail down his body once more, obviously wanting him to notice.

“Depends. I might be here more often if it means I get to see you.”

She reaches out until her fingers softly graze his wrist and it demands a great amount of willpower not to take her home right this instant.

The heartbeat in your chest is thrumming along to the butterflies that are erupting in your stomach. You’ve never been this bold, too shy to flirt at all most of the time, but the stranger in front of you is clouding your sense of judgment and has your insecurities flying right out of the window. His interest is written over his face clear as day and you feel an immediate pull towards him that you can’t explain.

He’s so handsome that your hands are itching to touch him more, to find out if he’s as broad and solid as is large frame suggests, if that jawline would feel as strong under your fingertips as it looks, and if his deep brown eyes would soften before you press your lips against his. No wedding ring either, you note in the back of your mind, sending another surge of excitement through you.

The fact that he seems old enough to be your father, something that your therapist would probably have a few words to say about, is only adding to the arousal that’s coursing through your veins. You want him.

You almost jump when your drinks arrive in front of you; you had all but forgotten where you are, and that you’re very much in eyesight of your actual father. Suddenly, you feel silly, reality catching up to you. Surely he was just being nice and you read way too much into it, making a fool of yourself.

“Well, I–I’ll see you around then.” You hastily grab your glass and are ready to make a run for it, when his large hand wraps around your elbow.

“Looking forward to it,” he purrs, before he takes the two beers off the counter in front of him.

Awkwardness slowly sets in when you start walking in the same direction, but it doesn’t fully hit you until you both stop at the same table, your father beaming up at you.

“Sweetheart, you already met Dave I see, that’s great. Come, sit!”

You’re frozen, stupidly blinking between your father and the man beside you a few times. The man who introduced himself as David.

David. Dave. Oh. Oh.

“Y–yeah,” you stutter out eventually and plaster a smile on your face as you take a seat beside your dad. David looks just as dumbstruck as you feel when he slides into the chair opposite from you, quietly handing one of the beers over to your dad. His friend.

Your father launches into a story about their army days together and you’re nodding along, but not one word actively registers in your brain. The conversation eventually moves on to your dad’s recent work projects, the majority of the talking done by him, with the occasional question from David, while you’re silently sipping on your drink.

The initial embarrassment of the whole situation makes you want to sink down into the ground, but still you can’t keep your eyes from flicking to David again and again. They linger on his lips, constantly in a pout that you would give anything to feel against yours, the slight shadow of stubble on his cheeks at the end of the day that you know would scratch against your skin so deliciously, the way his hand dwarfs his beer on the table, thick fingers that could stretch– No. No, you’re not going there.

Your cheeks are burning and you stare down at the tabletop in front of you.

When your gaze lifts back up, David’s eyes are already trained on you, glinting like he knows exactly what you’ve been thinking about. You reluctantly look back at your father, who’s still rambling on about some big client that he’s currently dealing with, completely oblivious to the charged energy between his friend and you.

David shifts in his seat and his leg bumps against yours under the table. You grasp your drink tighter, forcing yourself not to react in any way, but you don’t move away either. Neither does he. You shoot him a look and the hint of a smirk plays around his mouth. He looks too damn good like this, so excitingly wrong in a way that makes your pulse flutter.

It feels like you’re burning up from inside and as little attention as your dad is paying to you, you’re certain that he’s gonna notice that something is off with you eventually. You hastily scramble to your feet and excuse yourself to the bathroom. You feel David’s eyes on you as you walk away until you’re out of sight.

The cool water that you run over your wrists and splash onto your cheeks does a poor job of calming you down. Stupid, stupid, stupid, you admonish yourself. It’s certainly not more than a tiny bit of flirting to him, if at all, just some harmless fun to amuse himself probably, and you’re getting this worked up about it.

No. You need to get out of this situation. You’re gonna walk back out there, make something up about a headache and catch a cab home. It will probably earn you a lecture about politeness later in the evening, but you’ll gladly take that.

When you approach the table again, your dad is just getting off his phone, his expression already far away. You know that look all too well, being subjected to it almost daily.

“Work emergency?” you ask, without a real question behind your words.

“Yeah,” he grumbles, getting up, barely looking at you, already all business. “Sorry, I gotta get to the office, Dave will drive you home. Right, Dave?”

Your eyes fly to David and you catch him swallowing hard, but he nods regardless, lips quirking up in a forced smile. “Of course.”

You both silently watch your father’s retreating back, already speaking into his phone again. The fabric of Dave’s pants ghosts against your bare leg below the table once more. You wish it were his fingers instead.

You hadn’t anticipated to be alone with him and all the reasonable thoughts that you’ve come up with in the privacy of the bathroom are wiped from your mind. It feels like you’re buzzing, a rush of excitement thrumming through your veins, like your body knows that you’re on the brink of doing something really stupid and really fucking tempting.

“I’m sorry, about earlier,” you murmur, looking up at him through your lashes. He smirks, a knowing glint in his eyes as he takes in your expression. He still hasn’t moved his leg.

“I don’t think you are.”

Your stomach swoops at his words. You bite your lip. He wouldn’t be acting like this if he didn’t want you, would he? His eyes dart to your lips at the movement and darken. Fuck it.

“No, I’m not.” You pray that he doesn’t catch the slight tremble in your voice. He’s fucking intimidating and this is wrong on so many levels and you want him so badly to want you.

The tension between you is a palpable thing, almost making it hard to breathe when he leads you out of the club, his hand at the small of your back and causing you to shiver. Will he really just drive you home? Will he say something, do something, touch you more? You don’t know how to ask for any of it and desperately wish that he’ll take the reins, that somehow he already knows what you want. You have a feeling that he does.

He opens his car door for you, another thing that really shouldn’t affect you this much, before he walks around the vehicle and gets in beside you. You catch a hint of his cologne in the confined space and press your thighs together before you can stop yourself. Your heart is racing and you just know that he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

He clears his throat. “We gotta stop at my place, I have some paperwork that I’d like your–” He interrupts himself, his grip on the steering wheel tightening until his knuckles are white, “that I’d like Jim to look over for me.”

You nod, a small hum leaving your throat. The implication of going to his place has you reeling. He nods back, stealing a glance at you before he starts the car. You can’t help watching him as he drives, the subtle control that he exudes, the way the muscles on his thighs are flexing underneath the fabric of his pants. He looks over at you a few times, and you don’t have it in yourself to pretend that your eyes aren’t glued to him.

“See something you like?” he asks eventually, the corners of his mouth twitching.

“Yeah,” you answer, so breathless it’s embarrassing and you shift a little in your seat. Your dress rides up at the movement, revealing more skin, and his eyes fly down instantly.

“Me too,” he rasps.

When he stops the car in front of his building, you decide that it’s time to be brave.

“Do you want me to come up with you?”

“No,” his answer comes instantly. His tone isn’t cold, but determined, not to be argued with.

“Oh.” Your cheeks are heating up again. You hate how small your voice sounds. “I thought–”

He sighs, rubbing a hand over his face, avoiding your gaze.

“I can’t. You’re– You know why. You know I can’t.”

“I don’t care. I’m an adult, I can do what I want.”

He shakes his head, still not looking at you.

“Sweetheart, stop. Trust me, I want to, but–”

“Please?” You’re begging, no dignity left in you, only want want want. “Just one time. Please, David?”

His eyes fly up to your face at that. You can see the shift, the way his expression hardens, turning into something feral that has heat growing between your legs.

“Just one time,” he repeats, his voice dark with desire, no longer trying to conceal it.

His hands find your thighs, grabbing at you roughly, moving you until you’re in his lap, legs spread wide, his breath fanning against your lips. One hand is in your hair, the other gliding under the hem of your dress, his touch turning you into a trembling mess.

“This is what you want?” he growls, the grip in your hair tightening. You don’t think that you’ve ever wanted anything as much as this.

“Please,” you whine again, and he presses forward, lips clashing against yours, the kiss all tongue and teeth and desperate need and you’re melting into him.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his hands all over you now, grabbing at your dress, your skin, any place he can reach.

Your mouth travels over his cheek and down to his neck, sucking kisses and bites into his skin. The stubble scratches against your face just like you thought it would and you start working on the buttons of his shirt with trembling fingers, rolling your hips, desperate for friction. His grip steadies you, pulling down the neckline of your dress, kissing along the lace of your bra before he pulls the cups down too. A groan rises up in his throat as he cups your tits, thumbs circling over your already hardened nipples before he leans forward and sucks one into his mouth.

“Fucking perfect,” he rasps, breath hot against your damp skin. You arch into his touch and he chuckles, sucking on the bud again before he bites down, eliciting a loud moan from you. His touch travels up your thighs, leaving a burning trail behind, until his fingertips rub over the soaked fabric of your panties and you gasp at the barely-there touch.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he coos, pressing down harder. “Already dripping for me, huh? You want it that bad?”

You nod eagerly, pushing down onto his fingers.

“Alright.” He sounds just as wrecked as you feel. He starts undoing his belt buckle and his pants and you lift up just enough to allow him to shove them down his hips.

At the first glance at his cock, your mouth falls open, a silent breath escaping you. He’s big, certainly the biggest you’ve ever had, and maybe you should think about how you’ll take all of him inside of you, but you find yourself craving him, craving the stinging stretch, craving the feeling of being as close as possible to him.

“Don’t worry.” He seems mildly amused, catching your lips in another kiss. “We’ll make it fit.”

Another shudder runs through your body at this. “I’m not worried,” you admit in a whisper.

He laughs at that, a breathless sound that you instantly want to hear again.

“Good.”

He pulls your underwear to the side and thrusts one thick finger up into your slick heat without warning. His thumb rubs around your clit and you already feel an orgasm creeping up on you. He adds a second finger, his rhythm relentless, and you cry out, grabbing his shoulders, trying to steady yourself, but it’s pointless. You’re already clenching, so close to the edge, when he pulls out of you and fixes you with a hard glare.

“Not yet. You’re only gonna come on my cock tonight, understood?”

You want to scream, want his fingers back, but you realize that you also want this authority, want him to take control, to take whatever he wants from you. It’s a heady feeling, one that you’ve never experienced before, but you’re already desperate for more.

“Okay,” you agree, and his responding smirk is enough for another wave of wetness to gather between your legs.

With one steadying hand securely on your hip, he leans over to the glovebox, mumbling about protection, but you stop him, fingers looping around his wrist.

“I’m on the pill, and I’m clean, I promise. You don’t need–”

He leans back, the grip on your hip tightening again.

“Fuck sweetheart, are you sure?”

You nod quickly, another “please” falling from your lips.

The grin on his face is downright feral as he hikes your dress up higher, eyes raking over your body. You’re sure that you look a mess, all intimate parts of you on display, your skin damp with sweat, your hair a wild nest. You curl in on yourself a little, but David won’t have any of that.

“Hey,” he growls, fingers digging into your thighs. “If I’m gonna do this, you’re gonna look at me and beg for it, are we clear?”

You lift your head, wide eyes searching his. Desperate to do what he asks, desperate for his approval. He’s gorgeous in the low lights, his cheeks flushed, a thin sheen of sweat covering his face and chest.

“Please,” you whine. “Please David, I need you.”

His movements turn frantic at your words, moving you around until you’re positioned just above him, your panties pulled to the side, the head of his cock nudging at your entrance, already soaking him.

“Just one time?” he rasps once more.

“Just one time,” you agree. You’d agree to anything right now.

He pulls you down slowly, beginning to part your walls. You whine loudly at the stretch. It burns, but you relish in the feeling of getting filled by him, and his responding groan has your lips pulling up in a smile.

You keep sinking down, moving until he’s completely sheathed inside you and your eyes fall shut at the overwhelming sensation. His fingers are on your chin in an instant, giving your head a light shake.

“Nuh-uh, eyes right here, sweetheart,” he reminds you, gritting the words out. He twitches inside you and you force your eyelids to open again.

“Feels so good,” you whine, your voice reduced to a broken, breathless thing, but then he starts moving and you’re not able to form words any longer.

He rolls his hips up into you and you meet his thrusts with your own movements, clinging to his shoulders for dear life. His hands are everywhere, digging into your hips, pinching your nipples, gripping your chin whenever your eyes are starting to slip closed again.

So you keep your gaze obediently on him, your eyes locked, delighting in the way his face scrunches up in pleasure, in the sounds that are falling from his lips, matching your own.

“Good girl, taking me so fucking well,” he groans, his hand connecting with your ass in a light slap. An obscenely loud moan escapes you in response and you clench around him, more wetness covering his length and your thighs.

He stills and leans back to take in your heated face and blown pupils, an amused smirk forming on his face. “You liked that, huh?”

You nod, once again unable to meet his eye.

“Hey,” he demands, his fingers grabbing your face again. “Eyes on me, remember?”

Your gaze reluctantly trails up and his smirk grows.

“So…” he drawls, slowly picking up his thrusts again, “what exactly did you like, huh? When I called you a good girl… or when I did this?”

He smacks your ass again and you grind down onto him almost instinctively. You’re burning up in shame, but you obediently hold his gaze.

“B–both,” you whisper, in disbelief that you’re admitting this to him, but you feel too good to hold back now.

“Fuck,” he growls, his movements speeding up and his grip on your hips bordering on painful, “knew you were a dirty little thing.”

Another slap lands on your skin, harder than before, at the same time that he thrusts deep into you. The combined sensations are enough to throw you over the edge that you had been teetering on since he first touched you and you scream out his name as you fall apart.

He holds your shaking body close, cock grinding into you as you pulse around him and he groans, burying his face in your neck, spilling his own release deep inside of you.

“Fucking perfect,” he whispers, mouth pressing against your skin. “Can’t believe that you let me–”

You barely make out the words, ecstasy still coursing through your veins, but you lean into him, holding onto his broad shoulders, feeling like his body is the only real thing in your world right now.

