#i manage to answer this in time (mostly but still. this is progress)

[letthestorieslive]

Trick or treat🤗

A (late) treat for you anon !

Scott has never deleted the voicemails that Kira left him before seeking help alongside the skinwalkers. It's saved on his phone and he listens to them from time to time.

He listens to it when he needs encouragements because if someone can do it (even if it's a small or unimportant task), it's him.

He listens to it when he brutally wakes up from a nightmares in which her voice was all distorted, and wrong, and full of dread. When he needs to remind himself how she sounds, alive and rambling.

He listens to it to remember that she had to go, for her. And that she will come back. And that never failed to fill his chest with hope.

[spatialwave]

"my ambition" - part one

pairing: jayvik x fem!reader word count: 1k tags: mdni! semi-nsfw, fluffy, poly relationship, reader has a chronic illness, no use of y/n, not beta’d. notes:no summary bc it’s very short n sweet and mostly just some fluff!! will probably write a part 2 to this or use this fic as a base for future one shots hehe. reminder that my ask box is open! 🩵 credits: art by @/shuploc & divider by @/cafekitsune on tumblr!

part 2. ->

“No, no, this doesn’t make sense.”

The flickering flame of several candles lit up the darkened apartment as Jayce sat over a scattering of papers. His back hunched, eyes tired, stubble unshaved and fingers tracing over the writings on the parchments. Forever studying and analyzing ways to work with the hextech, to improve upon it and use it to help others. To help you, and Viktor.

“Sleep is good for the brain.” A tired voice spoke from behind him.

There was a quiet groan that erupted from deep within his chest, a reprieve from the chaos in his mind, as he rested back against the wooden chair that creaked beneath his weight. Your hand, a delicate touch, trailed over his bare shoulders as he worked late in only his nice pair of trousers that were gifted by the Kiramman family.

He hadn’t taken a single moment of rest since a meeting with Viktor and Heimerdinger earlier that day to go over progress of the hextech research. They had hit a roadblock, having advanced so far, yet still struggling to find ways for it to help the people, rather than just Piltover.

Hextech was more than a tool to better run the city and improve upon its trades within Runeterra. If only he could find a way to stabilize the crystal.

“You’re overworking yourself, Jayce,” you continued, arms now wrapping around his shoulders. Your chest pressed against the back of his head, hands palming against his muscled chest.

“I’m this close to a breakthrough,” the man sighed, finding comfort in your touch as he leaned back and let his eyes flutter closed, sleep heavy in his head, “Progress Day is three months away, and what do we have to show for it? An unstabilized crystal?”

Jayce was worked up like this more often than not, the work with hextech had taken the forefront for years now. Recently it had begun to consume him, but you were the recipe to keeping him sane. 

You were his rock, as he said.

“Hexgates, airships, robots,” your posh accent chimed as your body moved and you’d managed to sneak your way onto Jayce’s lap — ultimately severing the line between him and his work. 

Your chests pressed together, faces only a few inches apart as you stared into those honey-coloured eyes.

“Why do you always get so down on yourself?” 

Jayce stared at you, strong calloused hands settling on your hips as you straddled him. He had no ambition to answer, knowing very well that he was his own worst critic and you were his biggest supporter. 

“You’ll get there,” you continued, head ducking as your lips pressed to his jaw. The roughage of his stubble prickly against your lips as you kissed, trailing from under his chin to underneath his ear, “now, I haven’t had a chance to have you in over a week. I think I’m rather deserving.”

That roused a chuckle from him, a toothy grin on his lips as he allowed himself to relax under your touch. 

“I want to do this for you,” he murmured, head lulling back as you kissed down his neck, “something to help.”

“I know,” you soothed, one hand palmed at his chest as you pulled back, a finger touching his chin and tilting his face back to you, “I’ve made it this far, haven’t I?”

Jayce’s eyes opened, and it was like seeing you for the first time all over again. Beautiful and glowing.

Your sickness was well-hidden, a struggle you dealt with behind closed doors. Pain that erupted through your veins, left your muscles weak and skin burning. It came in flares — aches so painful it left you bedridden for weeks.

Once an Academy all-star, now confined to your apartment. You were thankful for Jayce and Viktor, the two most important individuals in your life.

“Now come to bed. I can’t remember the last time you’d managed to stay up later than Viktor,” you smiled, shifting off of his lap. Two quick breaths blew out the candles, and you’d managed to pull Jayce along behind you like a lovesick puppy.

You dropped the robe that had covered your body, revealing your half-naked body save for the underwear that hugged the curves of your hips. The mattress dipped under your weight as you crawled in next to a sleeping Viktor, who had retired to bed with you a few hours earlier.

He rolled onto his side toward you, a slender arm wrapped over your waist and bony fingers pressing into the skin of your hip. You pressed yourself against his frail chest, face buried as you inhaled his scent and Jayce slipped under the blankets on the other side of him.

“Finally wrangled him?” Viktor hummed, half-asleep, as both yours and Jayce’s warmth kept him tired.

“You’ve let him beat you again. You’re losing your drive for all-nighters full of bright ideas,” you murmured, nuzzling against him.

“I’ve long lost that spark,” Viktor mumbled, burying his face in your hair and sighing as he felt Jayce’s hands slide along his bare skin, “I’m a tired old man now. I can live with that.”

Jayce snorted, “I do it for the both of us then,” he murmured into his lover’s ear, breath warm and tickling his skin. A shaky breath trembled out from Viktor’s lips, tensing his arms around you.

You were quick to join in on the fun, lips attached to the base of Viktor’s throat as you left a trail of feather light kisses along his skin. One hand reaching down between his legs and into the briefs he wore.

“Can’t a man get rest?” he breathed out, squirming between you two. 

“No,” Jayce huffed, lips pressed to Viktor’s shoulders as he assaulted him with a flurry of open-mouthed kisses to his skin, teeth and lips dragging against him.

“Sorry, love,” you whispered, licking a line on his neck before suckling on the skin, “I may have riled him up in the kitchen.”

“How awful,” he sighed, though, there was nothing Viktor enjoyed more than having two lips and two pairs of hands traversing his body. 

He melted into the touch as the three of you consumed each other. Hands traveling over skin, lips connected, tongues lapping at each other and clothes ripped from bodies.

The three of you were the embodiment of love. On the worst days, there were no thoughts of giving up. You were each other’s ambition.

[reidmoony-toast]

could you maybe do like a one shot of Spencer x Supermodel!fem reader? Like she does runways for super popular brands like Versace and Victoria’s Secret?

Radiant. ౨ৎ

Spencer reid x fem supermodel!reader

content: established relationship, no use of y/n, spencer being down bad tbh, fluff

cw: Victoria's Secret show, so underwear yk (but no sexualising or anything)

wc: 2.3k

an: This is so exciting, hi first anon req!! I love you so much! Anyways this idea is amazing and I hope this is what you envisioned <3 This isn't my best work, but I tried 😭 Also I based the outfit off Karolina Kurkova's in a 2003 show, but its set in early season 7 soo forget that!

· · ──────────── ·𖥸· ──────────── · ·

“Is that her?” Penelope whispers for the hundredth time.

“No.” He huffs, tired of answering the same question for the past ten minutes.

“Patience, babygirl.” Derek chuckles from Spencer's other side. “He'll tell us when she's here. Maybe not with his words, but definitely with his eyes.” Derek flutters his lashes in Spencer's direction, clearly making fun of him.

“Both of you leave me alone, please?” He pleads, sick of their antics. They haven't stopped talking, and it's putting him on edge. He wants to appreciate today. Appreciate you. 

You had been desperately hoping to get this job with Victoria's Secret for months, and you were ecstatic when news of your hire reached you through your manager. You'd been raving excitedly about it ever since, and had begged him to finally come to a show.

He obliged, of course. Partly, because he can't say no to you, and mostly because he has been eager to see you in your element ever since you two had started dating.

Now, he is buzzing in anticipation, which is definitely not helped by Morgan and Garcia's constant remarks.

It wouldn't have been his personal preference to invite them, but you'd insisted, saying it was about time you met Spencer's friends, anyways. 

The show continues, scantily clad girls strutting down the catwalk, angel wings attached to their backs and sequins blinding, but still, you were nowhere to be seen. Spencer fidgets, waiting with baited breath. 

A figure emerges from the side of the stage, turning to strut down the walkway. He freezes, shooting up in his chair from where he was previously slumped. It was you. Undeniably. He could pick you in a sea of people from a mile off, if it came to it. 

His breath hitches. He takes you in. 

There you stand, in all of your glory. He can't quite believe what he’s seeing. Sure, you're self-assured in your everyday life, but this is on a whole new level.

You radiate confidence, striding down the catwalk like you own it. Spencer is utterly captivated by this different side of you that he has never seen in person before.

Sure, he's seen endless pictures—and even some videos—of your modelling, as well as the shows that take place in the comfort of your home; when you put on outfits and strut down the long hallway of your apartment, to loud enthusiasm from Spencer.

These particular one-on-one shows usually end in you dressing in progressively more atrocious outfits, until you’re both prone from uncontrollable laughter.

But this. This was real. It all hits him then—that you are a supermodel, that you do this for a living. That this is your life. 

His chest swells with immense pride at all you have accomplished. You've worked so hard, built your career from the ground up, and it has paid off. Your dreams have finally come true, and now, you're modelling in a Victoria's Secret show, which he is told (by you, of course) is world-renowned. 

“That's her.” Derek concludes smugly, no uncertainty in his tone. Spencer shushes him loudly, eyes fixed solely on you.

You don't falter for a single step as you glide down the stage. You're clad in a sparkly silver bra that glints off the bright lights, sequined mesh sitting below the bra's edge. 

A small pair of matching silver underwear sit below your hips, a glittering garter to match. And, of course, the wings. They protrude from your back, spanning above your head, magnificent and ethereal. Spencer thinks you ought to have a halo to match. 

The feathered angel wings trail down your back, sweeping across the floor behind you as you make your way to the end of the catwalk. 

Garcia and Morgan are saying something across him—most likely about you—but he pays them no mind, not caring for anything else but you, in front of him.

As you near the end of the perilously long stage, Spencer's smile only grows, until he is beaming uncontrollably when you slow to strike your pose. 

Spencer and his company have VIP tickets, courtesy of you, so he has an unobstructed view of you, directly in front of where he is sitting. 

Your hands rest on your hips as you lock eyes with the sea of cameras frantically snapping pictures. 

You look fierce, fiery, and Spencer somehow grins harder. 

As your eyes scan the room, they easily lock on Spencer's, not even ten feet away. His eyes are wide, smile larger than life. 

His lips move, mouthing words to you that you instantly understand, and you light up, a warm glow from within. 

‘I love you’

The luminous smile remains, even when you remember your surroundings. You pose again, grinning all the while and the crowd claps while shutters click incessantly. You pivot, sashaying off, but not before looking back over your shoulder to blow a cheeky kiss in Spencer's direction, winking.

It might just be Spencer's perception, but you seem to shimmer with incandescent light, like your very soul was set aflame with a soft fire. You are radiantly gorgeous—utterly perfect in the eyes of Spencer Reid.

The wink you sent over your shoulder makes him duck his head, face and ears bright red. He is the luckiest man in the world. To have you, all to himself. 

He is still grinning, even as you disappear around the corner. Maybe he is biassed (most certainly), but you were by far the most captivating model up there. Your every move seemed effortless—practised and perfected. 

You drew the attention of everyone, and you kept it. It felt as if the whole room had held its breath as you passed, too busy watching to remember how to breathe. 

Maybe that was just his singular experience. He wouldn't know, and he doesn't particularly care. 

As the show wraps up, Garcia and Morgan are raving—about you. 

“Spencer, I can't believe she is your girlfriend! She is absolutely stunning!” Penny gushes.

The first statement hurts him a little, like everyone thinks he can't possibly be dating a pretty model—but it's definitely true. The second statement, however, is the truest thing he's ever heard in his 29 years of life. 

Spencer chooses not to respond to Penelope, instead heading for the exit. They follow, and Morgan claps him on the back. “You're one lucky man, pretty boy.” He whistles suggestively, and Spencer brushes off his hand, mumbling something under his breath as he is suddenly interested in the craftsmanship of the venue floor. 

He found this hard. Blending his work and home life, introducing you to his family. It's not that he's worried they won't like you—that’s impossible, when it comes to you—it's more that he has trouble combining the two sides of his life in his head, given the fact that he is almost two different people in each. 

He doesn't bring his work home, and he doesn't bring his home to work—mostly. He does, sometimes (too often), ramble on about you and how downright amazing you are. He's only human, after all. 

Mostly, he's scared that it will be a mistake, that the two sides will end up being better off separate, that mixing the two now will have irreparable consequences. 

But, you wanted to, so he’s taking the plunge. For you. Always for you. 

~☆~

Spencer feels like he shouldn't be here. They're in the very depths of the building; models, designers and beauticians alike flit past them, paying them no mind as they go about their business.

He glances over his shoulder at the ajar door that leads to the dressing rooms every couple of seconds, in case you come through and save him from this place—which is the polar opposite to everything that makes him comfortable.

He's here for you, though, and he would endure this for you. Only for you. 

Morgan and Penelope stand a few feet away, at ease and chatting like this is the most normal situation in the world, like they've been backstage at thousands of Victoria's Secret shows.

Just as he's about to go into a nervous breakdown, he sees a flash of movement appear from behind the door. 

“Spence!” A shriek sounds as he turns to see you, bounding towards him. You throw your arms around his neck, nuzzling his cheek.

His hands come up to steady you, curling under the hem of your sweater. He feels instantly less overwhelmed, breathing you in like you're the oxygen he needs to live—like he can’t breathe properly when you’re not near.

You're draped in an oversized knit and comfortable track pants that engulf your frame. The irony wasn't lost on him—you were wearing nothing but showy undergarments not even half an hour ago. 

He loves that about you. That you aren't entirely defined by your job, that you have a part of your life and sense of self cordoned off; a part that isn't affected by the insane world of modelling. He loves that you can be yourself in so many different ways, that you have all these different facets. Just like a diamond, whose sides are all different, but every single one shines just as brightly all the same.

It inspires him to do the same for himself, to have a true self outside of his chaotic job that takes over most of his life. You’ve helped him see that life can be varied, diverse; that there are so many different things—other than one's job—that can make you feel fulfilled. Content. Happy. 

He's happy; truely and vibrantly happy with you. And that is the way he wishes it to stay. 

He chuckles amusedly at your strong display of affection. “Hello to you too, lovely.” 

You pull back to grin at him, albeit a little sheepishly. “Sorry. I'm just so happy you're actually here.” 

His gaze softens impossibly more. “It was long overdue.” He cups your cheeks and leans down to press a lingering kiss to the top of your head. “You were phenomenal.” 

You beam, and draw him closer.

The clearing of a throat brings you out of your reverie, out of the world where there is only the two of you. 

You pull away, detaching yourself from Spencer, eyes flashing with delight. “Hi!” You wave at a shocked-yet-amused Derek Morgan, and an exuberant Penelope Garcia. 

Derek raises his eyebrow at Spencer, probably surprised by how little he cared about your public display of affection. He usually doesn’t even let Garcia hug him unless it’s important. But, like with everything else, you’re different—special. He simply shrugs back. 

“You must be the friends Spence has told me so much about.” She reaches out a hand to shake Morgan's hand. “Derek, right?” 

Derek smirks, “In the flesh.” He grasps your hand, grip firm. “The show was amazing, by the way.” 

“Thank you!” You chirp, brightening further, and Morgan huffs out a laugh.

You pull away, turning to the eclectic women next to him. “And you, must be the famous Penelope.” 

You reach out your hand once more, but Garcia has other ideas. She dives in for a hug, bypassing the formalities immediately.

She pulls away abruptly as you squeak in surprise. “Oh- sorry! I'm sorry.” She blurts out. “I'm just so happy to meet you, finally! Reid has told us so much about you, I just couldn't wait any longer!” She grins broadly. “And you're even prettier than he described, which I don't understand how that's humanly possible, because boy genius over there won't stop talking about how gorgeous you-”

“Woah there, baby girl, slow your roll.” Derek interrupts, patting Garcia gently on the shoulder. You stifle a laugh, glancing at Spencer. He ducks his head, avoiding your eye and shuffling from one foot to another as his face turns pink.

“Sorry!” Penelope flushes scarlet red. “Uhm… what I meant was ‘nice to meet you’.” She cringes at her outburst. 