You stay like this, entangled in each other’s embrace until your breaths even out and he carefully lifts your face, pressing one more kiss against your lips. It hits you suddenly, that this might be the last kiss that you share with him. Just one time, right?

He helps you to properly put your clothes back on, supporting your weight as you slink back into the passenger seat, before he pulls his pants back on and jogs up to his apartment to gather the paperwork for your father.

Your father. His friend. Fuck. Now that the lust-induced haze has lifted a bit and you’re able to think more clearly again, the weight of tonight’s events starts crashing down on you. He would kill you. He can’t know, no one can.

Dave returns within minutes, his brow furrowed as he takes you in. You think that he clocks the growing panic that is probably written all over your face. He reaches for your hand, slowly enough that you could retract it if you wanted to, but you long for his touch, for the reassurance of it.

“You alright?” he asks softly.

“Yeah.” You nod, trying to convince yourself as much as him.

He nods back, not prying, which you are grateful for, and starts the car, making his way over to your house. Your hand still clasped in his. Both your release and his pooling in your panties.

You only let go of him when he pulls into the driveway and kills the engine. You don’t think that your dad checks the footage from the security cameras regularly, but it’s a risk that you’re not willing to take.

“Thank you,” you mumble, once again unable to meet his eyes. “I– I had a great night.”

He smiles, appearing more relaxed than he’d been all evening.

“Me too, sweetheart. Good night.” You feel his eyes on you as you walk up to the door.

You shower, reluctantly washing away all traces of the evening and crawl into bed. You still feel his hands on your skin, the sensation following you into your dreams.

When the morning comes, hushed promises of just one time echo in your head, but the desire to do it again, for more, is burning through your body, consuming your thoughts.

“Hey Dad,” you ask, stepping into his office where he’s brooding over documents, “I think I left my jacket in Dave’s car, could you give me his number? Maybe I can go pick it up.”

if you liked this, please consider reblogging, leaving a comment or sending in an ask – it’s really the thing that keeps writers going :)

#fic: wildest dreams #dave york #dave york x reader #dave york x you #dave york x female reader #dave york x f!reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal fanfiction #dave york smut #pedrostories #dave york fanfiction #dave york fic #dbf!dave york

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kaiser1ns · 4 months ago

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i told you, didn't i? time is nothing but a construct, an easy thing to manipulate but we'll start with the living dead or the walking dead, call it however you like, my little puppet! everything is more fun when its uʍop-ǝpısdn. hope you will enjoy being stuck between the physical and spiritual realm. remember, reality is an illusion, the universe is a hologram. buy gold, bye!

𝗷𝗶𝗮𝗻𝗴𝘀𝗵𝗶!𝘀𝘂𝗼 𝗵𝗮𝘆𝗮𝘁𝗼 𝘅 𝗳𝗲𝗺!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

THE CORPSE'S BRIDEㄑword count :: 6121 ▿ finding a red envelope with money often symbolizes marriage, but sometimes luck is just on your side as you pick it up in the city center. what you didn't know is that you accepted а marriage proposal. and this is how the suo family tricked you, a living woman into becoming the ghost bride of their deceased son.

CHOOSE ANOTHER DIMENSION IN WEIRDMAGEDDON

“You are a disgrace to our family.”

Every day it was the same old tune, like a broken bamboo flute that had worn out its melody. You’d hear it as soon as you stepped through the front door, sometimes even before. “How come the gods have cursed me with such a daughter?” your mother’s voice carried over the sounds of her stitching, accompanied by the echo of your father’s disapproving grunt. They acted like they were personally offended that you were still breathing.

Yes, yes … The unmarried daughter. You knew the script so well by now, you could predict every insult before it left their mouths. There was no getting out unless someone asked for your hand in marriage. It was already getting more than annoying, you wake up wondering when there will be a wedding and go to sleep thinking about how you want everything to end. If you had been born a boy, it would have been much easier for you, but apparently, the all-mighty gods want you to suffer.

“Are you in this house again?” Even though you were the one coming home from the market, laden with bags of food you’d bought with your own money. Not that they ever thanked you, for making dinner and serving delicious meals on their plates. The most gratitude you got was a side-eye from your mother as she sewed something, muttering to herself as she added the finishing touches to the red and gold dress.

You froze. Red and gold? No, no, no.

“What are you staring at?” She snapped, her needle pausing mid-stitch on a piece of crimson fabric that shined bright by the house lights. “This is your wedding dress if you ever manage to get a husband.” her tone was as sharp as the needle in her hand when she returned to her sewing, sighing at the fact that you were still here.

This wasn’t your first marriage guilt trip. Ever since your two older sisters had gotten married off, the pressure was on you. Sometimes you genuinely considered just disappearing poof and you are gone. Then you could haunt them forever, appearing in their dreams and turning them into nightmares.

“Mother, do you need me to do anything else?” you asked, hoping to escape even for a little while. Her eyes narrowed, the needle suddenly looking more like a weapon in her hand. “Go fetch some water from the well, and get something sweet for your father.”

You didn't need to be told twice. Grabbing the wooden bucket, you made your way to the center of the village. It was quiet for once, no bustling crowds or nosey elders asking why you weren't married yet. You mimicked your mother's nagging voice under your breath, lowering the bucket down into the well.

"Your sister is already expecting her first child, and you still don't even have a husband, blah blah blah..."

You rolled your eyes, adjusting your grip on the rope. The weight of it felt so familiar to your life, dragging downwards, just like your mother's hopes. And then, something bright caught your eye, a splash of crimson against the dull stone. You squinted. There, floating near the bucket, was a red envelope.

“Finally!" you muttered, quick to glance over your shoulder. It was an unspoken rule — finders, keepers. Maybe the universe had finally tossed you a bone. You bent down, fingers brushing the envelope's edge, and a chill ran through you, despite the sun hanging lazily overhead. Red envelopes were usually given for weddings. Could this be a sign? A stroke of luck for your otherwise underwhelming love life?

But the moment your fingers touched the envelope’s contents, the air shifted and the wind seemed to whisper your name—in a voice that wasn’t yours.

You looked around. No one was there. Strange.

Opening it like it was your last meal on this earth you couldn't believe your eyes. "Gold!" you whispered. The crisp smell of paper money filled the air, your fingers trembling slightly as you counted it. Your mind raced with possibilities—finally moving out, finally escaping the daily nagging, finally—wait.

Inside the envelope was a small, folded piece of parchment. It was old, the edges colored in yellow, and as you opened it, your heart sank. There was a lock of someone's hair, it was a slightly reddish brown with a small note tied to it. The words on the paper weren’t a blessing. They weren’t even good news. The name next to “groom” was unfamiliar: Suo Hayato.

Heart pounded fast as you pieced it together. You hadn’t just found some stray money. You’d accepted a proposal—a ghost marriage proposal. There are beliefs that if an unmarried boy is not married in the afterlife, his spirit could bring misfortune or illness to the living family members, pushing families to find a bride for him and one way to do that is to leave a red envelope, tricking the girl into thinking it has money. Because even in death, a person is not seen as complete without a partner. It also ties into beliefs about spirits and the afterlife, where the dead might reach out to the living to resolve unfinished matters.

Slowly your gaze slid back to the red envelope. An intricate pattern was etched into the surface, symbols you didn’t recognize. The kind of symbols your grandmother used to warn you about, eyes wide and voice hushed.

"Do not touch what belongs to the dead," she'd always said, but how exactly would you know that something belongs to someone who is not here anymore?

You cursed under your breath. Well, great. It was too late to back out. The Suo family had tricked you into becoming the ghost bride of their dead son. A gust of wind blew through the well, carrying with it a low, chilling hum. You swore you could hear that voice again, whispering softly in your ear, "Thank you for accepting me."

That gentle voice, with that honeyed sound, made you shiver as your hands began to shake. That couldn't be true, it wasn't real. You just accepted an invitation to your own wedding and of course, no one alive would want you, of course, it would have to be someone dead. Quickly taking the overflowing water bucket you hid the letter in your clothes. You would think about it later, you were running late and would be scolded more than usual. The dead boy would wait a little longer, there was nowhere for him to run.

You go home as quickly as possible, the strange feeling of someone watching you still hasn’t left you. Your mother was done with sewing the dress, but she was nowhere to be found as you placed the bucket in the kitchen. Then you found her and your father in the garden talking, sitting between the statues of the ancient dragons that you and your father used to play among when you were little. When they loved their daughter and engagement did not destroy the relationship between a girl and her parents.

"I don't want our daughter to be treated like that. But this is what we should do." hiding behind the wall you were shocked by her words, eyes wide and tears started to form in your eyes. You never expected to hear such a thing from her as you wiped your tears and heard your father. "To keep this image of a perfect family. I hope someone asks for her hand soon because she won't live in this home any longer." Of course, traditionally, girls who did not marry were regarded as a threat to the entire family and were not allowed to continue living at home. Suddenly the letter fell out from inside your robe. You are practically married now and maybe tonight you will pay your husband a visit in the graveyards.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way, was it? You hadn’t asked for this. But there it was—a contract, a promise, an unholy bond.

Fingers trembling, you snatched up the letter that had fallen and shoved it deeper into your robes, your heart pounding in your chest. Maybe this could be your way out. If the Suo family’s dead son had claimed you, then at least no living man could. You thought back to the voice, that soft murmur, almost too tender for something no longer living. But could you trust a voice that came from the dark?

Your parents' voices faded into the distance as you hurried to your room. The dress, a crimson red with delicate embroidery, hung neatly on the wooden frame, waiting for you. Its beauty felt like a mockery now, knowing your parents had likely sewn it for some stranger. You brushed your fingertips over the fabric, the reality of your situation sinking deeper. This dress would never be worn for a joyous occasion. Not for you.

As the evening sun began to set, you glanced out the window toward the distant graveyards. The lanterns lining the street flickered eerily against the walls. A strange pull began to take hold, like an invisible red string tugging you toward the resting place of the stranger you were about to marry.

But still, you were curious, who is this husband of yours? How old is he because that was important ... you didn't want to marry some 50-year-old grandpa. It wouldn't be your first time sneaking out of the house in the middle of the night when everyone was asleep because right now, the urge to go and find his grave surpassed even the heavenly world. It was time to meet him, the one who had called out to you, to see if this strange and unnatural union could be undone. Or maybe you were bound forever.

You could still feel his presence—the weight of it lingering in every step you took as you made your way through the empty streets. The moon hung low in the sky painting everything in its silver glow. The silence around you was oppressive, broken only by the sound of your sandals against the dirt path.

The closer you got to the graveyards, the colder it became. The wind picked up again, swirling around you, bringing the chills. You almost turned back to go home, but the thought of your parents, of being cast out from your home, pushed you forward.

Finally, you arrived at the gates of the cemetery. The iron bars stood tall and ominous before you, half-covered in creeping vines. Beyond them lay the rows of graves, their headstones arrayed like one great army. You swallowed hard, hesitating for just a moment, before pushing the gate open.

Your feet carried you towards the Suo family’s burial plot and the further you ventured in, the more you felt that presence intensify. It was suffocating, wrapping itself around you like a veil. And then, there it was—a single grave, marked with the name of your husband.

The earth before it looked freshly disturbed as if something—or someone—had been moving beneath the soil. You stopped, breath hitching, your body frozen in place. It had been dug up, there was dirt everywhere, and by the light of the lantern, you could see that the dug up was deep, to say the least. You put a hand over your mouth in complete shock. There was no one in the coffin. How come there was no one? Your breathing became heavier, the warm air coming out of your mouth suddenly turned cold, your eyes wide with complete fear when you heard noises near you. It could be someone passing by, a bird, or ... a rabbit.

A little white bunny, with a color just like the moon reflecting the yin energy. But will it bring you good fortune and peace in a place like this? Why did everything suddenly just turn into a scary fairy tale and why did you have to be the main character? You and the small animal looked at each other, its red eyes shining brighter than the lantern next to your face until suddenly it ran away when you tried to approach it.

And then, you heard it again—that voice. But this time, it wasn’t a whisper.

"Welcome, my bride."

The voice came behind you.

Swallowing hard your body shook, more than before as you couldn’t move. You stood in one pose, like a statue until you heard footsteps approaching. Spinning around, heart pounding in your chest, you screamed as loud as your lungs allowed. The sight before you was more horrifying than anything you could have imagined—a boy, or what had once been a boy, stood there, grinning at you. You instinctively threw your lamp in defense, the small flame flickering in the air and for a moment you thought the fire would pass through him like a ghost. But the impact was real. It struck his chest and clattered to the ground.

“W-what? Stay away from me or I will … I will–” You stammered, your mind racing. He wasn’t just a ghost, but a corpse. A jiangshi, a walking dead boy. Panicked, you glanced at the disturbed grave behind him, a confirmation that Suo Hayato had indeed risen from the dead.

But something was strange. His pale skin didn’t have any signs of decay, no silver hue like the stories warned, no moss clinging to his rotten flesh. He looked almost normal, almost alive. His brown hair hung loosely over his face, parted to one side and his singular eye or his living eye, watched you and made you feel the goosebumps. The other eye was covered by a leather eyepatch, which only gave you an unsettling feeling. A pair of yellow tassel earrings, with red gems like the rabbit’s eyes swung with his movements. And there was the black hat, a yellow talisman attached to it, though the paper was blank.

“Please, do not fear me,” he said, voice still sweet and calm despite the terror bubbling inside you. “You woke me up from my slumber for our wedding. My parents always wished for me to marry, but you see … “ His words trailed off as he lifted the talisman from his hat, his grin widening as if trying to comfort you. “I died before I could tell them who I truly wanted.”

You let out another scream, louder this time. The absurdity of his casual tone while he stood there, very much undead, with his smile flattering for a second and his single eye widening slightly because he had expected as much. You backed up until you were pressed against the cold stone of another gravestone. This couldn't be happening. He was dead, he should be dead, and yet here he was, speaking to you as this is just another day.