“No need to say sorry. It's an absolute pleasure to meet the both of you, Spence speaks so highly of you two.” You beam, and Garcia deflates in relief. Spencer’s arm snakes around your waist and under the hem of your sweater once again, smoothing patterns on your bare skin. You lean into his side, a contented sigh escaping your lips. 

“You know, when boy genius here told me he was dating a supermodel, I didn't believe him.” He raises eyebrows, smirking. “But, here you are.” 

“In the flesh.” You flash him a grin, parroting back his own words. He lets out a chuckle. 

“Why is it so unbelievable?” Spencer complains incredulously.

They all laugh at his words, and he hangs his head, sighing dejectedly. You pat him on the chest in consolation.

All of Spencer’s fears are quickly doused as a lively conversation starts up between you and his friends. He doesn’t know why he worried, like if they met everyone would self-combust. No, this was going fine. More than fine, even. 

His breathing slows, sure and steady, and he just watches. Watches you speak animatedly, with a delighted glint in your eye, clearly enjoying Penelope and Derek’s presence. And his friends, his family, seemed to be enjoying her just as much, which he obviously isn’t surprised about, but still fills him with relief. It was okay. It was all going to be perfectly okay.

“How does some dinner sound?” You ask the group, just as Spencer tunes back in.

Penelope claps her hands together, “Yes! I have the perfect place.” 

“Sounds good to me.” Derek replies. “If lover boy is coming, of course. I can't wait to tell lover girl, here, all the embarrassing stories at his expense.” 

Spencer groans, but follows Garcia as she heads towards the door. You just laugh. 

Spencer pinches your side from where you're still tucked under his arm and you yelp. This time, he's the one letting out a quiet chuckle, and you roll your eyes. 

“Come on genius, lead the way.” You look up expectedly from under his arm.

“Anything for you.” He simply replies, wrapping himself around you tighter, before guiding the both of you towards the door.

· · ──────────── ·𖥸· ──────────── · ·

Thank you for reading, feedback is appriciated x

Tags: @reidology13 @reidmania <3 - Comment to be added!

Masterlist ౨ৎ

[yaespook]

Run 4 - In Progress.

✧ Room Content: Dom! GN! Reader x Yan! Sub! Android! Wanderer, no gendered terms used for reader, no actual penetration, unhealthy obsessive and possessive relationship from Wanderer, memory manipulation. Leave a note if anything was missed out. ✧ Retrieved Notes: If possible, use the InteractiveFics extension to change the phrase “My name” (without the quotation marks) to the name given to your Wanderer.

There’s an unfamiliar android sitting atop your worktable.

You must have picked him up two or three weeks ago, when he was still worse for wear. In your memory, he was in pretty bad shape when the two of you first met, his main panel wrenched open leaving his circuitry a mess and rough scrapes all over his superficial layer.

Now, with your constant repairs, he’s been more lively, tailing you around the house as you go about your day. While fussing about, dusting off a muzzle laying on a fur pelt, you sense a presence lingering outside your room.

"You know, I don't recall androids being quite so clingy." In return, you get a light huff from behind the door frame. 

"And you’ve come across other androids? I didn’t know you run a junkyard here,” the eye roll in his tone is audible.

His feet pad into the room and his gaze hones in on the clerical collar placed on a nearby shelf, glaring at it. Clicking his tongue, he crosses his hands on his chest.

“Whatever, what you do is mostly up to you anyway. Do you think you’re almost done cleaning? I think there’s an internal problem again, I’ll wait for you at the worktable,” the android saunters off nonchalantly, throwing you a light wave over his shoulder.

Sighing, you quickly finish up your task at hand before complying to his request, briskly making your way over to the worktable where he's already perched smugly on, his gaze expectant. 

You easily go through the rehearsed motions of plugging him up to your computer, your muscle memory kicking in as you boot up the required softwares before gingerly prying the main panel located on the front of his torso to gain access to his internal workings. Over time, you've gradually figured out the parts that make up the android sitting before you, growing used to the sight of the lengths of wiring and cables running throughout his body, the faint low mechanical whirring of motors and cooling systems. 

Most importantly, you now understand how sensitive his central core is. Nestled securely in a latched transparent casing, his core is what powers and sustains him. It emits a constant turquoise light and is also reflected in the glowing markings that lay beneath his synthetic skin that occasionally activate. (Although, you haven't quite gotten an answer for what makes them light up yet.) 

“So what's your problem today?” You ask, tearing your eyes away from him as you go over to your computer to check if any bugs have been identified.

“I think that cable all the way at the back came undone and got tangled with the rest.” 

You shoot him a pointed look, “Again? Didn’t we just fix that same cable last week?” Shifting your chair so you’re seated before him, poised to conduct your repairs, you make a passing remark, “Maybe taking you to another mechanic might be the better choice, get everything checked out, you know?”

How long have you kept at your task of finally fixing him up to tiptop condition? It’s almost daily when he reports back to you with a new disconnected wire or another loose joint somewhere on him. Diligently, you’ve been trying to repair him but the android is like a never-ending to-do list. And it’s only natural to be concerned if the constant damage stems from a more serious underlying issue that you haven’t managed to discover. The only next logical step would be to get another pair of eyes to help discern the root cause in case anything takes a turn for the worse.

But the reaction you get from him is one unexpected. His head snaps to face you, a scowl evident on his face. 

“So you’re handing me off like an unfinished project to someone else now?”

You know how snippy he can get however, this is on a different level from his previous behaviour. Maybe something left over from the days before you found him. It’ll be a good idea to look into his past logs to diagnose any present problems, you make a mental note of it.

“I’m just worried for you, that’s all. What if there’s an urgent issue I can’t fix alone? And we both know I can’t leave you as is.”

His expression mellows to an annoyed pout, looking away as his core glows faintly along with the patterns under his skin, he mumbles, “I’ll be fine.” (“I just need you.”) (“I'm the only one for you.”) (“No one else deserves you.”)

He allows you to work without another complaint, silently watching as your hands venture into his chest, a focused air to you while you look for the problematic cable. He senses your touch when you make contact with it, sucking in a sharp breath as you grip it between your fingers, twisting it around to free it from the surrounding wires before you finally connect and plug it into its rightful place. 

“That’s it for your cable issue. Anything else?” He quickly shakes his head.

Giving it a few light cursory pulls to make sure it’s finally secured, (if you weren’t mistaken, his core brightened in time with your tugs), you spare the rest of his parts one last look over. Then, shutting the panel, you unplug him from the computer.

Immediately, he scampers off the worktable with a clipped “thank you” and runs into his room. You hear the door to his room close before its lock clicks. 

The next few days prove to be better, the repair requests for any troubles that seem to have cropped up overnight growing more and more infrequent. Perhaps, bit by bit, the end of the repairs start to come into sight. 

Although, you have noted that his internal temperatures have been hiking recently whenever you have his chest panel open to patch him up. 

This time, you have him lying on the worktable on his back to access the further areas in him. He’s positioned facing upwards but his eyes are darting everywhere, unable to meet your gaze. Once again, the programme open on your computer screen shows how his temperatures are quickly rising even though there are no obvious reasons for such a sudden change. It records the recurrence into its troubleshooting log like before, more times than you can remember.

He’s panting lightly, the android’s chest moving up and down as your ears pick up the sound of his inner fans whir louder, his pre-programmed functions activating to try to cool him down. With no clue as to what could cause this issue, you reach in to look for a fault. Yet, the more you poke and prod around, the higher the warmth within him rises. 

Left with more questions than answers, you turn to his core for a closer look. When your fingers brush against the transparent casing, a moan slips out from him, and instantly his head whips to look at you dumbfounded.

An artificial blush takes over his face, a low pink glow blooming from beneath the synthetic layer. A beat passes before he cracks his lips apart, voicebox working as he pleads.

“...Again.”

Gently, you let your fingertips dance over the clasp hinging the casing shut and his response is instant. A shudder rolls through him, as real as it can be, and a shaky exhale leaves him. The android’s back arches up slightly, hastily chasing after your touch when you remove your hand.

Your caress returns when your hand dips deeper into his circuitry, where you hook two fingers underneath his thicker cables, attentively stroking them between your thumb and fingers, before tugging on them forcefully enough to elicit a reaction from him. 

His eyes fly open at your ministrations, a greed for more overtaking his processors. You’ve always been so gentle with him when he’s opened up for you, when you have access to the deepest parts of him, when he’s at his most vulnerable. So, to have you toy around with him, show him the indulgence of human flesh, can you really fault him for falling for you?

The tips of your fingers ghost along the length of his metal spine, and the android keens from under you.

“Please, more, I can take it!”

Taking his cue, your hand encircles his spine, grinding the heel of your palm against the ridges of the sensitive metal elements as you pump up and down. 

“Sss- so good! Hah…!” He can’t control how he behaves when you treat him so well, like he’s the only one worthy of your attention. He shakes under your touch, trembling as the addictive pleasure overrides his programmed commands.

“No more blubbering, just focus on me.” Your other hand goes to cup his chin, and obediently, he parts his lips for you, allowing you to slip your thumb into his mouth. You can feel his tongue work and when you press down, he jolts suddenly. A gag reflex? In an android? How amusing.

When you stop stroking him, he whines pitifully, muffled moans and begging for you to continue but his complaints stop when he feels you unlatch the lid of his core casing.

“Would you let me?” And the flurry of nods from him confirms his enthusiasm.

With bated breath, he counts the seconds before you make contact with his core. And when he senses your caress on his glowing core in his exposed chest cavity, he breathes out a gasp, as if he requires the intake of air. None of this is written into the basis of his behaviour, not fed into the dataset that makes up how he’s supposed to act, so everything he feels for you must be real.

His eyes go unfocused as his neural network is flooded with the raw pleasure of being enveloped with love and lust down to his literal core. Desire burns within him, evident from the fans whirring even louder than before to bring down his temperatures. It’s just so much for the android’s computations to handle. Broken moans leave him as he tries to vocalise his love for you (as best as he can with his thumb in your mouth). 

And when you press a kiss to his unprotected core, his vision whites out.

Eyes wrenched shut, his whole mechanical body jerks upwards, back arching off the worktable as his body propels himself to sit up, his limbs trying to ensnare you in his embrace, to keep you with him as long as he can. Every command in his system is overwritten to hone in on all the sensations of you on him, your touch, your warmth.

The patterns under his skin glow with a pulse, akin to a human’s heartbeat and when his eyes open again, glimmering faux tears roll down his face. His chest heaves as you close the distance between the two of you, cupping his face with both your hands and kissing his tears away.

The android breaks the intimate silence as he quietly asks you, “Can you give me a name?”

When you whisper a name into his ear, he breaks into sobs in your hands.

The days pass by, uneventful, and the time for a final cursory check before deeming him fully repaired comes. He’s poised on the worktable like any other previous session, a bored expression on his face as you flit back and forth between him and the software on your computer.

“You really are a clingy case,” you say and get a huff in return, “But a welcome one.”

Remembering your mental note from before about accessing his past logs, you access it from your computer, pulling up the window with his stored recorded data. The log operates in the background constantly, one of the built-in functions of the android and a quick glance over just to make sure everything is in order should do.

However, the logs prove to be worrying in a completely different way.

[Log: Day 10 - Run 1 - Failed. Werewolf. They’re with that mangy mutt. I don’t know what they see in him. I still remember the care they showed me. There’s always the next run.]

[Log: Day 20 - Run 2 - Failed. It seems I’m too late this time around. That vile selkie captured them first. How irritating. I need to stop hesitating. It’s my love on the line after all.]

[Log: Day 30 - Run 3 - Failed. Incubus. That damn priest and incubus. I can feel my temper reaching its breaking point.]

[Log: Day ??? - Run 4 - In progress. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please.]

Your eyes rake across a multitude of grainy snapshots of yourself, all with different people that you can’t find the ability to recall, your mind pounding from the discovery. 

He’s gazing expectantly when you look back up at him from the screen. A grin twists its way across his face, canines glinting under the dizzying harsh lighting.

“So now you’ve seen how much I love you, even if you don’t remember it.” There’s a sick obsession dripping in his tone, an uncanny level of emotion that androids normally shouldn’t be able to replicate, one that sends a heavy uneasiness through your whole being, one that roots you to the ground. 

When he doesn’t get the adoring reaction from you he expects, the proud expression on his face falls instantly. 

He’s despondent, despairing as he tears the connecting cables off of him, launching himself off the worktable, lunging across for you, frenzied, pure scorching mania surging through him. 

“You… even after all these runs. You’ve always given me the same thing. My name. I thought this time- You-” 

Voice shaky, “It’s a shame this run didn’t work out either.” 

He steels himself, hand outstretched, “No matter.”

You blink.

There’s an unfamiliar android sitting atop your worktable.

Thank you kindly for reading. Consider supporting on kofi if you enjoyed this or visit the other doors.

[hydrangeapartridge]

Manfred learns about rings (EmmRook post game short fic)

I have so many ideas for domestic post game EmmRook... Here's another one featuring their favourite skeleton son. This is pure tooth-rotting fluff (with mild spoilers for the end of the game of course but still spoilers)

Enjoy! (Update: part 2 can be found here)

Fire cracking in the hearth, a warm cup of herbal tea and a good book; Rook loved those peaceful and cosy evenings. While she was lying on the living room’s plush meridian, Emmrich and Manfred were discussing magical artefacts near the fireplace. Manfred was sitting crosslegged on the carpet, listening with undivided attention to his teacher’s lessons. The subject of the night seemed to be the use of enchanted rings to enhance one’s magic. Comfortably sitting on an armchair, Emmrich took his time taking off his rings one by one, explaining which enchantement they bore and their purpose before placing them neatly on the coffee table when he was done.

Manfred’s shiny eyes reviewed the display of jewels intently, with his signature curiosity. Carefully, he pointed to each of them in order, and repeated what he learned. Emmrich nodded along, gently correcting his apprentice’s few mistakes or sharing more details.

Rook couldn’t help but be distracted by the scene. Manfred made so much progress in so little time, making her, and mostly Emmrich, both ecstatic and proud. During the last Blight, she had no opportunity to witness the extent of Emmrich’s love for learning and mostly his love for teaching. It was an area in which all his generosity, patience and intelligence shone through. Being knowledgeable didn’t necessarily imply being pedagogical, but Emmrich excelled in it, and thrived in discussing and challenging his own wisdom.

There was one ring left on Emmrich’s left ring finger. Manfred noticed and asked about it.

“Ah” A small private smile graced Emmrich’s thin lips as he gazed down to the simple but finely chiselled golden band. “This one like you noticed holds no enchantment” He said.

Manfred was present at their wedding of course, but Rook wasn’t sure how much he grasped the meaning of such an event. For all his practical knowledge, Manfred, as a spirit, had a different take on emotions; one that Rook and Emmrich didn’t always understand.

“What for?” Manfred asked and Rook waited on Emmrich’s answer with renewed interest.

“Well, it is a symbol. A reminder of the bond between Rook and I, and the promise we made each other to be together” He gulped before he added “Until death does us appart”

“Until forever” Rook corrected him with a gentle smile.

Emmrich quickly turned to her, surprised to find she had been listening. He shook his head but a relaxed smile graced his features. “Right. Forever. In this world and beyond”

Manfred tilted his head, and Rook could almost see the gears turning in his skull.

Emmrich started putting his rings back on, leaving the lessons of the evening to sink in for now.

Rook took a sip of her lukewarm tea and was about to go back to her book when Manfred asked: “Can I have one? Ring?”

Emmrich stopped mid gesture and blinked in surprise, but he was quick to regain his composure and welcomed the question. “Well, I am happy to see you’re interested in them Manfred. I would offer you one but apprentices in training aren’t authorised to use them. No exceptions. I wouldn’t want the other teachers to think I play favourites.”

Rook snorted a little at that. It was a nice sentiment, and she admired Emmrich’s will to be just and fair. But in other instances, she knew he did play favourites without even being aware of it. How could he not? His relationship with Manfred was most special.

“Not those. The other one” Manfred said, poiting to Emmrich’s ring finger.

Rook perked up from her book. What an unexpected twist. Even after all this time, Manfred always managed to surprise them every day.

“Oh” Emmrich half breathed half chuckled. “Oh” He repeated, visibly taken aback. He ran a hand through his perfectly coiffed hair before he set on asking: “And why would you want one?”

Smart move to choose not to assume what meaning Manfred puts behind that ring. Rook waited intently for the answer. Manfred couldn’t possibly want to marry someone; and her poor husband was most definitely not ready for that either.