“I-I don’t want this! I don’t want to marry a dead man!” you shouted, your voice trembling as you struggled to keep your footing, knees weakening beneath you. All of a sudden, the weight of what was happening crushed you down. You didn’t want to die anymore. Not like this, not as some undead bride in a nightmare you hadn’t asked for.

The boy, Hayato, tilted his head, his smile now almost sorrowful. “I am not here to harm you. I was brought back for this, to fulfill my parents’ wishes.” you caught a glimpse of the boy he might have been before death took him. “I can’t bear to see you afraid of me. I never wanted this either, but you were the one who took the red envelope my mother left.”

You paused, trying to steady your breath, eyes darting between his face and the talisman he held. The numerous stories of jiangshi that your grandmother told you—these creatures were said to drain the life force from the living, feeding on their energy until nothing remained. Was that why he was here? To suck away what little life you had left? To take you down into the grave with him?

“I won’t let you drain me,” you blurted out, your voice shaking but your defense rising despite the fair. “I’m not ready to die yet!”

Hayato’s eye widened, and then a deep sigh escaped his lips. He stepped closer, too close for your liking as you flinched. But instead of attacking, he let the yellow paper fall over his face again. “I am not here to drain you. I was raised … incomplete. Not fully dead, not fully alive,” he explained, lowering his gaze to meet yours. “I simply wanted to meet you.”

“But you are a jiangshi,” you whispered, blinking as your eyes were fixed on him as if watching for any sudden movement.

“Yes,” he admitted, his smile fading completely now, replaced with sadness. “But I did not ask for this fate any more than you happened to be my bride.”

His words sank in, making you rethink everything. He was just a strange boy who stood between life and death. His pale face, his empty eye socket beneath the patch, the talisman that should have controlled him but didn’t—he was terrifying, yes, but also…trapped.

“Then what do you want from me?” you asked, and as much you wanted to run, to escape something kept you rooted in place.

Hayato hesitated, then looked up, meeting your gaze with that single eye of his. "I want what I was denied in life. A chance to choose for myself. And maybe..." He paused, and the tiniest hint of hope flickered in his gaze. "Maybe to experience love."

Your heart was still racing, unsure of whether you should trust him—or if you even had a choice at all.

“Just accept him already, young lady! I want to sleep when it's dead silence.” someone's female voice called but there was absolutely no one near you and you started to look around. "I'm down here, but you have time until you join us." The woman's voice came from leaning against her tombstone. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you, ma’am." Your breath hitched, and your gaze landed on a nearby tombstone. The name etched into the stone was worn, nearly faded, but still there. A woman’s ghostly form leaned casually against it, translucent and calm. You were talking to dead people now. Wonderful.

Just because you decided you'd be rich from a dumb envelope, and what did it turn out to be? You live between these two worlds as much as your husband. "Ah, the boy of the Suo family. They finally found you a bride."

This time it was a deep male voice as you both looked in that direction. It was coming from a tall, ghostly figure standing just behind another tombstone. "Good choice! I know the women in her family are unearthly beautiful!” You didn't know how to take that, a compliment you'd never received before. Hayato looked at you while you were still looking down at the ground, the moon illuminating everything above you.

His eye filled with something like... affection. He waited patiently for your response because it wasn’t easy to just accept a marriage proposal, a ghost one at that.

The dead were already speaking to you as if you were one of them, and perhaps you were—caught between their world and the one you had known your whole life. Maybe you didn’t want to die, but living in this strange in-between place was better than being cast aside by the living. You took a deep breath and slowly nodded.

"I... I accept," you whispered, almost to yourself, then met Hayato's gaze. "But I need to go home first." He smiled, the kind of soft smile that made you forget for a moment that he was no longer alive. "Of course. I will wait for you."

You turned, leaving the graveyard behind, though the voices of the dead still whispered in your ears, their conversations muffled by the distance. The walk home was quieter than before, though you couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching from the shadows, but you knew that the light would appear again.

A week passed when you gathered courage and told your parents everything. You showed the envelope, explaining what had happened—how the Suo family had chosen you, how you had unknowingly accepted the fate of being a ghost bride, and how his spirit had come back to claim you. By not telling them, however, that your husband is somehow alive. You expected anger, disbelief, or perhaps even outrage. But instead, your parents stood in silence.

Your mother was the first to break the stillness. She took your hands in hers, her grip trembling slightly, but a small smile appeared on her face. "You... you will be married?" she whispered as if daring to hope this strange, supernatural fate might finally be your salvation.

Your father, though pale with shock, slowly nodded. "This is... unexpected," he muttered. "But if it means you will be safe, and the Suo family is satisfied, then this is for the best."

Before you could respond, there was a knock at the door. Your mother rushed to answer it, and there they were, the Suo family—Hayato’s parents. His mother, a graceful woman draped in mourning clothes, approached you with a smile that held both grief and relief.

"You have given my son peace," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "For so long, his spirit was restless. He didn’t even tell us who he wanted to marry. But now, he has found his bride, and he can be at peace. Our family is forever grateful."

Feeling as if you were floating between two realities—the living and the dead, bound by an agreement you hadn’t fully understood. But now, there was no turning back. This was your life now. This was real. It wasn’t some bad dream. You were truly a bride—if only to a ghost. Or rather, what remained of it.

The dress your mother finished sewing would be wrapped around your body soon. At least that's what you heard from the conversation of the adults in the great dining room. How did it all happen so fast? You could believe that Hayato told his mother in her dream. You could talk to the spirits of dead people after all.

You were walking in the big yard of your house when you heard a light tapping, small and gentle steps and in the middle of the garden was the white bunny from yesterday and immediately rushed towards the animal. It started running and you followed. Why does this rabbit appear out of nowhere? Are the gods giving you a sign to escape your fate as a normal human? Most probably, yes.

It stopped in front of the family temple where you honored your ancestors but for some reason, you hadn't been here in a few weeks because you were always doing work around and outside the house. You saw the rabbit jump up the steps and stand in the center of the temple, surrounded by tombstones but it hopped in front of your grandmother’s stone. Asking her for help won't hurt, you missed being here, finding peace in this beautiful place especially since your grandma never judged you.

Lighting the candles and incense, you kneel down, hoping for guidance from your ancestors. Please, if you can hear me. I need your help and advice. I need to know what's the best thing to do. You stood there holding your hands in an attempt to get an answer. You could see and talk to the dead, and that must include your family too. Suddenly the heat from the candle went out and you snapped your eyes open to see several of the stones with their names begin to glow and the rabbit was still sitting in front of your grandmother's table stone.

Images appeared from the blue glow, rather the spirits of your ancestors as they sat over their stones, and you looked to the one of your grandmother's, and as a finale, her spirit appeared last, and the white bunny jumped into your lap.

“So this is our ghost bride? She is too beautiful to be buried alive.” a woman called out, and you believe this is your grandmother who lived 120 years ago, as she waved a fan in front of her face. “A ghost bride? She took that from you.” Next to her was a man, dressed in warrior armor as his arms were crossed like he was judging you.

“Said the man who denied getting married because he was already married to the war.” waving her fan slowly but you could still catch her sly smile in a teasing tone before the warrior opened his mouth and someone cut him off.

“A wedding is a wedding. Don't fight over the happiness of someone so young, either.” you knew that voice as you looked at the spirit next to your grandmother it was your grandfather. Your eyes watered when you saw them again. Hugging the bunny with one hand, you got up, and with the other, you tried to touch them, but failed. They were just ghosts, they weren't like Hayato because their debts and wishes had been fulfilled. “My sweet child, I wish I could hug you as well.”

You wanted to ask how you could even see them, but that was a stupid question from the person who was about to marry a dead man. Of course, you could see them because the moment you touched the envelope the physical and spiritual realm merged into one.

“Grandma, why does this have to happen to me?” your voice trembled as the words spilled out, heavy with the confusion and heartache that had been building for days. Becoming a ghost bride... it wasn't something you could ever have imagined for yourself.

Your grandmother looked at you with that soft and reassuring smile. "Everything happens for a reason, my dear," she said, but did everything have to have a reason or was it another joke of fate? "The gods have chosen you, and so has the Moon goddess. You have everyone's blessing, even though you may not experience love the way you dreamed... I know, without a doubt, that the boy loves you deeply."

You stared at her, disbelief washing over you. "How do you even know if a dead boy can feel anything? His heart stopped... How could he possibly love?"

Your grandmother laughed at your innocence, the sound warm and comforting, like a lullaby from long ago. "You don't have to be alive to love. Love isn't confined by life or death. It’s a bond that exists between souls. The red thread that connects you two may be invisible, sometimes tangled, but it will always lead you to the right person, living or dead."

Her words settled into your heart, but still, a tear slipped down your cheek as you struggled with the weight of it all. As you wiped your eyes, you heard the soft crunch of footsteps behind you. The spirits of your family turned, their eyes full of knowing as they gazed toward the garden.

Your heart skipped a beat when you saw him, your dead husband-to-be, wandering quietly through the garden, stepping into the light from the backyard’s small door.

"See now, my dear," your grandmother whispered, her voice lingering like an echo. "Love always finds a way."

You turned to speak to her again, but they were gone—the spirits of your family had vanished, leaving you alone in the garden. Without hesitation, you rushed towards Suo as the bunny stayed at the temple, your heart drawn to him in a way that defied all reason. Everything is happening too fast to be true.

Anger. Confusion. Fear. His presence in the garden felt too sudden. And yet, there he was, standing under the bright daylight with that same eye smile you remembered from the last time you saw him, but now you can see him more clearly.

"My beloved, I have wondered to whe—"

"Are you crazy?" you hissed, cutting him off with a whisper-yell as you looked around anxiously. "You can't just show up out of nowhere! What if my—no, your parents see you?"

Your heart was racing now, not just from the shock of his sudden appearance, but from the fear of what would happen if someone else saw him too. Suo’s presence, while comforting to you, was a ghostly impossibility to the living. People would panic, or worse, think you'd lost your mind.

He, however, seemed completely unfazed by your panic. His gaze was soft, patient even, as if he had expected this reaction. Slowly, he reached for your hand, his fingers brushing against yours with a strange warmth that startled you. The sudden contact made you tense up, your breath catching in your throat.

"Only you can see me, my love," he said quietly, his voice gentle as you blinked, processing his words. Only you can see me. It made sense now, why the spirits of your ancestors had appeared without anyone else knowing, why Suo could walk into the garden without causing a stir. But still, the way the words "my love" slipped from his mouth—it felt both sweet and unnerving.

You gulped, suddenly unsure of how to respond. "My love?" It was all you could manage to say, trying to reconcile the person before you with the man you were supposed to marry in death.

Suo’s smile didn’t waver. It softened, his gaze steady as if there was no question in his mind. "Yes," he said simply. "You are my love. You have always been."

The conviction in his voice made your chest tighten. You wanted to protest, to ask how he could say such a thing when your relationship had never truly begun, but the truth was undeniable—he had come back for you. Whether by fate or the pull of the spirit realm, you were bound to him, and he to you.

And for the first time since all of this began, you didn’t know whether to feel relieved or afraid.

Suo’s hands held yours gently, his thumbs brushing over your knuckles in a way that made your heart race. His touch was warm, so real, despite everything about this moment feeling so impossible. You searched his eyes for answers, trying to make sense of the emotions and memories, but nothing came.

He noticed your confusion, and his smile faltered slightly, but only for a moment. "I know you probably don't remember me," he began softly, his voice laced with a bittersweetness, "since you moved houses."

He paused, glancing down for a second as though gathering his courage before meeting your eyes again. "But we used to play together as kids. You were the wife, I was the husband... and my dog was our child." He chuckled softly at the memory, but you could hear the longing hidden by the humor.

Your breath hitched as scenes of long-forgotten memories began to appear. The boy... the boy you used to play with every day, laughing under the summer sun, pretending to be grown-ups before life pulled you apart. You had moved after a terrible storm destroyed your home, making you move out to your sister's home for a while and your own house had been renovated during that time. It was chaotic, and in the midst of it, the boy who once filled your days with laughter had simply faded into the background of your life.

"I..." You shook your head, confusion washing over you. "You were the one who gave me a lantern with a special message inside when we were kids?"

Suo nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "After you moved out, I was desperate to find you. I did, but you never spared me a glance. You were always so busy with chores, with life... and I was just a boy standing on the sidelines, watching."

His hands tightened around yours as he gently pulled you closer. "But apparently, I couldn’t stop thinking about you... even in the afterlife."

You swallowed hard, the weight of his confession sinking in. All this time, he had been holding onto memories of you, even as death claimed him. His wish, left unfulfilled in life, had somehow bound you two together in the strangest, most unexpected way.

He glanced at your family temple, where the spirits of your loved ones seemed to smile warmly at him. Even the white bunny was jumping around as if in celebration, as though the universe itself had conspired to reunite you two.

“So please give me a chance. I promise you that in the next life, whichever one of our many to come…I will always find you and love you.” you could feel it, you could see it, that he is really into you. Despite his interest in you all this time, it was strange to you that someone liked you, he saw you as more than the girl who did the dirty work of her parents.

But was it as easy as it sounded? To love him the way he loves you. In a week you had already seen it all and knew that there is no way to escape fate no matter what you do, no matter what life you live because what is written for you will happen unless you want to write your own story.

The boy you had left behind when life pulled you away. Tears welled up in your eyes as you realized that, you had always been connected despite the years and the distance.

"I remember you now," you whispered, voice trembling with emotion. "You were always there... and I forgot." A pang of guilt struck you, but Suo’s gentle smile reassured you that you hadn't done anything wrong.

"You didn’t forget," he said softly, brushing a stray tear from your cheek. "Life just happened. But we were always meant to find each other again.”

The idea of destiny suddenly feels more real than ever before. It was as if fate had tied this entire journey tightly, leading you back to him—even in death. You couldn't deny it anymore. You were bound to him, not just by circumstance, but by something deeper that had always been there, waiting for the right moment to unfold like the lantern lights during a festival.

Suo leaned in slowly, his breath warm against your skin. “Can I?” He asked but your heart raced, your hands trembling as his lips brushed against yours, soft and tentative, as you couldn’t tell him yes. It was a kiss that felt like a promise, one that sealed the connection between your two worlds, between your souls. In that tender moment, everything seemed to make sense, and the talisman on Suo's hat glowed faintly, the word "爱" (love) appearing under the bright sun with that striking crimson color.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, your face was burning as you couldn’t see but were sure that you were redder than the color red. "I can’t believe my first kiss was with a zombie," you said, still holding onto his hands.

He chuckled, a slight blush coloring his cheeks. How that was even possible when his blood circulation should have been stopped, you didn’t know—after all, he wasn’t technically alive but you found yourself not caring anymore. Why should you care when the person in front of you really loves you and proves it? It was him. That was all that mattered.

"Well," he said, smiling down at you and squeezing your hands "here I am, having my first kiss with a living person." You both laughed, hands intertwined, surrounded by the quiet serenity of the garden. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to marry someone like him, it would be more interesting, especially since you have to balance two worlds now. You had nothing to lose, but you wanted to spend more time alone with him, to remember the boy who was once a part of your life and now will be with you forever.

Remember the dead even when they appear for you with a marriage proposal. Because there is something to see and hear, but mostly to feel. And he felt too alive when you started running towards the exit of the garden as he looked back to see the spirits of your family cheering and dancing with joy and your grandmother looked at him with that warm smile she only showed to you. Suo would be curious how his family would react if they too would hold a banquet in the world of the dead because…

“You are a blessing to my family.”

WEIRDMAGEDDON VICTIMS :: @maruflix @heartkaji @17020 @stunies @y2kuromi @seneon @littleplantfreak @meidiary and special thanks to @kiurona for suggesting the idea and working with me and @nyxypoo for doing a beat read

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moonselune · 8 months ago

Text

By the Silk That Binds us

Matron!Minthara x Forced!Betrothed!reader

An arranged marriage, enemies to lovers fic: part one, part two

CW: Gore, feminine drow reader

This is a pure indulgent fic inspired by @mimetoist 's request, I had so much fun writing this and I hope you all enjoy it though recognise there's a lot of lore here making it hard to leave up to people's individual interpretation/preference. Also I have been very flexible with the already in place drow lore, and have mainly made my own but hey ho that's what fanfic is for

⋆.˚✰ Minthara ⋆.˚✰

Matron Minthara Baenre stood amidst the ruins of House Liakyre, her blade gleaming with the blood of those who had dared to stand against her. The women of the house had been slaughtered, their screams now a haunting echo in the silent halls. Kyorlin and Lesaonar Liakyre, the last of their line, knelt before her, their heads bowed in resignation.

"Your blood will purge Baenre of any weakness," Minthara declared, her voice cold and unwavering as she lifted her blade, ready to deliver the final blow to the twins. House Liakyre had helped House Baenre in an hour of need and in the future that Minthara had for her house, no history of weakness could be permitted to live.

But just as the blade was about to descend, the bells of Menzoberranzan rang out, their peals announcing the new rankings. Minthara ignored them with a perfected arrogance, she knew her house would remain where it had been for centuries, at the top. Though to Minthara's shock, Kyorlin and Lesaonar began to shake, not in fear, but in laughter, a sound that filled the bloodied room with bitter irony.

"Why do you laugh?" Minthara demanded, her confusion mounting as she lowered her blade, but they did not answer. However, before Minthara could raise her blade once more to cease their apparent joy, one of her servants, pale and trembling, hurried to her side.

"Matron, you must come outside, immediately`.There is something you need to see." The murmured, the voice shaking in unbridled fear.

Reluctantly, Minthara followed the servant out into the open, glaring at the twins with a vengeful promise. She walked briskly with the servant towards the balcony, a few bodies strewn across it. The rankings were displayed prominently, and to her expectation, House Baenre remained at the top. What she did not expect was directly beneath it was the name she thought she had literally just eradicated: House Liakyre.

She spun back and stormed over to the twins, fury blazing in her eyes. "How is this possible?" she screamed. "Your house is decimated! Your women all lay breathless!"

Kyorlin, still laughing, met her gaze with a cold smile and leaned towards his brother. "Say, Lesaonar, how fortunate it was that our sister's handmaiden looked so similar to her. Anyone could mistake her corpse for our dear sister's."

"How right you are Kyorlin, how irritating would it be for some vengeful matron if she survived? Alive all along." Lesaonar wheezed out, his lungs battered from the beating he had received just moments prior.

Minthara's fury turned into a tempest and she lunged for Lesaonar, lifting him up by his bloodied robe. She knew immediately who they were referring to, you, the fifth daughter of the House of Liakyre, the only one she had not slain with her bare hands. "Where is she? Where is your sister?"

Before either of them could respond, a frantic messenger approached, bowing as low as they possibly could so not to direct her rage unto themselves. "Matron Minthara, you are summoned to the High Priestess's chambers. The Liakyre brothers are to accompany you - alive and harmed no further."

Minthara unceremoniously dropped Lesaonar to the floor, and motioned for her convoy to depart. Not before, however, she set the remains of House Liakyre on fire. Kyorlin and Lesaonar barely got out in time, and they only had moments to mourn before they were fetched by the High Priestess' servants themselves. Seemingly having predicted that Minthara would not assist them in their journey to the temple.

Her mind seething with rage and confusion as Minthara marched to the High Priestess's chambers. She burst in, with no respect for the authority before her, her anger barely contained. "What is the meaning of this?"

The High Priestess, seated with an air of calm authority, gestured for Minthara to hush. "Matron Baenre, calm yourself. You may be Matron but even you still bow to our sacred customs."

Minthara bit her tongue and bowed to the High Priestess in formal greeting, she was still Lolth's favoured after all. Minthara's bloodied armour dripped onto the polished marble floor and she was overall dishevelled. She then began to pace, an unfortunate habit she picked when she was unable to contain her rage.

"I apologise, High Priestess, but please may you enlighten me why I have been summoned here? I have much more urgent matters to attend to-"

"-Like the assassination of Y/N Liakyre?" The High Priestess interrupted and Minthara stood still. She turned to the High Priestess and her scowl intensified, she had an instinctual feeling that something was very much the matter, if the High Priestess was involved. The High Priestess smirked and gestured for Minthara to sit, reluctantly, she did.

"Minthara, I warned you when you started this campaign to purge House Baenre of any history of weakness, to disturb the delicate web of the foundation your family has thrived upon, that history would come back to disturb you." The High Priestess looked upon Minthara with a sense of twisted satisfaction. "It seems it finally it has."

"What do you mean?" Minthara gritted out, and the High Priestess handed over a piece of old parchment, a contract. Though the way it shimmered in the light, Minthara realised it was no ordinary contract, it was a binding vow. Minthara picked it up with a dreadful distaste and a pit formed in her stomach.

"That is a binding vow between House Baenre and House Liakyre, made between the respective Matrons from over a dozen centuries ago." The High Priestess began to explain, "It states that in return for House Liakyre's sole trade of their weaponized silk in the war against House Oblodra, House Baenre offers their protection and as security, if their house was ever brought to near ruin by their descendents' hands, and to ensure Liakyre's survival they promise a union between Liakyre's highest ranking surviving member and their highest ranking member."

"You cannot be serious-"

"As you have not yet married, that makes you, Matron Minthara Baenre the highest ranking member of Baenre and Y/N Liakyre the highest ranking of Liakyre. By this binding vow and Lolth's will, you two shall marry." The High Priestess announced, before taking a lower tone, "And no further harm may come upon House Liakyre, you cannot kill your way out of this Minthara."

Minthara sat there stunned, yet not in silence, "This is ridiculous."

"It is, as who would ever bring a house to near ruin and allow a survivor to bring forward such an ancient and specific binding." The High Priestess said venomously towards Minthara, though there was an undeniable smugness behind her words.

"That means she's here in Menzoberranzen she is-"

"-She is right here, Matron Baenre," You said as you stepped into the room, and the air stilled at your presence. "or rather, my betrothed."

Minthara stood up at the sound of your voice and turned to you. There you stood, alive and breathing. She covered her astonishment with a smirk and straightened herself out.

"If I knew I was meeting my betrothed today I would have washed their families viscera off my armour first," Minthara spoke to you with restrained contempt. "Apologies for your loss,"

"Worry not, if they were felled by the likes of you then they were deserving of death." Your insult did not go over Minthara's head and she tightly smiled at you. You stepped towards her. "I believe a formal introduction is required, I am Y/N Liakyre, remaining daughter of House Liakyre."

"I am Matron Minthara Baenre, Matron of house Baenre." Minthara introduced herself and the two of you bowed in recognition.

With a cold nod, you addressed the High Priestess. "High Priestess, may I summon my brothers? Considering they will be part of the Baenre household, it is only fitting for Minthara to meet them."

The High Priestess waved her hand in assent, and a servant was dispatched to bring Kyorlin and Lesaonar. Moments later, the doors to the chamber opened, and your brothers entered, their expressions a mix of defiance and unease. They had barely escaped death at Minthara's hands mere hours ago, and now they were expected to meet her as members of the same household.

Kyorlin, with his head held high, and Lesaonar, with a wary glance at Minthara, approached. The atmosphere was thick with tension, the echoes of the recent violence still fresh in the air.

Minthara's eyes narrowed as she regarded them, the memory of her blade poised over them still vivid. "These are your brothers?" she asked, her tone icy.

"Yes," you replied, stepping beside them. "This is Kyorlin and Lesaonar Liakyre. As my kin, they are now under House Baenre's protection."

Kyorlin gave a curt nod, his jaw set in a firm line. "Matron Baenre," he said, his voice steady but guarded.

Lesaonar, more cautious, managed a strained smile. "Matron Baenre," he greeted, though his eyes flickered with the memory of his near-death experience.

The High Priestess watched the exchange with a mixture of amusement and satisfaction. "It is good that you all meet now. The future of your houses depends on your ability to work together."

Minthara's lip curled in a faint sneer. "Yes, of course," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Welcome to House Baenre."

The tension in the room was palpable, a silent standoff between old enemies forced into an uneasy alliance. Your brothers, though wary, stood their ground, determined not to show weakness before Minthara.

After a moment, Minthara sighed, a gesture of reluctant acceptance. "Very well. If this is what Lolth wills, then so be it. But do not think for a moment that I will forget the past."

"Nor will we," you replied calmly, meeting her gaze head-on. "But we will do what is necessary for the future."

The High Priestess rose, signaling the end of the audience. "Remember, Minthara, Y/N, this union is blessed by Lolth herself. You will honor it, and through it, strengthen Menzoberranzan. Now go, and prepare for your wedding. The city awaits your union."

As you and your brothers moved into the grand, imposing halls of House Baenre, the reality of your new life began to sink in. The opulence of the Baenre estate was a stark contrast to the smoldering ruins of House Liakyre. The walls were adorned with intricate tapestries depicting the glorious history of the Baenre family, and the air was thick with the scent of power.

Minthara, however, made no effort to hide her disdain. She ignored your presence whenever possible, her cold indifference a constant reminder of her intent to make your life difficult. She left you and your brothers to navigate the labyrinthine corridors on your own, offering no assistance or guidance.

Kyorlin and Lesaonar, though wary, adjusted to their new surroundings with a surprising ease. They were determined to make the most of their second chance, throwing themselves into their studies and training with a renewed vigor. The opportunities at House Baenre were unparalleled, and they were determined to excel, if only to honor the memory of their fallen family.

One evening, as you were unpacking in your new quarters, Minthara appeared in the doorway, her presence casting a long shadow across the room.

"Do not think for a moment that you are welcome here," she hissed, her eyes blazing with barely concealed rage. "I will make your life as hard as possible, Y/N Liakyre. You may be under my roof, but you will never be one of us."

Before you could respond, a soft knock on the door interrupted the tense silence. A young acolyte, dressed in the ceremonial robes of the High Priestess, stepped into the room. She bowed deeply, her demeanor respectful but resolute.

"Matron Minthara Baenre," the acolyte began, her voice calm and clear, "I bring a message from the High Priestess. She has sent me to ensure that the union between House Baenre and House Liakyre goes smoothly, and that Y/N Liakyre is treated appropriately."

Minthara's expression darkened, her anger palpable. "And what exactly does the High Priestess deem 'appropriate'?" she spat, her gaze never leaving yours.

The acolyte met Minthara's glare with a serene smile. "She means that Y/N Liakyre is to be treated with the respect due to a member of House Baenre. Any attempt to undermine or mistreat her will be seen as a direct affront to the High Priestess and to Lolth herself."

Minthara's eyes narrowed, but she said nothing. The acolyte turned to you, her smile warm and reassuring. "If you require anything, Y/N, do not hesitate to ask. The High Priestess has instructed me to be at your service."

"Thank you," you replied, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside you. "I appreciate your assistance."

The acolyte bowed once more and left the room, leaving you alone with Minthara. The silence between you was thick with tension, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavily in the air.

"Do not think this changes anything," Minthara said finally, her voice low and dangerous. "You may have the High Priestess's protection, but that does not mean you will have an easy life here."

"I never expected it to be easy," you replied calmly. "But I will not be intimidated, Minthara. I will do what is necessary to honor my house and our union, regardless of your efforts to make it otherwise."

Minthara's lips curled into a sneer, but she said nothing more. She turned on her heel and left the room, her footsteps echoing down the corridor. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the challenges ahead. The path would be difficult, but you were determined to navigate it with strength and grace.