“To be with you. Forever?” Manfred asked, visibly unsure of what the last part meant.

Rook’s heart positively melted in her chest. She looked to Emmrich, who had brought his gloved hand in front of his mouth, eyes wide and shiny with both joy and disbelief. Neither of them trusted themselves to talk for now.

Manfred rocked on his back bones, self conscious. “I can’t? Bad?” He asked lowly.

Emmrich leaped out of the armchair and knelt before the curiosity spirit. He took both Manfred’s bony hands in his. “Of course you can Manfred! Of course you can” He reassured him, eyes teary and voice shaky with emotion. “That would be wonderful! We’ll get you one of your choosing”

“Yeay!” Manfred beamed.

Emmrich sat back onto his heels “But to be clear, you must understand that if the meaning of matching rings is that we share a bond, the one we share isn’t the exact same one I share with Rook?” He felt the need to clarify, once his initial shock had passed.

“I know” Manfred immediately replied, like it was obvious to him.

“Good” Emmrich clasped his hands together, considering the matter settled. “The anniversary of your return from the fade grows near. We’ll get the two matching rings then. It would make for a most perfect occasion” He decided excitedly as he got up, dusting his perfectly clean trousers in the process.

“Rook gets one too” Manfred stated and Emmrich turned to his wife, that baffled expression that reminded her of their first flirts painting his refined features.

“Really?” Rook replied, flabbergasted too. “ Thank you Manfred! I’d be honored” Her heart squeezed in her chest, full of overflowing love for them both.

Emmrich and Manfred had a very special relationship in which she didn’t want to intrude too much. But feeling included by the curiosity spirit was an incredibly touching surprise.

- - -

A few days later, they found themselves shopping in one of Nevarra’s most famous jeweller's shops. Emmrich let Manfred in, and let the spirit survey the displays while he explained their needs to the clerc. Rook wondered if they often sold jewellery destined to undead; none the less, the clerc didn’t bat an eye at the weird family’s request. Perfect client service was expected from such a place, and Emmrich was a regular customer.

They waited patiently for Manfred to choose a ring, watching him ponder the options. At one point he came to Emmrich to ask what price was the limit. Thoughtful of him; he was well taught, and more and more proficient in calculus as well as assessing the value of things. Unsurprisingly, Emmrich told him not to worry about it. The watcher now earned a more than comfortable living yet he didn’t throw money away and was often more frugal than most would expect. He had consequent savings but wouldn’t be stingy when the expanse was deemed important. Of course he wouldn’t put a price limit to the symbol of his bond with Manfred. Rook was sure her husband would pluck the stars from the sky to satisfy his protégé’s curiosity. Thankfully Manfred was too pure to purposefully take advantage of it.

Manfred’s final choice was a thin golden double band joined with a discrete pale turquoise green emeral in the center. Its color reminded Rook of the skeleton’s eyes, and she would be happy to wear the same one on her left pinky finger, close to her wedding ring. Emmrich decided on the same finger placement, and the clerc happily took their meisurements, not commenting except to praise their taste in gems. They would receive the rings just in time for Manfred’s ressurection anniversary.

Emmrich was last to go for measurements, and while waiting for him, Rook joined Manfred, who was still admiring the jewels in the display cases. His attention was completely taken it seemed by a tiny silver hairpin shaped like a coiled up snake, a pale zircon in place of its eye.

“You do have great taste in jewellery Manfred” Rook commented “Too bad you don’t have luscious hair to wear that”

Emmrich arrived just when her joke flopped. “Are we good to go?” He asked, and Manfred finally took his gaze off the hairpin. Only to point at it with his finger.

“I get it for Neve”

Emmrich stepped back and Rook hid a snorted chuckle in her hand at the way his jaw almost dropped to the floor.

While his caretaker was having an existencial crisis, Manfred took out his personnal money pouch from his hip satchel. He started sorting the coins, and when he was done, showed Emmrich the large amount resting in his opened palm. “Is this enough?” He asked, still unsure about his calculus skills.

It turned up he did get the amount right, but even if that hairpin was small and amongst the cheapest articles in the shop, its price still represented a good two-thirds of Manfred’s savings.

Emmrich cleared his throat and eyed the coins with uncertainty. “That would be the exact price indeed, well done on your calculus. But are you sure you wish to spend that amount on this gift?” He asked gently. “It represents a few months of your earnings as an apprentice, and I won’t be compensating it with a rise of your allowance”

“I buy” Manfred brushed off Emmrich’s concerns, and the watcher sighed in defeat.

What more could he say? Manfred needed guidance to prevent him from getting into dangerous situations but he wasn’t a child. He was his own person, and deserved to be able to make enlightened decisions of his own.

“I’m sure Neve is going to love it” Rook encouraged him. “We’ll have to invite her as quickly as possible”

“It is a very beautiful and thoughtful gift indeed” Emmrich agreed.

While Manfred paid, Emmrich placed a hand on Rook’s waist, bringing her closer, pressing her to his side.

“Our skeleton son has grown so much” She teased him, resting her head against his arm with a content sigh.

Emmrich didn’t correct her anymore; he knew now that it was a lost cause to stop her from fondly calling Manfred their son.

“I wish he wouldn’t grow so fast” He confessed his worries to her.

“Next thing we’ll know he’ll be getting married” Rook couldn’t resist teasing him. It had always been her way of trying to lift up his spirits. “I hope you’re ready for grandchildren” She said, wiggling her eyebrows.

Emmrich almost choked on his saliva. He gave Rook a chidding look and she only grinned in return.

“We should probably warn Lucanis that he’s got some serious competition”

“That is quite enough dearest” Emmrich reprimanded, but at the same time, he squeezed her waist harder.

A few meters away, the clerc was handing Manfred a small blue gift bag that the spirit took with a giddy sort of caution. It was adorable.

“I believe we’ll remember this day for a long time” Rook whispered, looking up to the beautiful face of her husband.

Emmrich placed a small kiss atop her head. “I treasure the memories of each day I am allowed in your company”

[elitadream]

Hi guys~! ⛅👋

Long time no see! Much longer than I ever intended, in fact. Truth be told, I wanted to make a public post sooner, but I've had a lot to catch up on in terms of notifications and messages since logging back in a few days ago. I've also made some changes that I will address shortly, but first of all I wanted to thank those of you who have reached out with so much care and understanding during my absence. Adjusting has been a slow and fragile process for me -still is-, and I sadly haven't responded directly to everyone yet because of it, but I wanted to say how much I appreciate your patience and support nonetheless. 🥹 🙏

Long story short, I was gone for five months due to a huge burnout, then progressively found my spark again somewhere along the way and have since mostly recovered. It was my wonderful friend @drones-of-innocence who reached out to me outside of Tumblr, and her sense of initiative is largely the reason why I managed to make this post in a somewhat reasonable delay. 😅💖 With that said however, I must also mention that I've deleted a lot of stuff from my page and have removed most of my work from the public eye as well. This may seem quite drastic and frankly a little unsettling, but I assure you that it was a thoroughly considered and reasoned decision! The thing is that I was still getting lots of notes on these drawings everyday and… To put it simply, I didn't want that anymore. 🙇‍♀️ Experiencing popularity was very detrimental to me in the long run and I needed to put an end to it for the sake of my own wellbeing; at least for now.

Which brings me to my next point.

After mulling it over for a while, I've decided that I would not be returning as an active creator in the Mario community this time around. 👐 Making fanart for this franchise (with such a high and continuously maintained degree of involvement) had a lot to do with my health's decline and I've come to realize that I wanted to direct my focus elsewhere going forward. For that reason, there are things which I know will never be repeated again in the future, both in regards to my art and online presence in general, but that's alright. Things change, as they do and should. I'm looking forward to reuniting with folks and would be very happy to stay in touch with those of you who wish to message me privately. Like my lovely pal @istadris said, what matters most about any fandom are the friends you make in it. ☺️

And speaking of which-

@ody-and-fanatu That's so sweet of you, thank you! 💗 I'm glad you've enjoyed my contribution to the fandom. It was fun while it lasted! 💫 My visual ideas may be gone from my page, but most of my written posts and replies are still there for anyone who wants to revisit those at least, so there's that! And I'd also like to answer some of the asks I still have in my inbox at some point. Knowing that you hold my art in such high regard makes really happy! 🥰 Unfortunately, the other account that I have is reserved for my professional work and I prefer to keep them separate from one other, but the good thing is that I intend to go back to this blog occasionally. Hoping to see you around! Cheers! 🥂

@heiressofdoodles Thanks, I appreciate that! ✨ I'm honestly doing much better than I was earlier this Spring. Back then, I was running on empty and on the verge of crashing without even knowing it. Being in constant physical pain was one thing, but feeling mentally and emotionally drained on a daily basis was another entirely, and something had to be done. It took me a moment to really figure out what was wrong, but thankfully I realized very quickly what was causing it and applied the breaks with all my might. One of my main priorities now is to be more alert and respect my own boundaries to make sure that this never happens again. 🥲

@keakruiser Thank you. 🙏💐 I'm just glad to have found my footing again. Feels good to be able to create freely.^^ Hope you're doing well too!

Special thanks also to @pianokantzart, @jelly-fish-wishes, @katlyntheartist, @triniji and @wahooitsamee for their kind words. 🫂 Your graciousness and consideration means a lot to me. 💝

As for all the nice people who sent me anon comments and well wishes, I tried to summarize my thoughts as best I could in this update, but if there's anything else you'd like to say or know, don't hesitate to ask me anytime! Now that I feel like myself again, I think I'm gonna hang out on Tumblr for a little bit. I'll be excited to see what you guys have been up to in the meantime! 🤗 Wishing you all a very good day and pleasant Fall. 🍂

-elita 🌸

[hatchetmanofficial]

Hallo Gnome!

When you see this please know I’m asking or what I’m saying is meant to attack or hurt you in anyway, but I do have to ask.

I know someone asked when Day 1 and 2 is coming your reply is ‘when I’m finished’ but that— doesn’t explain to much of what’s going on nor feels like a definitive answer.

Like where’s your progress at? Or what might the actually pause be? Are you doing alright? Has things been getting hard lately? Your Patreon hasn’t been updated in 6 months(I know the plushy is the last thing posted but that still doesn’t inform us of the game direction itself), but you know people are still being charged and things are expected, but we have no notice and I only ask as a concerned fan. Is everything ok?

I do love MDHM and more than anything I want to see it skyrocket and the last thing I’d ever wish to see— and I hate to say it— is it become what Sunny Day Jack has become right now, they did too many things at once and never focused on the big picture and everyone got tired. You put a lot of work into this and I know you very much have the dedication. And I believe more communication is essential to keep this and your fans going.

No issue. It’s mostly a problem on my part because of the workload I handle. The rewrite for day 2 is almost completed, that’s what is holding back the game from being released. Day 3 however, is finished!

So as of late, I’m very behind on work. The summer heat cuts off a portion of my work because I live in a shitty house, that shuts off the power if it gets too hot. So I have limited time, sadly. I can’t produce much content as I would like. I put the game aside to work on commissions and the Alan plush. Not to mention I have received some not so savory news the past month. I’ve been still making content of MDHM, just forget to upload on Patreon which is a shitty excuse.

Nevertheless, I’m very shitty at managing, but I will be upfront with everyone. I’ll try to do a better job!

[thefandomsfervent]

Viktor x Reader Personal Pigments (Part 9) -Lavender Tinted Gesso

Okay so I said this like 2 chapters ago, but this is the longest chapter now. Find my imagine that inspired it here. Previous and next chapter will be linked at the bottom. Thank you for reading <3

╔═*✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧-✦-✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧*═╗

Viktor is annoyed, a feeling he has grown quite familiar with these past few days. No one had done anything to cause it, that he could identify anyway. That did not stop him from being annoyed with Jayce for making him go rest. He knew that his partner meant well, he knew that it was needed. But it didn’t change the fact that they were finally making progress and putting that roll on hold, even for a few hours, felt like an impossibly wrong decision. 

When you mentioned wanting to feel connected to the process, your process, something clicked in him. Especially after that passage he had shown Jayce. They wanted to improve lives with Hextech, but they needed to know how to do it. With the more they learned about magic and runes, they were getting closer to solutions for all sorts of problems. Piltover was supposed to be the ‘city of progress’. They needed to find ways to connect people. If Hextech could be used for travel it would blast things wide open for medicine and education. His mind was running all over again with the potential for solutions. 

Still, he settles in his bed this time instead of the couch. The covers are soft on his skin. His head is heavy on the pillows. If he slept for more than the agreed upon 5 hours, he knows that no one would be upset. He does truly trust Jayce to find answers to the questions he’s posed. His eyelids are heavy already. Were his eyes always this dry?

“Viktor?” He ignores the sound of your voice in his head. He had a tendency to replay thoughts, sounds. “That he liked.” The frown that settles there is deep, it pulls at his cheeks. Viktor turns with a huff, landing on his good leg as he lays on his side. He’d been falling asleep to that sound since that night. He thought it would pass after that first time, and that the weird guilt would not be so heavy in his chest when he saw you. But you were there the next day, all soft smiles and patiently explaining your process to Jayce. Giving him knowing looks. He did not notice the way you poked at the drying sludge at your station. He did not notice your disappointment when it hadn’t been fully dried on the second day. 

“Bio-material always clogs up filters and holds moisture.” Jayce had said to you when you sighed over it. You told him you knew, but admitted patience was not your strong suit. Information he did not hold on to. 

“Ridiculous.” It slips out in a whisper, caught by the wall in front of his face. “This was ridiculous.” He lays flat on his back now, the ceiling staring back at him. It doesn’t match his scowl. And despite the way annoyance is pooling as tension in his jaw, he closes his eyes again. “Viktor?” It was like an ear worm he couldn’t get rid of. A beetle burrowed under his skin. It replays again, the moment when you woke up. Golden light and swirling dust and dried drool. There was nothing special about that moment, but it haunts him anyway. He falls asleep.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

The wood had made it to the studio yesterday, and so did the sonophone from your room. You’d be damned if you had to work with nothing but the sounds of your struggling. Your record collection was small, mostly instrumentals of varying genres that you had grabbed over the years. It was hard to justify expanding when you had so much work to do, especially now that most of your work was done with other people around you. Today you could treat yourself to the background melodies. Because you were punishing your hands for your career choice.

You had managed to get the wood cut to size. That was honestly easier than you had thought. The frame took maybe 4 hours to put together, drying time of the wood glue included. You even got the support bars in place. But it did mean that you had to face the real trials ahead. Stretching the canvas.

Canvas stretching was an arduous process, lots of crawling around on your hands and knees. Pulling and pulling and pulling the fabric taut over the edge of the wood. Pulling that meant the joints in your hand were screaming two hours in. You had to move around all four sides, all four corners, and the spaces in between them to keep the surface even. Don’t get you started on the folding in the corners for hidden edges. Curses were muttered under your breath every few minutes. Occasionally yelled, echoed back at you by the walls. 

Pulling, letting go, pulling, letting go, crawling, hammering in, pulling, letting go, pulling, letting go, hammering in. Focus only for the task in front of you. You didn’t hear the knock on the door, or when it slowly opened and tentative steps made their way in. 

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

It took some convincing (bribing) to get Viktor to come with him. Jayce had told him about your note the day before and he had seemed uninterested in visiting. 

“We have work to do.” Viktor is still looking through books when Jayce meets him in the lab. Seemingly settled in his chair.

“Getting our notes in order is hardly work. And something we can definitely do over there.” 

He gets a sigh. Viktor is gathering notes and papers into a folder. It’s not heavy but it is overfilled by the time Jayce adds his collection to it too. 

“You have the drinks, yes?” He smiles at that. Jayce nods and raises the carrier. Three drinks nestled together, all iced, as it was starting to warm up. Spring was fast approaching Piltover, some would argue that the season was already here. The walk to your studio is filled with a lot of sounds. And smells. Most of the doors are wide open, laughing and music in some. Mostly the smell of turpentine and various oils that waft towards them. Windows were flung open but it did little to quell the strength. 

“Less ventilation here than in our labs,” he notes aloud. Viktor simply nods in agreement, looking the walls up and down. The two of them were curious, there were more artists involved in this program than they thought. You had not really spoken much about the Institute or your peers. Jayce is holding the note, making sure to count the doors on the right side of the hall while Viktor peeks into whatever empty rooms they pass. Cane in one hand and a folder of notes in another. As they approach what should be your door, they can hear banging. A soft repetitive noise that gets louder as they close the distance. He looks at Viktor when they get to your door, it’s closed. There’s another bang, the sound sharp and dull at the same time. 