As the days passed, the acolyte's presence served as a constant reminder of the High Priestess's watchful eye. Minthara's attempts to make your life difficult were met with quiet resistance.

A few nights later the grand hall of House Baenre was lavishly decorated for your engagement ball. The air was filled with the mingling scents of exotic perfumes, the sounds of laughter and whispered conversations, and the soft strains of enchanting music. Drow nobles, dressed in their finest attire, moved about the room like shadows, their eyes ever-watchful and calculating.

You entered the hall, your presence drawing immediate attention. Your dress, crafted from the finest spider silk, shimmered in the dim light, the intricate patterns woven into the fabric telling the story of House Liakyre's storied past. Your hair was adorned with delicate jewels, and around your neck, a bejewelled necklace you had managed to retrieve from your mother's corpse.

Minthara watched you from across the room, her eyes narrowing as she suppressed the unbidden surge of attraction that your appearance invoked. She was dressed in her battle regalia, polished and gleaming, a stark contrast to your delicate finery. Her jaw tightened as she saw the way others looked at you, their admiration clear. She had never felt such conflicting emotions before—pride in your elegance and skill, and an unwilling envy at the attention you garnered.

As the evening progressed, it was time for the traditional engagement tasks, meant to prove the devotion and compatibility of the betrothed. Minthara and you were called to the center of the hall, where a hush fell over the crowd. The first task was announced: together, you were to take down a Hook Horror, a fierce creature known for its deadly claws and tenacity. The task was designed to test not just your combat prowess, but your ability to work as a team.

The creature was released into a large, circular arena set up within the hall, its monstrous form towering and menacing. Its chitinous exoskeleton gleamed under the torches, and its eyes glinted with a predatory intelligence. The crowd watched with bated breath, eager to see how the new alliance would handle such a challenge.

Minthara stepped forward confidently, her blade already drawn. "Stay back," she said with a smirk, her voice dripping with condescension. "I'll handle this. Just take a seat and look pretty."

Before Minthara could advance, you moved with a speed and precision that left the audience gasping. You drew a length of your house’s enchanted silk, a weapon as beautiful as it was deadly. With a flick of your wrist, the silk looped around the Hook Horror's neck. The creature let out a guttural roar, thrashing about in an attempt to free itself, but your grip was unyielding. With a swift, practiced motion, you tightened the garrote, the silk slicing through the thick exoskeleton as if it were mere cloth. In a final, fluid movement, you decapitated the Hook Horror, its head thudding to the ground with a sickening finality.

The hall was silent for a moment, stunned by the efficiency and lethality of your actions. Then, a murmur of approval and admiration swept through the crowd. Minthara stood there, her blade still raised, a mixture of surprise and frustration on her face. She had underestimated you, and now, in front of everyone, you had proven your worth beyond doubt.

You turned to Minthara, your expression calm and composed. "I believe that completes the task," you said, your voice carrying a hint of amusement.

Minthara sheathed her blade, forcing a tight smile. "Indeed," she replied, trying to mask her irritation. "You have proven yourself quite capable."

As the evening continued, the tension between you and Minthara was palpable. Yet, there was also a grudging respect growing between you, derived from the recognition of each other's strengths. Minthara couldn't deny the skill and poise you had displayed, and while it irked her to no end, it also intrigued her.

#baldurs gate minthara #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 tav #baldurs gate tav #baldurs gate iii #minthara baenre #minthara x reader #minthara #matron!minthara #matron!minthara x reader #matron!minthara baenre x reader #enemies to lovers #arranged marriage #minthara x tav #minthara bg3 #minthara x drow!reader #au

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milykins · 2 months ago

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Hello my dear! ✨️

I was curious if you might be able to write a little something fun/fluffy with Mikey for this prompt:

"Sorry, you're just my type."

I'd love to see what you could come up with for this. Thank you!

🫂💖

Finally ready to post! I hope this doesn't disappoint. I had fun putting my own nerdy spin on this ask and putting it in my AU where they already live among humans just worked really well for this prompt. Thank you for it!

TW: None, set in an AU where they live in the city and have jobs/own businesses. Aged up, adult turtles

Special thanks to @sophiacloud28 for beta reading!

Just My Type

Mikey was kind of a big deal. He was the first of his brothers to go ‘public’ once they had made the decision to reveal themselves. Predictably, Leo had advised him to go about it carefully. Raph followed suit, and Donnie especially. Both were planning to take careful baby steps and advised Mikey to do the same.

Funny that they expected him to listen, did they even know him? Unsurprisingly, he went hard, very much putting himself out there. To him, the choice was easy. If they were to live among the humans, he needed to show them that they meant no harm. The incident at the police station was a painful reminder of how bad things could go and he was willing to do whatever it took to prevent that. Mikey was steadfastly dedicated to shifting humanity’s perspective from ‘monsters’ to ‘heroes’.

To his delight, the expressed reception was largely positive. He was very pleased that his efforts had paid off. Perhaps a little too well. Mikey ended up with a huge fanbase in a matter of months. His popularity exploded across social media and he even appeared on a few talk shows.

Opening his comic book store was huge. People camped outside with lineups around the block for the grand opening. The rush of customers and fans was so intense that Mikey actually had to call his brothers in for assistance. Raph had been more than happy to act as a bouncer for his little brother.

He was quickly becoming very familiar with the term ‘be careful what you wish for’. Our hero in orange was there. The constant fans demanding pictures, autographs, even trying to steal his mask… (he’d lost four so far) had been grating on him a little. He’d been wondering if his brothers were right in telling him he should’ve approached humanity more carefully. Leo certainly had no problem pointing it out. ‘You asked for this, Mikey. What did you expect?’

He couldn’t say. He’d just wanted what they all wanted. Acceptance. Now, it looked like he’d bitten of more than he could chew.

Then you came along.

He’d been watching the day you nervously approached the door. Carefully, you placed your hand on the door handle before abruptly drawing it back like it had been burned. Turning on your heel you left fast, caught up in your own mortification. Stifling a soft chuckle, Mikey went back to his work.

You proceeded to do this twice more over the coming days much to his growing amusement. He couldn’t help but be intrigued and was patiently waiting for the day you summoned enough courage to actually enter the store.

Obviously, you were a huge fan. He was flattered of course but he could tell something was different about you. Typically, his fans had no fear in approaching him and most had even less shame in throwing themselves at him. He found your hesitancy and careful approach to be endearing and a refreshing change.

His heart soared the day you finally summoned your courage and asked to be a part of his weekly one-shot D&D afternoon gaming sessions. Of course it was a resounding yes from him. He was perhaps a bit too enthusiastic as he was more than happy to include you.

It was a wonderful thing to see you blossom during the session. To see your confidence grow as you slowly came out of your own proverbial shell. You’d played before, he could tell. The adorable accent you put on as you fell into the role of playing your character nearly dropped him on the back of his shell. It was so cute. He delighted in the fact that you did not need much help in calculating your rolls either. He was really trying to tamp it down but he was already smitten. Soft, sweet, pretty and shy, but hiding this confident player underneath. You were just his type.

As the session came to a close, he felt a surge of pride upon being thanked by you. A wholly grateful smile on your face. Humbly accepting the praise, he secretly hoped this wasn’t the last he’d see of you. To his relief you shyly approached him after the game, not to ask for a picture or an autograph but to ask if he knew of any D&D groups accepting new members. Hope bloomed within him as he explained that actually there was one. His heart fluttered in his chest as he watched the excitement in your eyes grow. It was a done deal. You were invited to join his very exclusive, only reserved for family and close friends… D&D group.

Those sessions were the most enjoyable he’d ever had the pleasure of dming. Seeing you attend his games became the highlight of his week. You and he soon struck up a solid friendship and for once in his life, Mikey was trying his hardest not to come on too strong. He didn’t want to screw this up by any means. He wanted you to call the shots and was secretly hoping that you liked him as much as he liked you.

Oh, he was in deep. He began noticing the subtle nuances in your behaviour, little things unique only to you. How your cheeks flushed pink when something embarrassing happened or when he’d teased you in-game. Your expression of pure satisfaction and excitement as you rolled a perfect nat20 and your contradictory one of utter disappointment and dramatic woe when you rolled a nat1. He found himself craving these moments, just to see how you’ll react. Truthfully, he’d fudged at least one roll just so you’d have a success instead of a failure. He needed to see the look of pure joy on your face. He wanted to be the cause of that joy.

One day, he couldn’t help it. He had to ask you out. Saying he was nervous was an understatement. You’d think having such a huge fanbase would’ve prepared him for this but alas no. He was still a shy, stuttering mess when he’d quietly suggested dinner and a walk after.

At your soft, surprised yes, he nearly cheered with an overly enthusiastic fist pump. Instead, he tugged you in for a tentative hug and quietly told you how happy that would make him. He had to really hold back from kissing you as your faces grew close. Shyly, you pulled away first to tell him you’ll see him there. He watched you turn with a small wave and a tiny excited smile. You were so adorable it hurt.

The date itself seemed to be a success. He wanted you to be wined and dined, wanted you to feel special, like a princess. He tried to be an absolute gentleman while putting his best romantic foot forward. To his delight, you seemed to be having a wonderful time. If your wide smiles and soft bouts of laughter were any indication. By the time he was carefully holding your hand while walking with you through Central Park he’d thought he'd made it. Reading your body language and how you had glanced up to his face a few times while your cheeks flushed so prettily. He took the cue and leaned in for that once-in-a-lifetime first kiss. It was going to be perfect.

It was… until you pulled away at the last second. Mikey felt as though his heart had dropped into his stomach. Concern laced his features as he searched your face to find out where he’d gone wrong. Then you started talking, your voice stuttering and unsure.

“I’m sorry… I just… I didn’t think you really liked me like that…”

His heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vice. “You… you don’t feel the same way… do you?” There was no hiding his disappointment this time. He watched your eyes widen as you struggled to pick your next words carefully.

Your tone changes then as you shake your head and then nod, stammering a bit. “Wait, wait, wait! No, I do! I do like you, Mikey… I just didn’t think you’d go for me, I’m nothing special… not like those fangirls of yours. Aren’t they more your type?”

This was the answer he’d least been expecting to hear. He’d been sure you were going to let him down easy… that your heart belonged to another… more human guy. Not a mutated turtle guy.

“Not my… you think that they…” His mind was absolutely blown. This gorgeous, sweet woman thought that she wasn’t good enough for him? That was it, he was in love.

“Sweetheart… sorry to disappoint you, you’re just my type. Exactly my type. You’re the only woman I want to be with. The one that knows the real me.” He gave you a truthful and tender smile as he carefully tucked an errant curl behind your ear.

This time, when he moved in for that kiss, there was no hesitation on your part. He wanted you to feel the joy and tenderness he poured into it, right down to your toes.

A tightening of your grip and a deepening of the kiss was all he needed to know that you did feel it. He’d found what most people had been searching for their entire lives. A deep connection you both shared in the depths of your souls. To heck with ‘types’ he just wanted you.

Until the next ask!

Taglist:

@danceingfae @thelaundrybitch @iridescentflamingo @redsrooftopprincess @ninnosaurus

@the-cauldron-witch @thepinkpanther83 @avery73 @adebauchedsloth @sophiacloud28

@definitely-canon @scholastic-dragon @truffle-reblogs @fyreball66 @yorshie

Please ask if you'd like to be added!

#tmnt #tmnt bayverse #michelangelo #bayverse mikey #bayverse mikey x reader #bayverse michelangelo x reader #answered asks #my writing #aged up characters

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harunayuuka2060 · 1 year ago

Text

Idia: *trying to hide his face with his hoodie*

Grandma MC: Are you alright, son? *has gone to the supermarket with him*

Idia: Yes, Granny. Um... People are just staring at me enviously, especially the hunks. What if they approach and beat me up?

Grandma MC: Oh, why would they do that? You are a handsome and kind boy. Unless they're a bully, of course. *smiling*

Grandma MC: If that does happen, Granny will protect you.

Idia: No thanks, Granny. I say we run instead of fighting. That's our best option.

Grandma MC: *chuckles* If you say so, son.

*A random man approaches them.*

The random man: Hi, miss. You look beautiful like the summer breeze. Would you be interested in having a dinner date with me? *winks then smiles*

Idia: ...

Idia: *pulls out the pan they bought and hits the man with it*

The random man: *falls to the ground*

Grandma MC: Oh dear.

Idia: ...

Idia: Oops. Let's run now, Granny! Quick!

Grandma MC: *laughs heartily as he drags her away*

Malleus: I'm proud of you, Shroud.

Vil: We didn't expect you are also this overprotective.

Idia: *annoyed* Look. I had no choice, okay? The guy cringed me enough.

Malleus and Vil: *laughs*

Grandma MC: *talking to Ortho*

Grandma MC: Idia will be a fine husband someday.

Ortho: You think so, Granny?

Grandma MC: *smiles* Yes. I hope I get to see him marry someone he loves.

Ortho: That's... still in the distant future, Granny.

Grandma MC: Oh, is it? *chuckles*

Grandma MC: It doesn't matter. Everyone can walk on their own pace.

Ortho: ...

Ortho: Granny, because of the Sundrop flower, you're going to have a longer life. Right?

Grandma MC: *smiles* My grandchild, I only wished from the flower to make me young on my remaining years.

Ortho: Huh? But...

Grandma MC: Please don't tell the others for now. And don't be sad. This Granny has better plans for herself. *smiles reassuringly*

Ortho: ...

Ortho: *smiles* Okay, Granny.

Idia: Ortho? What are you and Granny discussing there?

Vil: They might be making fun of you, Idia. *smirks*

Idia: No way. Granny's like an angel. Isn't that right, Granny?

Grandma MC: *smiles* I was just telling Ortho of how happy I would be if I see you get married someday.

Idia: ...

Idia: I'm sorry for disappointing you, Granny. But I don't see that ever happening.