“Are you fucking kidding me??”

It’s muffled by the door, but it’s definitely your voice. Jayce looks to Viktor, brows raised and an almost laugh escapes him. Viktor looks back, a little less bewildered, he shrugs in response. He gestures with the folder for him to knock on the door, face contorting as if to say “this was YOUR idea”. It was, but now he’s doubting himself. You seemed busy. He knocks and it’s drowned out by a resumed banging. After a few seconds he tucks the note under his arm and slowly turns the knob. 

Once the door opens they can hear music. You don’t turn to face them. You’re… on the floor? Nails all around you, a hammer in your hand. There’s a huge wooden frame in front of you. Fabric, canvas? Canvas in your other. 

“Whatchya doin’?” Jayce speaks first. Sing-songy and sweet. You whirl around, a nail in your mouth hitting the floor as you lower the hammer. 

“What are you guys doing here?” Your smile is bright and surprise honeys your voice. There is a redness in your cheeks. From frustration or from working. He isn’t sure. Viktor looks away to the very empty walls of your studio. You stand up to greet them, grimacing at the numbness in your knees and calves. 

“You’ve had a studio this whole time? Then why work with us?” Yet another question that Viktor asks you, that he had not meant to ask. It comes out harsher than he intends. Your smile falters but doesn’t fall. 

“I thought you knew I had one?” Jayce nods, he knew of it from Heimerdinger and Mel. Viktor doesn’t answer, just continues to look around your very empty space. You answer his question anyway.

“I want to learn about both of you. Good art is infused with many things, but knowledge is one of them. I want to know you both past the invention, it brings the work to life.” This was the first time you’ve stood in who knows how many hours since you’ve started. Your joints felt stiff as you stretched, standing on the tips of your toes to get the feeling back in your body. Jayce also looks away as your top lifts when your arms are reaching for the ceiling. He’s less subtle with it though, and you notice the way his eyes dart wall to wall. Trying not to laugh, you speak. “To answer your earlier question Jayce, “ he jumps at his name, “I’m building a canvas for the painting.”

He and Viktor look at your project on the floor. The frame seemed sturdy. You were almost done, dozens of nails along the sides. You move your sonophone out of the chair closest to you. The music skips a little when you jostle it. Asecond chair opposite had cut wooden pieces and a saw. 

“You built this yourself?” Jayce puts the drinks down on a clean table and circles it. He steps around it slowly, careful of the nails on the floor . He can appreciate good craftsmanship as a blacksmith. The studs were evenly spaced, your canvas was loose in maybe four or five spots where you obviously needed to hammer in the last of your nails. “It looks really good! Didn’t realize it was going to be so big.” You hum noncommittally as you empty the other chair. Viktor approaches it too. Setting his folder down by the drinks, he leans against a wall after walking around. There were red spots around all the edges. Spots that were almost as evenly spaced as the nails, but the spaces were smaller. Set in groups of four. His brows furrow. 

“What are those?” It comes out quietly, and Jayce notices what he’s asking about. Viktor looks at you as you settle in an empty chair with your drink in hand. A hand with bloody knuckles. You don’t miss the way his eyes widen. 

“It’s fine, I promise.” Canvas is a rough material, you had meant to get handwraps on your trek to the market to avoid this but it had slipped your mind. Jayce is walking over to you now. He puts a hand out expectantly. A non-negotiable look on his face. “Guys, I’m fine.” You offer a hand anyway, trying not to wince when he turns it over so your palm faces the floor. 

“How long have you been at this?” There’s no judgment in the question, yet you still feel like you’re being scolded. 

“Long enough.” You pull your hand back. “I’ll bandage up in a second, I’m almost done.” The defensiveness in your tone annoys you, a tight feeling in your chest. Heat rises in your cheeks. “What are you guys doing here anyway?” 

Viktor nods to the drink in your hand. Right. Well now you felt even more like a child, pouting after a treat. It’s Jayce who gives you a verbal answer. “Well you gave us directions.” He taps the note. “Plus, Vik and I have some notes to present to Heimerdinger soon. Thought you’d want to hear us sort them out.” His voice is gentle, he stands by the chair in front of you. Viktor meets his gaze and grabs the folder to sit in front of you. He’s already opening it and pulling papers onto the table, not waiting for your response. You stand, putting your drink down. Jayce and Viktor share a look, like they’re worried you’ll say no. “Cute.”

“I’d like that.” You give both of them a soft smile when they visibly relax. “Just let me finish this, I don’t want you guys having to talk over the hammer. You can talk all you want while I gesso.” Viktor quirks a brow at the word. “You’ll see in a second.”

He watches wordlessly as you sit on the floor, picking up the hammer and getting back to work. You’re gritting your teeth as the exposed flesh of your knuckles brushes against the canvas. He smiles softly to himself. He respects the desire to work past your limitations, a familiar urge to him. And then frowns when he remembers that you’re bleeding. He glances at Jayce, who’s pretending to read a paper. Pretending, because he’s looking at Viktor. Wide-eyed like he realizes something. Caught. The hair on the back of his neck stands, a warmth spreading down his back. He quells the feeling. Willing the redness to stay below his collar. Jayce tilts his head at him in question. “What was that?”

He ignores him. The wrong decision. It seems to confirm something in Jayce. He tilts his head again, eyes going even wider. “What. Was. That?” Emphasizing the silent question with a shake of his paper. Viktor gives him a dead stare like he has know idea what he’s not talking about. He starts sorting out notes on the table. Ignoring another paper shake. You’re hammering away totally unaware of their battle of wills. By the time you’ve finished Jayce has given up. He’s rummaging in a corner of the room when you’re standing, wincing as you flex your hands. 

You should clean and wrap your hands, but you could also just start gessoing. You’re already opening up the tub to weigh your options when someone clears their throat. It’s Jayce holding a first aid kit. 

“All of the rooms are provided one. Academy policy.” He looks apologetic, like he knows what you were thinking about. He nods towards his empty chair in front of Viktor. No choice then. You take the seat when he asks you a question. “Why is it so empty in here? I thought you’d have this place decked out.” You stiffen at the question. Embarrassment flooding your veins. Called out. 

“If I’m going to start something, I want it to be something worthwhile.” You’re honest, and it feels good to say it out loud. A tension you didn’t know you were carrying leaving your shoulders. Jayce is handing the kit to Viktor. 

“You know, someone told me once that if you’re going to change the world, don’t ask for permission.” Viktor gives a quiet chuckle at that, opening the kit and pulling out alcohol swabs and bandages. He motions for you to get closer.

“I’m not changing the world, I’m painting.” You laugh too.

“About people changing the world?” Jayce nudges your shoulder as he walks past to look at your finished canvas. He spies the tub of gesso you opened up. “It’s purple?”

“Think of it as a pre-tone. Before I do the underpainting. It helps me get over the fear of starting on a blank surface.”

“But it'll still be empty” says Jayce.

“Trust me it's different.” You're hissing that last word out. Not out of anger but pain. Viktor had started applying the alcohol to cleanse your knuckles.

“Sorry broučku” He's muttering under his breath. You don't recognize the word but you don't have time to question him when he dabs another piece of alcohol soaked cotton on the next knuckle. You tell him it’s fine and try to ignore the sting behind your eyes everytime he touches you with the swab. You look at Jayce, “Instead of me starting on a perfectly white canvas, I can start with something else. I’m still starting the painting on a clean surface, but I’ve technically started the work that way.”

He hums and comes back to stand behind you, a warm hand on your shoulder. Viktor’s working on your other hand now. You wince again, “Almost done.” he whispers. 

“So,” Viktor looks up when you speak this time. You meet eyes. “Tell me about this presentation.”

╚═*✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧-✦-✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧*═╝

--------------.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ Part 8-.-Part 10.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .---------------

------------‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙· Master Fic List *̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊--------------

[goodlucktai]

raised on little light (4/4)

rise of the tmnt word count: 7k this will be the last part of this story, but there's a oneshot collection up on ao3 where additional gioverse fics will live ! thank you as always to @soldrawss for the incredible art, and to her, @mykimouser and @remedyturtles for making this au a billion times more than what it would have been without them title borrowed from northern attitude by noah kahan read on ao3

x

???