Ortho: Idia, you can't just predict the future like that.

Idia: It is. My goal in life is to live with cats, to be honest.

Vil: Maybe we should ask Leona if he has a relative a bit younger than him to introduce to Idia.

Idia: Hey, stop that!

Grandma MC: *chuckles*

Malleus: How about me, Granny? I don't mind getting married sooner. Just so I could fulfill your wish.

Grandma MC: That's also fine. But marry someone you love and someone who values you as much as you do to them.

Grandma MC: Don't rush this kind of important decision. *smiles*

Idia: See? Granny is the only one sensible here. You all are bragging just because you're not an introvert like me.

Vil: Oh shut up, Idia.

#twisted wonderland #twst grandma mc #twst idia #twst ortho #twst malleus #twst vil

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youcouldmakealife · 7 months ago

Text

SOTM: Gabe/Stephen; a low-key occasion (pt II)

For the prompt: Stephen Petersen, Bridezilla

Follows from here.

“Unbelievable,” Stephen says. “What are they thinking?”

Gabe’s tired. He just wants to veg in front of the TV with his bento box and his fiancé, but even though Stephen’s supposed to be picking the movie right now, he’s scowling down at his phone instead, his expression the one Gabe can only describe as ‘wedding face’. Gabe’s started to feel dread every time he sees it, and today’s no exception, though tired still narrowly beats it out. “Who is ‘they’?”

“They can’t truly believe that this is an acceptable substitute for our napkins,” Stephen says.

“Wait?” Gabe says. “Substitute? What happened to the original ones?”

“They discontinued the colour,” Stephen huffs. “Of course.”

“They discontinued white?” Gabe asks. “How do you discontinue white?”

“Alabaster,” Stephen says. “Not white.”

“Steve,” Gabe says.

“That’s what it’s called!” Stephen says. “And look what they want us to use instead!”

Gabe is suddenly blinking at a picture of white napkins on Stephen's screen. Presumably they’re different than the napkins they originally picked, but if Stephen hadn’t told Gabe that, he doubts he would have known. They look like napkins. White ones.

“They look fine,” he says.

“This looks fine to you?” Stephen says, shoving his phone in Gabe’s face. “This?”

It’s honestly harder to see with Stephen’s screen an inch from his eye, but —

“Yes?” Gabe says.

“Ridiculous,” Stephen says, yanking the phone away. “At this point it’s getting easier to list the things they haven’t fucked up about my wedding day.”

“It’s my wedding too,” Gabe says, though honestly, that’s feeling less and less true lately. “Are you going to pick a movie, or—“

“I’m not in the mood anymore,” Stephen says,

Of course he isn’t.

“I need my laptop,” Stephen says, springing up from the couch. “I’m sure they’re still available somewhere.”

“Dinner?” Gabe says, but Stephen just dismissively waves a hand at him on his way out of the room.

“They’re fucking napkins,” Gabe says, but very quietly. Stephen has exceptional hearing, especially if the topic involves him.

“Did you say something?” Stephen calls.

Exceptional.

This isn’t a battle Gabe’s willing to fight today. “You need to eat your dinner,” Gabe calls back, but, as he expected, silence is his only response.

“Well,” Gabe says, and grabs the remote, listlessly scrolling through options while he eats. He’s not in the mood anymore either.

“I have heard rumours,” Stephen says.

“Tell me!” Dmitry says. “I love rumours.”

“Rumours about you,” Stephen says.

“Even better!” Dmitry says.

Stephen’s mouth twists, and Gabe turns away. It’s not like Stephen doesn’t know he’s hiding a smile when he does it, but at least there’s some plausible deniability. Stephen’s usually fine with Gabe laughing at him, but not if other people are there to see him do it, even if it’s just Dima.

“Apparently,” Stephen says. “At my wedding, you are planning on making a speech.”

“Is my duty,” Dmitry says. “As Gabe’s best man.”

“We don’t—“ Stephen says.

Gabe can already hear the speech about how they don’t have any best men or maids of honour because this is not a traditional wedding and the people in their lives shouldn’t be arbitrarily ranked by — he can’t do it. He can’t listen to it again.

“Stephen,” Gabe says. “He’s baiting you.”

“I’m not!” Dmitry protests, but he does it with a smile.

Stephen takes a deep breath. Gabe’s half predicting Stephen’s preparing himself to give the spiel anyway, half hoping he’s finally listened to Gabe about about the numerous benefits of conscious breathing. Physical and psychological effects aside, if Stephen is focusing on taking deep breaths, he isn’t saying something he may later regret.

Or saying something that he won’t regret at all, but Gabe certainly will.

“What will be involved in your speech?” Stephen asks finally, after several deep breaths. Gabe’s proud of him.

“It’s a surprise,” Dmitry says, still grinning.

Gabe is less proud of Dmitry.

“See, no,” Stephen says, puffing right up. There are deep breaths being taken, but Gabe doesn’t think he’s exhaling them. “That is not acceptable. There will be no surprises on my wedding day. Our wedding day, jeez, Gabe.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Gabe says. Not even under his breath.

“You thought it,” Stephen says. “What’s going in the speech, Dmitry?”

“I haven’t actually decided yet, Stephen,” Dmitry says. “What do you want me to say?”

“Oh, you want me to help you write it?” Stephen asks. “I can do that.”

“I meant—“ Dmitry says, then looks over at Gabe as Stephen springs out of his chair, probably off to grab his laptop. “That is an English saying, yes? ‘What do you want me to say’?”

“Yep,” Gabe says.

“Stephen knows that saying?” Dmitry asks. "He is just pretending to misunderstand?"

“Yep,” Gabe says.

“He is about to write me a very boring speech,” Dmitry says glumly. “Isn’t he.”

Gabe takes a deep breath. He still hasn’t exhaled when Stephen returns, laptop in his arms.

“Okay,” Stephen says, sitting down. “So what sort of tone are we trying for with this speech? Comedy, I’m sure, but what sort? I know you like to play the buffoon, but—”

Dmitry looks at Gabe, presumably for help. What he doesn’t know is that Gabe can’t help him.

Gabe shuts his eyes, and takes another breath.

“Would you stop breathing, Gabriel!” Stephen says.

Gabe opens his eyes.

“Oh come on, I didn’t mean it like that,” Stephen says.

“I am adding this to my speech,” Dmitry says. “I think it will get a big laugh.”

“I knew you had already started it!” Stephen says, spinning on him and pointing an accusing finger.

Gabe takes another breath.

#fic snippet #gabe markson #stephen petersen #dmitry kurmazov

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peachsayshi · 17 days ago

Note

About brutally soft reader x SUKUNA

I love how you write their dynamic with eachother and their daughter, especially the feelings she has towards SUKUNA and the small jealousy she feels just thinking about him and other women.

But I’ve got some thoughts

I understand her seeing the good in him and him being a great father but a great father isn’t always a great partner. He might have cleaned his mess up as far as she knows, we the readers of course know more.

You gave us some look into their past relationship and how toxic they were to eachother.

While people should stay in the present and look towards the future, her past shaped her. Does she trust him fully? Are there other feelings like resentment and anger she sometimes feels towards him, especially as she realizes how her daughter is growing up without two parents in the same house and how it will impact her?

While she loves her daughter, won’t she still have some anger towards him for having to take care of her all the time and work, while he has so much freedom?

Does she feel guilty for still liking him?

Does she have recurring nightmares or flashbacks as soon as she sees or talks about cheating? Does she see his cheating partner sometimes in the city and does she get that gut wrenching feeling.

There are a lot of questions I have regarding her character.

While you show the positive side of their co parenting I would love to see the negative aspects. How it impacted her her future (unexpected pregnancy), other relationships she had(parents, friends…), relationships with other men after sukuna?

How she sees her daughter, does her daughter miss him a lot or does she see a lot of sukuna in her daughter? Does reader still have some kind abandonment issues or trust issues with other people in her life because of the relationship?

Is it maybe the other relationship that seems to be on and off, that makes her yearn for sukuna who is not only her baby daddy but seems to be stable in life?

I hope it does not come off as aggressive or rude but I am really interested to see her have some female rage and anger she will express toward sukuna.

nonnie!! please don't ever apologize!! as a writer I live for these kind of questions!! I am just an awe that you that this fic made you this interested like I am truly beyond flattered. okay, okay let's break it down: "a great father isn't always a great partner" is the basis of what this story is about. regarding your question on trust, I will say that the reader does not trust him - he had to repair that trust himself. and it took him years to do it. the fact that he cheated on her isn't a small thing (to either the reader or sukuna). he lives with that mistake and the reader lives with that hurt. in one of my previous posts about them, I mention how all of this changed when sukuna found out you were pregnant. the thing is, he grew up with shitty parents. he wasn't about to turn into one himself. I don't think she resents him as much. because she truly didn't even think that he would step up to the plate and be an actual father to his child. she only revealed her pregnancy out of moral obligation, but she was clear that she doesn't expect him to be involved. the fact that sukuna is putting in the effort is more of a surprise to the reader herself.

now regarding the freedom thing, I definitely think that's more of a choice on the reader's part. sukuna wants more team, but our reader keeps the boundaries for a reason. let's not forget that she knew and loved sukuna at his worst. saw how irresponsible he could be. saw how selfish some of his actions were. I think a small part of her believes that if she isn't too cautious, he might slip up. that's the reader taking control of a situation that she cannot predict. I don't think she feels guilty for liking sukuna, I think she's scared that those feelings are still there. how could she still want someone who hurt her in that way? how could she think it would be safe to go back to him? that's what I was really trying to portray in the updated part of their little story. without giving away too much of the story, she definitely does bring it up in conversation with sukuna and it's an extremely sore point for both of them. it's the only time she sees how small he looks in her eyes. he carries so much shame with that mistake, with that woman...

oh there definitely will be some insight on the negative aspects - but it will be framed in a way to show sukuna's growth. the point is to highlight his redemption journey, rather than him being a shitty guy. however, that past still exists in both his and the reader's memory. and regarding abandonment and trust issues: they both definitely deal with it in their own way. in this particular case, it's sukuna who gave did it to her. his parents did it him.

I briefly talk about sukuna's childhood, and how compared to his brother yuji he had to witness his parents because a healthy, loving couple towards his younger brother. sukuna never got any of that. and it kills him that the same abandonment and trust issues they gave him, he just off loaded onto you with his own shitty mistakes.

sukuna's daughter is so much like him in so many ways. you can definitely see that but you believe she got the best parts of sukuna rather than the worst. and he only wants to show her the good, not the bad.

I hop this answers some of your questions! I really can't wait to explore more parts of these two - and see how their dynamic unfolds. I think as of now, sukuna simply resigns in his role as being your baby daddy and nothing else. he really wants to show you that you can rely on him, but it just isn't that easy for the reader to give in to him like she used to.

#anon.💌#brutally soft #baby daddy sukuna x reader #sukuna x reader

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supernatural-bias · 1 year ago

Text

𝐈𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

↳ summary: you befriend a cat and somehow end up having to save new york in the process. or; a reader insert of season two episode twelve, of rats and men

↳ warnings: some mentions of violence, and one slight sexual innuendo

↳ notes: part two to this tmnt series that i'm doing. reader is autistic and a bitch. again, it can be read as a stand alone, but it's more enjoyable if you read these in order. once again, mainly a reader insert with a slight lean to a budding relationship between donnie & reader. can be with any other turtle if you want

↳ song: turtle power—partners in kryme

part one | next part | masterlist! | commissions! | carrd

"I know they said that pizza was gluten free, but I definitely tasted gluten."

The cold wind of a New York afternoon nipped at your heels as you meandered down the sidewalk, three figures in tow. Rocks and stray bits of litter dotted the crooked sidewalk, occasionally brushing an untied shoestring of yours.

It was the weekend. A time when school was at the back of your mind and pizza in the front. You had been called up by April this morning whilst lounging in bed, a sense of urgency in her voice as she invited you out with her and Casey for lunch. From the sound of it, she had been asked on a not-date-date again and was relying on you to break the ice. And since you were such a good friend, you changed out of your ratty pajamas to catch up, cursing teenage love under your breath all the way.

It was only after pulling up to Antonio's with a blank expression that you'd saw Irma loitering outside at the same time, tossing a limp wave to her as you both headed in to join your collective friends. Predictably, Casey hadn't been very happy to see either of you, and you responded by politely sticking him with the bill.

Now the four of you were walking aimlessly. Not in the direction of anyone's apartment, which was to assume that you knew where Irma lived. Which you didn't. You weren't sure you were on that level of friendship with her; or any level of friendship really.

Caseys bike ached and creaked with age as he pushed it along beside him. Occasionally you'd find yourself looking back at it, as if expecting it to fall to pieces at any moment. You wonder how long he'd had it for; and why he insited on bringing it along with him if he thought this would have been a romantic getaway. Maybe he was hoping to go on a couples ride or something. The thought of it made you smile wryly.

"Thanks for hanging out with us on our date, Irma." Casey cleared his throat, sending a dry look the purple haired girls way. "We really needed a chaperone."

At that last bit he sent a pointed look April's way, who whistled as she pretended to hear nothing.

"Anything I can do to help." Irma responded, nonplussed.

"Who said that was supposed to be a date, Jones?" You questioned whilst playing with your hoodie strings. "Pretty sure I heard April call it a hang out when she asked me to come."

You heard the squeak of his bike hesitate before continuing, most likely taking your words with a grain of salt.

He might have responded to your poking with some of his own, if a sudden shadow hadn't darted out onto the sidewalk, stopping Casey dead in his tracks.

The beady red eyes of a rat stared curiously at you all as the hockey player jumped three feet in the air, immediately pushing his bike out in front of him as a makeshift barrier. It skittered off once deciding you weren't of any use, dissapearing down a sewer drain.

"I can't belive someone as big as you is afraid of a little rat!" Irma smirked. Or smiled. You could never tell with her. Casey just frowned in response, looking a little embarrassed.

"Well I can't belive that rat was afraid of this adorable kitty!" April kneeled to the ground inbetween Casey and Irma's bickering, picking up a mangy tabby that looked like it had seen better days. It yowled a little at her touch, squirming uncomfortably. You hadn't seen the animal before, but now there was no doubt in your mind that that's what the rat was running from.

"Give it here." You held your hand out to April, then hesitated and repeated yourself in a more softer tone. She looked at the cat and then you before shrugging, handing it over.

Immediately after securing your hold, you picked it up by the scruff. It's fussing ceased, and you took the moment to run a hand down it's neck, all the way to the back of it's tail. After a moment or two, it began to purr like a well oiled machine, leaning into you.

"Wow! You're really good with animals." April awed with her hands clasped.

"Not really. Raph tried to kill me when I first met him." You offhandedly mentioned, still running a concentrated hand down the cats back.

"Who's Raph? Is that your dog?"

You stilled as Casey and April exchanged nervous looks. No one answered Irma's question for a second, surely garnering suspicion from the fourth party.

"Uh, sure Irma. My dog."

"Hm." She pushed her glasses up and squinted at you. "What breed is he?"

You blinked. Your hand came down on the cat a bit harsher this time, resulting in a hiss to sound.

"He's a poodle!" April cut in. "Now can we get a move on? It's getting kind of cold." She looked happy to change the subject, even faking a shiver for effect.

"Sure. Your place this time April?" Irma said as she smoothed out nonexistent wrinkles along her skirt.

"Actually, I was hoping me and Red here could head off. You know. Alone." Casey slung an arm around April with a less than genuine gap toothed smile.

"If alone means with me and April, then yeah." You didn't miss the way April tossed you thankful look as you spoke. "We've got to find some place for this cat, and I'm not exactly fond of bringing it home to my parents. They've already got their hands full with, er, Raph."

Irma stared at you all unimpressed. April tossed her a sheepish smile while hopping on the back of Casey's bike; the former looking happy at the premise of her holding his waist. You just rolled your eyes.

"Sure. I'll walk beside you guys. No biggie."

"Hey, did you want to be the one to hold onto Casey's back?"

"Nevermind. Carry on."

The three of you parted from Irma, tossing seperate waves of your own back at the girl as she grew farther away. Her deadpan look never once faded.

"So. We're all thinking of bringing this to the guys, right?"

April and you nodded at Casey, immediately steering towards the closest alleyway as soon as Irma could no longer be seen. The cat stiffened in your arms at the change in scenery. With a gentle whisper to settle down, you scratched behind its ears. A cough was the thing to break you out of the little trance.

"Having fun you two?" Casey said smugly. You glared at him as he parked his bike and leaned it against an alley wall.

"Stuff it, Jones." You flipped him off the best you could with a cat in your arms, starting forward to where April was wrestling with the manhole.

None of you heard the distant scream as you slid the cover open, sliping into total darkness.

You had come to expect an overwhelming greeting anytime you showed up.

Mikey launched himself out of Donnie's lab the second he'd heard your voice. Nevermind that you were talking with Leo, nodding your approval at the showing of Space Heros on TV. You weren't even sure that Mikey registered that. Once he had his sights set on something, he was like a missile. A very loud very playful missile.

No sooner than stepping a foot into the living room, you were tackled with a exhale of air, falling over while somehow managing to keep the cat from clawing your face off. An impressive feat if you do say so yourself.

"You're back!" Mikey screamed your name, hitting his forehead on your chest with a frantic smile. "We thought we'd scared you off!"

After a few weak growls for him to 'get the fuck of of me Michelangelo', you stood up and brushed yourself off. Mikey bounced excitedly all around you, thankfully not touching. You might have kicked him if he did.

"Dont worry bud. It'll take a lot more than just some mushrooms to get rid of me." You eventually answered, looking very unsurprised for someone that had just been tackled by two hundered pounds of turtle.

"Yeah! I bet you eat mushrooms for breakfast!" Mikey struck a very crude ninja pose. Something that almost made you laugh, considering he was an actual ninja.

"That's what humans do, Mikey. They literally eat mushrooms with their breakfast." Leo called from the couch. You couldn't see his face from where you were standing, but you could practically hear the eyeroll in his voice.

"Oh."

"I know what you meant. Don't worry dude." You waved it off. Mikeys smile returned in no time flat, and you could see questions about the cat bubbling in his throat as he moved on. You were quick to start moving, not really up for a tirade of questions at the moment.

The turtle skipped after you as you headed in the direction of Donatello's lab. His door was still ajar from when Mikey had sprung out of it, and you could hear the faint clinking of lab equipment drifting from it.

"Did anyone order a flea infested cat?" You said as you strolled in, ignoring the many warning signs plastered around the room screaming at you to not enter.

You watched as Donnie looked up from whatever he was doing with a glowing green beaker, face breaking out into a smile at the sight of you. For a moment you did your best attempt to smile back, and it seemed to only increase the size of his. At least before his eyes dropped to the animal you were holding.

"Hey hey hey! Don't bring that thing in here!" His arms immediately shot out to cover any of the open substances he was dealing with. You paid no mind to him, just strolling over to the opposite side of his desk and leaning against it.

"What. The cat or Mikey?"

"Both!"

"Hey!" Mikey whined and pouted at you, still evidently hot on your trail. You snickered, continuing your stroking of the cat that had haulted earlier.

Donnie took one more look between you and the stray before sighing. He seemingly gave up before turning back to his work, probably glad you were entertaining Mikey for a bit. It always seemed to go that way when you came down here.

"So Mike." You watched Mikey stick his tounge out at you at the nickname and you mirrored him. "How do you feel about getting a new pet?"

"Seriously!" He gasped. Donnie stiffened from where he was sitting but didn't turn around.

"Yeah." You shrugged. "We found him up top, and he seems to be tame enough. You might want to make sure he gets some shots though. For worms and all."

You knew everything you were saying was going one ear and out the other for Michelangelo as he reached out to pluck the cat from your arms.

"Aww look at you!" He gushed before proceeding to spout ooey gooey nonsense at the animal. You faked vomiting.

"And Donnie?" You yawned as you felt the after effects of lunch taking hold of you, stretching your arms above your head. "Before you ask, yes, April's here."

You didn't even need to turn around to know that the crashing sound was probably Donnie falling out of his chair with a dopey smile.

"So is Casey." You finished with a slight smirk. Looking back, Donnie glared at you as he pulled himself up, cheeks still tinted red.

"You just had to add that part in last didn't you?"

"Save the best for last as they say!" The confident call of Casey came from the doorway. You looked over to see him leaning against it, trying his best to look what he most likey thought was cool as April strolled right past him.

"Hey my dudes!" Mikey popped up from somewhere behind you to wave frantically at them. He was holding ice cream for some reason now. You'd learned not to question his ways a long time ago.

"I see you've already introduced them to the little guy we found on the streets." April smiled. You rolled your eyes as Donatello made heart eyes at her, stuttering something out about how charitable she was.

"Can we keep her Donnie?" An excited Mikey squealed.

"You know, Master Splinter is a rat." The question from his brother seemed to snap some temporary sense into Donatello, turning in place to cock an eyebrow.

"Yeah! What if that cat goes nuts and attacks him? She'll feed off his body for months!"

"Thanks for the visual, Casey." You walked over to flick him on the crown of his head. A few panicked noises and thumps came from behind you, but you were too busy relishing in the look on Casey's face to notice.

"Alright, well you guys have fun. I'm going to raid your fridge." You stuffed your hands in your pockets and rocked on the balls of your feet. Faintly, you noticed Mikey rush out of the room with something in his hands.

"But we just ate?" April tilted her head at you. You smiled at her without any real emotion.

"I never said I was going to eat anything. Just save it for later."

"I guess I'll come with you." Donnie looked at the wall above you, no doubt checking the time. "I could use a break."

"Sure." You shrugged and turned. "You guys going to stick around or—" The last bit was directed at Casey and April, but they just shook their head and began to follow you out. On the way to the kitchen you were all joined by Leo and Raph, eventually reaching the kitchen table.

"Mikey, please for the love of god stop making out with the fridge." You didn't spare anyone a second look before balancing on your tip toes to open a cabinet. Rustling around, you came up with a bag of marshmallows. Letting a celebratory smile loose, you stuffed it in your hoodie pocket for later.

"Master? Are you okay?"

You turned around. True to Leo's question, Splinter was lumbering into the room. And not looking to hot. You noticed he lacked his usual poise. Instead, he was slouching and blinking slowly. He looked groggy, and you wondered for a moment if mutant rats could have nightmares.

"I need ice for my head." He mummbled. "And also. Possibly a cheese-sicle."

"Cheese-sicle?" You asked Casey from the corner of your mouth. He shook his head with a look that told you he knew about as much as you did.

"No sensei! You can't!"

All of you watched as Mikey slammed the freezer door on Splinter. The speed of it took even you by surprise. Either he had become self aware of the cost of electricity, or Mikey'd lost his mind.

"No?" The room seemed to ice over with the amount of coldness in Splinters voice. Your eyes grew big, and you resisted the urge to start snacking on the marshmallows like a bag of popcorn at the movies.

"You tell me no?" Splinter was hissing now. Any joke you would have made flown out the kitchen. Much like Mikey's body as Splinter sent a punch to his plastron.

"Jesus fucking christ!" You scrambled back, your cry getting lost in everyone else's as they yelled with surprise.

Splinter lowered to his arms and legs like a feral animal, and you managed to get a glimpse at his eyes. Normally, they were the exact same color as Donnie's. But now, they were covered in a sharp red film. Much like the rat that had crossed your path not too long ago on the surface.

Everyone scrambled in different directions as Splinter launched himself around the room. You included. You found yourself up on top of the fridge somehow, looking down with eyes as big as saucers at the scene before you. The thought of the tazer you carry with you crossed your mind, but you immediately felt guilty afterward. This was Master Splinter. The one who had made you feel the safest down here after meeting them. And you had just contemplated shocking him.

You didn't have long to feel guilty though. The turtles all eventually wised up and lunged at their master, pinning all four of his limbs to the kitchen table with difficulty. He continued to writhe violently, and a bead of sweat rolled down your neck.

"Would it help if I jumped onto his chest?" You yelled out, trying to find some way to help. You were met with an astounding amount of no's as an answer.

A few more moments of grunting and struggling played out before you. It didn't take long for Splinter, or whatever had taken his place, to gain the upper hand. Kicking everyone away, he sprung up onto his legs again.

"I have got what I came for." A slight echo tinged his voice. "Soon New York, then the world, will be mine!"

It was then he collapsed, and you finally allowed yourself to clamber down from the top of the fridge. Dust littered the bottom of your arms and legs from how you had been clinging onto it.

"Master, are you okay?" Leonardo was the first to approach him. April next, asking the same exact thing. Splinter grunted lowly in response. You waited with baited breath from him to open his eyes.

You let out a sigh when he did. They were back to brown again.

"The Rat King." Splinter uttered somberly. "He has returned."

You noticed everyone but Casey exchange looks with each other, looking very disturbed at this news.

A brief moment of silence. You blinked twice before speaking.

"The rat who?"

The lair's TV screen blared in front of you. Images of giant rats crossed the screen, and your eyes were trained on a very shrewd looking blonde reporter.

You and Casey had been filled in durring the amount of time it took to help Splinter from the kitchen counter to the living room. Tales of mind control, scientists turned into monkeys, and thousands of rats danced around in your head. You looked no worse than Casey at the news, who had done a horrible job at containing his horror when learning about a literal rat army.

You had barely begun to wonder how the news was still on air when a rat launched itself at the reporter. She dropped to the ground with a scream, and the feed cut to static before you were able to see if she was okay.

"Why did it have to be giant rats." Casey moaned as he flopped onto the couch.

"Er, maybe you should sit this one out Casey." April suggested with a wince. Beside you Donatello allowed himself a smile.

"Do you think tazers could take those things down?" You half heartedly asked no one in particular. Raph crossed his arms and shook his head in your peripheral. You slumped from your spot on the floor with a frown. He patted your shoulder hesitantly. Maybe you could kick them to death instead.

"Donnie, are you sure you can't build a giant mouse trap?"

"Please don't subject my intelligence to something so meaningless." Donnie said your name, rolling his eyes as he messed with his t-phone.

"I bet you'd do it if April asked." You spoke into your hand, not caring if he heard. You heard Mikey laugh at that from somewhere in the distance. If he was anywhere near you, you would have offered him a high-five at the backup.

"Alright guys." Leo now was standing in the center of you all with his hands on his hips. He was doing what you called his Captian Ryan pose, and the sight of it made the corner of your lips twitch into a small smile. If you had to bet, he was probably imagining himself as the fictional character right now.

Master Splinter stood off to the side, watching his son. His own mouth was pulled into a tight line, and he looked the most serious you had seen him in a while. You took one more moment to study him before slowly turning back to Leo.

"I have an idea."

If there was one thing you knew for certain, it was that the turtles definitely did not have a driver's license.

A helmet clunked noisily against your head as you raced through downtown New York City. Rain pelted your vision, and you really regretted not asking for a pair of sunglasses ahead of time.

A four person race-cart sat beneath you, the seats filled by you, April, Donnie and Raph. The latter was driving, occasionally making sharp turns that would send you and Donnie clashing against each other respectively. You accidentally nailed him straight in his shell at one point, and now your elbow was throbbing something awful.

Screams floated to you from behind the cart. You knew if you turned your head, you'd see Mikey holding onto a rope and shouting his shell off, skating like his life depended on it. Which, technically, you guess it did.

The final piece de resistance was the giant foam cheese hat strapped to the top of his head. While you got fitted with an orange helmet that smelled faintly of pizza and sweat, he had been wrestled to the ground and forced to wear the yellow abomination. Apparently he was to be the bait for the giant rats, something that you got the feeling happened very often with him. The bait part you mean. Not giant rats. That was only a two time thing.

Casey was biking around somewhere a few blocks off, hitting stray mutants in the snout with his trusty hockey sticks. The only reason you knew he was still alive and kicking was the faint sounds of shrill screams bouncing off surrounding buildings. You might have laughed if you didn't feel like doing the same thing.

Another tight curb sent you face first into Donnie's lap. With a temper as hot as Raph's own, you scrambled up and yelled at the driver to watch it. You didn't even spare a glance at Donnie, skipping over how incredibly red his face had gotten.

"You try steering in this traffic!" Raphael shouted right back at you. You proceeded to make some not so nice gestures with your hands that April frowned at, the rain making you shake slightly in the cold, before falling back into your seat and awaiting part two of the plan. Something you'd named Grab That Turtle.

Mikey eventually got close enough to the bumper where you could grab his hand. With more effort than it would probably take a normal person, you snatched him up and into the cart. The result was a lovely three person dog pile in the back seat; something that you quickly remedied by pinching Mikey in the arms until he got himself and Donnie off of you.

You didn't even stop to yell at them. In exchange for that, you whipped out your tazer to sent a volt of electricity at a rat that had gotten too close, whooping excitedly when it yelped and fell back. It was nothing like what any of the turtles could have done, but that didn't stop you from feeling way too proud of yourself.

Your moment of celebration was cut short only when you noticed that you were no longer in the race-cart.

Cuts formed all along your face and arms as you tumbled out of the cart and to asphalt. You'd never wanted to discover what street tasted like, but you don't think you'd ever be able to forget it now.

Gravel found its way into your mouth and you felt something pop in your back as a slimey paw trodded on you. Before you could even gather enough strength to push yourself onto your hands and knees, a beak that felt too sharp and too precise for a rat closed around your middle.

Preparing for a quick snip and searing pain, you closed your eyes and grit your teeth. When it didn't come, you peaked an eye open. It was with much shock that you realized the rat wasn't attempting you eat you. Rather carry you, it seemed. Granted, it wasn't being the gentlest about it, but neither were you when you zapped it's brother on the neck.

At the thought of your weapon, you squirmed to try and reach it. Your attempts were stopped by the giant bite around you increasing in strength, practically cutting off all circulation in your arms now.

"Jesus! Fine I'll stop!" You snapped. It responded by dropping you and kicking you forward, growling when you hissed at it in pain.

For the second time that day, the world fell out from beneath you. Where the street should have been, a giant hole gaped. In the split second it took for you to fall through it, you recognized it as an entrance into the sewers.

"Urgh." Was all you could manage to say as the giant rat slid down the same hole, landing on you. Something made a loud cracking sound, and it was only after you felt the back of your head that you realized it had been you.

Your hand came back tinted with red. You glared at it before going cross eyed. And then nothing.

You awoke in a cage, next to the last person you wanted to see at the moment.

A spray painted mask stared back at you as you lifted your head up. It took you a moment for your eyes to adjust, but once they did, nausea slapped you in the face.

"God damnit." You groaned and rolled over. You tried not to vomit. Of course Casey had been caught too. Now instead of just him, the turtles had to rescue you too. Way to go.

Before you could say anything else, your mouth was quickly covered. With half a mind to bite him, you growled. Casey just hit you in the head and no so subtly pointed next to you.

When you turned, you were met with the sight of Irma, who looked thoroughly confused.

The place all of you stood suspended above smelled horrible, and looked worse. You were sure you looked right at home with your torn clothes and hair matted with blood. Casey didn't look that good either, but miraculously Irma didn't have a single scratch on her. The only sign she was even witnessing the same thing as you was the telltale quiver of fear in her eyes.

"Irma?" You questioned with a blink. "What are you doing here?"

"Remember how we went out for pizza?" She frowned.

You nodded.

"I got attacked by a giant rat thing after you left. I tried screaming, but no one was around to help."

You resisted the urge to wince at that last part. Yowch. That had totally been you guy's fault. It seemed like she knew it too. You'd have to take her out for a snack after this or something to make up for it.

"Hey, at least most of us are together now." You reasoned, looking over at Casey. "We can probably try to find a way ou—"

"I have no idea what you're talking about. I've never seen the two of you before." Casey grumbled, his voice a much deeper and much faker octave. You looked over at him with a crazed look in your eyes, not up for games. He just stared right back at you, silently gesturing to himself, his mask, and then a confused Irma while you watched.

"Fine. Whatever. Just, fucking, whatever mystery man." You grabbed the cage bars and hit your head against them twice before stopping.

"That won't work." Irma motioned to your head banging and did her signature move of pushing her glasses up. "I've been down here practically all day. Nothing budges these cages."

At the mention of more cages, you looked past your own to the outside. Sure enough, dangling a good ten feet off the ground and even more away from you, hung other people in mesh boxes just as reinforced as yours. Some cried, while most just looked horrified. They all shared that one thing in common, and you were sure they wished they didn't.

"Welcome esteemed guests."

"Oh please don't tell me it's this guy." You frowned.

"There's no need to fear, I will not hurt you. That I promise." A chuckle rang darkly through the room— cavern? it felt more like a cavern —that you were being kept in. You didn't have to think hard to figure out who it belonged to. It already reaked with enoigh pretentiousness.

Sure enough, when the figure stepped out of hiding and into the light, you got a good look at what had been described to you back at the lair. Tall, covered in bandages, and sporting a horrible choice of a trench coat. You barely held yourself back from booing at him, figuring that it probably wasn't the best way to go undetected. Casey didn't seem to share your carefully thought out sentiment.

"Let us out of here you freak!" He said, still donning his modified voice as he shook the bars to the cage. You kicked him in the back of the knee. A universal sign recognized all over the world to shut the hell up.

"All in good time." The Rat King echoed back.

You groaned and massaged your temples. This was really going to give you another tension headache, wasn't it.

You were left wishing for some Tylenol as your captor dove into an explination, calmly explaining how he had come to capture you. Something about rats, mutagen, science, rats, rats, his intelligence, and more rats. Probably. You stopped listening half way through and started feeling around the cage for anything sharp.

Right as you thought your search would turn out to be fruitless, your hand brushed against the bulk of your waistline. Cool metal met your hand, and with a start, you realized that they hadn't taken your tazer.

They hadn't taken your tazer.

Wracking your mind all the way back to after Splinter freaked out, you remembered the turtles telling you something. About how the Rat King used to be normal, before a freak electrical fire left him blind. Only able to see through the eyes of rats.

Your hand tightened around the base of the tazer. The words electrical fire bounced around in your head.

If a shock got him into this, maybe a shock could get him out.

You paid no attention to Irma as she dropped to the floor in a fainting stupor. The adrenaline and lack of food getting to her probably. You only felt somewhat guilty for your flippant attitude toward her well being.

Tapping Casey on his shoulder, you held a finger up to your lips. Even with his mask on, you could feel the confusion coming off of him in waves as you gestured down to your pants.

"Uh. Dude, you know I sort of have a thing with Red right?" He laughed awkwardly, stepping away. You glared at him with the force of a thousand suns before lifting up your hoodie to reveal the head of your tazer. Pointing out at the Rat King, you watched as his eyes widened in realization.

"I know you have something similar in those goalie gloves of yours Casey." You murmered. "When its our turn for whatever he's planning, let the rats drag us. But when it comes time for him to touch us, zap him."

"You think that will work?" Casey shuddered. You could only imagine that he was thinking about being touched by those rats again. And voluntarily this time.

"It better. If not, it might buy us enough time for the others to get here." You cracked your knuckles nervously. The look that Casey gave you made you tilt your head.

"What?"

"Nothing. I just forget how scary you can get when you're not yelling at me." He rubbed the back of his neck. "The guys should really start letting you come on missions with us."

You snorted and went to say something else. Maybe that he was crazy, or that you didn't quite hate the sound of that. Whatever it was going to be, you were cut off by the clashing of metal against metal.

The door to your cage swung open, and a furry paw grabbed you by the face. Struggling to breathe through the must of rat droppings coming from the living restraint around your face, you weren't aware that you were being lifted off the ground and dragged in the nearest direction of the Rat Kings makeshift lab. Somewhere in the shadows, five sets of hidden eyes widened. The other pair began to turn red.

"Here we have our first volunteer for the serum." The point of a needle came into view as the giant mutated rat dropped you. Brown fur stick to the inside of your mouth as you sputtered like a fish out of water.

Many cries for you to watch out came from the surrounding cages, New Yorkers feeling powerless while watching a teenager get stalked by a needle.

You grasped blindly at your waist. For a horrific split second, you could smell the sourness of his breath as he approached you. And then you felt your fingers close down around plastic.

Flipping the switch on your tazer, you sat up and poked him in the eyes with two fingers. Predictably, it did nothing but make him grunt in annoyance. But it was to his detriment. The action gave you enough time to scramble up and point the tazer at his face, rushing forward and sticking it right between his forhead.

"Suck my dick." You said heavily. Not exactly action hero movie material, but there would be plenty of time to worry about it later.

Blue light lit up his head and upper torso in a painful sparkle. Rats from all around screamed and squealed as their master fell to his knees, clawing at his face. Somewhere inbetween all the tiny cries, you thought you heard a much larger one and then a scuffle.

Your chest heaved as you turned on your heel to climb back up over the cage you had just been sitting in. An enraged cry followed your movements, and you were sure thousands of rats were now surging in your direction. Your only hope was that the zap had slowed all of them down, not just the Rat King.

You began to shimmy up the rope keeping Casey and Irma from falling. Old cuts from tumbling on the street earlier opened back up, staining the rope and ends of your sleeves.

Somewhere in the amount of time it took for you to get to the top of the rope, a fight had broken out underneath you. A part of your mind hoped it was Casey holding his own, and the other part really hoped it wasn't. You weren't sure how long his hockey sticks would hold under a tidal wave of sharp teeth and wormy tails.

Sparing a look down, your eyes were assaulted with flashes of green and silver. Surprise over took your features as you watched the guys emerge from the shadows, weapons batting away any adversary that dare to attack.

And was that—?

"Master Splinter?" You choked, and slipped down the rope slightly before scaling back up.

The sensei, sure enough, was in the midst of all the seperate battles. He appeared to battling with himself, clutching the sides of his head as he stumbled around.

A loud call of your name tore your gaze away from him, coming to settle on a struggling Mikey. He was balancing his nunchucks in one hand, and a blob of pink white and brown in the other.

"Mikey!" You yelled back, still hanging on to avoid the swarm of rats approaching. "Is that the cat I gave you? What the hell is going on!"

"We were coming to save you—" He stopped talking as he dodged another wave of rats before popping back up. "—and then sensei just went crazy! He's chasing after the Rat King now!"

You noticed that Mikey purposefully didn't answer your question about the cat, instead just smiling innocently. Filing it away for later, you continued to make frantic conversation.

"Is there anything I can do!?"

"Help get everyone out of these cages! We can't let any of the civilians see us!" Leonardo butted in from somewhere. You couldn't see him, but it sounded like he was wrestling with something. Nonetheless, you nodded, and positioned yourself in preperation to jump off the rope.

It worked. With dificulty, you managed to land on the top of another cage near to Casey and Irma's. It teetered dangerously in the air, and you swung your hands in a windmill like fashion to avoid falling off.

Grabbing at a lone rat that ran over your foot, you held it to the base of the rope. It squirmed in your clutch angrily before latching onto the fibers and chewing. It didn't take long before breaking through it, and you barely managed to grab onto the end of the rope as it seperated itself from the cage.

The cage fell to the ground in a heap. Smiling, you watched the doors lock break on impact and it's captors rush out. They looked back up at you for a second, and you gestured at them to go.

"Help the others if you can!" Was all you had time to say before jumping to another cage.

Rope after rope snapped under your efforts, and cages fell from the sky like rain from heavy clouds. By the time you had reached the last one, you hadn't even noticed that the fighting below had stopped. Now all of the people had fled, and giant rats lay defeated all over the ground.

You dropped from the last rope, chucking the rat you had been using as a makeshift saw into the distance, sincerely hoping that the stupid Rat King felt that.

"I think that's the last of them." Raph spoke. You saw him and his brothers perched on a ledge above you, and waved. Mikey was the only one to wave back, and what you now knew as his cat from earlier copied the movement.

"What about Master Splinter?" Leo worried.

"He can hold his own." You piped up, bringing the rest of their attention down to you. "And I'm pretty sure he's already won. I don't see any more rats scurrying around after all. Either the mental link has been broken, or your dad beat the Rat King."

The boys seemed to consider your words. Leaping down next to you, they all watched as Donatello placed a hand on your head briefly.

"You did a good job helping today." He grinned good naturedly at you as you swiped at his hands, trying desperately to fix your hair. His smile only grew as you stuck your tounge out at him.

"Whatever. Can we leave now? I'm about done with search and rescue missions for today."

Murmurs of agreement rang out, and you all started towards the exit and back to the lair. All you could think about as the turtles bragged on each other about their performance was a nice long nap. Preferably on their couch. Their nice, soft couch.

Master Splinter returned late into the night. His robe was dirty, and paws aching. But his heart lightened at the sight before him; all of his sons curled up in a deep sleep as you yourself snored on the living room floor. April and Casey weren't far off, slumped over in a sitting position as they slept.

Grabbing the remote from Leonardo's limp hand, he turned the TV's volume down. A quiet snort came from you, and Splinter watched as you reached out to grab at something. A soft smile spread agross his face as you latched onto the nearest thing, which just so happened to be Donnie's leg, and began to lean into it.

"Rest well my children." He surveyed you all, eyes shining. "You have done well today."

The door to his dojo swung shut without a sound, and Splinter fell into a deep slumber of his own.

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