Gio has never belonged anywhere. He’s never had a home that he was more than a guest in, or a family that was his to keep. 

He was told as a child, by the perpetually displeased matron who managed the orphanage he lived in, that he was difficult, unruly, uncooperative. Largely because he was almost completely nonverbal up until the age of about five. 

Around then, Gio was placed with a strict family who denied him meals until he asked nicely for them, even if that meant sending him to bed on an empty stomach for the third night in a row. He didn’t remember much of that time, but he still carried the food insecurity with him. He was still deeply afraid when someone bigger than him asked a question he didn’t know how to answer, no matter how deeply he buried that fear down and stubbornly lifted his chin. 

The matron called it progress when that placement came to an end and Gio came back with better manners, more willing to say please and thank you as soon as he was prompted. She said, “It’s not that hard to be polite, is it?”

He struck out on his own the second the opportunity presented itself. He was thirteen when he climbed out a window and disappeared into the dull grey of early dawn, everything he owned in a bag that weighed practically nothing. No one was going to look for him. He didn’t mean anything to anyone, it didn’t matter if he lived or died, if he went hungry or cold. Whatever he didn’t scrape together for himself out of nothing he just had to go without. 

It was a stroke of luck that he was hardy and difficult to squash, like a bug, with the disproportionate strength to match. He had been on the street for a handful of days before he was mugged for the first time, and he managed to fight the older yokai off despite being half his size.

The would-be mugger was some combination of reluctantly impressed by his own broken nose and mildly pitying regarding Gios’ empty pockets. He swiped the blood off his chin and said, “If you’re looking for work, I know a guy.” 

The guy in question was a kingpin named Ryu who was willing to give Gio work but seemed to be under the impression that the kid would flake or wash out or get himself killed. When he kept not flaking or washing out or getting killed, Ryu kept giving him work. 

Which is how Gio fell into the business that he did—mostly running. Some smuggling. Stealing when he had to. At the end of that first week, he had a tidy sum. At the end of that first month, he was renting a room of his own above a bar, where sometimes the owner let him wash dishes in exchange for a free meal. 

A road opened up. A life he could have appeared in front of him. Not an easy road, or a comfortable life. But one that was his.  

The kindest thing anyone ever did for him was when Ryu sussed out his sharp eye and potential with a long-range weapon, and he did that for his own benefit. Making Gio better at his job made Ryu more money. 

Gio ended up forfeiting a good chunk of his pay for two weeks in exchange for the compound crossbow his boss tossed into his lap, and then forfeited an additional three days’ worth for as many lessons in care and maintenance. He’d had to go hungry for a bit, but it was worth it. Clients stopped dismissing him at a glance when he started carrying the bow. They started taking him seriously when he proved he knew how to use it. 

He felt safer with its weight on his back. By the time he was seventeen, there was talk of a war in the human world. The former head of Hidden City security had gone rogue, had built weapons and taken them topside to eradicate humanity in the name of keeping yokai kind and their society safe. 

“It’s a bad time to be a turtle,” the owner of the bar Gio had lived above for years said one evening, a hard look on his face. He jerked his chin toward a field jacket hanging from a hook on the wall, and Gio understood without being told more than once. 

From then on, he kept his shell covered, a combination of the jacket and a baggy scarf. He kept everything he owned in a duffel and the pockets of his work pants. If it mattered, Gio carried it on him. He had his built-in armor and the armor he crafted himself ever since he was a nonverbal toddler in the foster system: 

Never give anyone an inch. Never let anyone close enough to hurt you. Gio couldn’t remember the last time he let cruel words land hard enough to sting.

It didn’t last, because of course it wouldn’t. Ryu had lost a lot of business due to the war, and one day he’d reached his breaking point. More and more partners and clients were turning to Big Mama’s budding empire, the safety of her hotel and the riches she offered like candy. Gio had been standing in the wrong place at the wrong time when a deal Ryu couldn’t afford to lose fell through and he needed an immediate target to place blame on.  

Gio had barely had time to snatch his bow and bag off the table before bolting out the door. He couldn’t return to the bar because Ryu’s people would know to find him there. There weren’t a lot of unaffiliated places that would take in a turtle, no matter how much money that turtle offered in exchange for room and board. In seconds, his life was thrown into total upheaval.  

It wasn’t the first time he’d had to disappear, and it wasn’t hard to leave, but the thought of starting over was enough to make him want to sink to the ground and let it swallow him. 

He was barely eighteen and he didn’t belong anywhere. No one cared if he lived or died. Some days even Gio nearly fell into that pit of not caring. 

Then he turned a corner and saw the yellow door, glowing like sunlight on water in an otherwise dim, dirty sidestreet. It felt warm. It felt like open hands reaching out for him and only him, no one else. 

Maybe it was wishful thinking, but it felt like the way home. 

—

2031

Before he was Giorgio Hamato, he was Clem. The tag attached to his shell had said clemmys guttata, and the people who found him had assumed that was his name. He didn’t talk much then, couldn’t explain where he’d come from. He didn’t even know. 

The world had been very small and safe when he was born—a cool, dark enclosure, with food to eat and water to swim in, and other tiny little bodies to tuck in next to under a brilliant warm light—when suddenly the world became huge and he himself had been changed, and he went from that small dark safe place to somewhere bright and noisy and unfamiliar, and those other little bodies were gone. 

He didn’t know how to explain any of that when he was a child. He missed someone but he didn’t know who. All he had was a tag on his shell to indicate he had ever belonged to anyone, and he didn’t even have the tag anymore. 

Mikey’s face had done a funny spasm when Gio had given his full name, a little like the spasm that always preceded a very angry phone call or argument behind closed doors that Gio politely pretended he couldn’t hear. It seemed to take Mikey a minute to decide what he wanted to say, and finally he smiled with all his teeth and said, “Clem’s a nice name! It’s short for Clement, or—oh, Clementine! An orange, just like me! Citrus duo!” 

Just that seemed to cheer Mikey up, his fanged grin warming into the real thing. Gio felt himself smiling back automatically, strung along by his older brother’s buoyancy and enthusiasm. Some days he felt more like a moth than a turtle, bumbling through the dark to follow the light. Some days he was certain he would walk through hell if he knew Mikey was on the other side. 

“Okay, I’ve turned the corner on Clem, but you could still have another one!” Mikey barrelled on. “Nicknames are pretty big around here, I have like a hundred of them. And there’s our running theme, you know, with the Renaissance artists. We could pick out a matching name for you if you want!”

Of course Gio wanted that. He wanted a name and a home and a family of brothers who smiled at him the way Mikey did, who carved out a place for him at the table like it wouldn’t make sense for him to sit anywhere else. 

But he should have gotten here sooner if he wanted to be a part of that. He missed the boat. 

Splinter was consulted, because it only felt right, Mikey said in the tone that was becoming familiar to Gio as his I-will-force-of-nature-my-way-through-this-and-god-help-anyone-who-tries-to-stop-me tone, to include Splinter in the decision. 

Gio mostly stayed tucked behind Mikey while doing his best to make it look like he wasn’t hiding. He didn’t know how to be around this quiet, absent-minded old man who mostly stayed in his bedroom—who, in another life, might have been Gio’s father. 

The rat seemed agreeable, if a little disinterested. He patted Mikey’s cheek absently and hobbled over to a dusty shelf standing against the far wall. Mikey reached back for Gio’s hand when he realized he had taken a few steps without him and pulled him forward from where he was rooted uncertainly in the doorway and the two of them watched Splinter haul an old book off a shelf, brushing fuzzy film off the embossed title with his thumb. 

“I picked all of your names from here,” Splinter said. “I had one picked out for you, of course, Grey. But—I don’t quite remember—” 

Mikey’s hand tightened around Gio’s. Gio understood, abruptly, why none of the turtles came in here. 

Leonardo’s absence in this house was as obvious and noisy as someone standing on the corner of Times Square with a megaphone. The pictures that crowded the memorial in the hallway were full of strangers—a Donatello who smiled and made silly poses for the camera and draped himself over his siblings instead of snapping his teeth at anyone who got too close—a Raphael who scooped his little brothers up in his arms, never flinching or cringing away like he feared he’d hurt them by accident just by standing there—an April who sprawled on the sofa or sat on the counter whisking eggs like she as good as lived here, even though Gio could count on both hands the number of times she’d visited since he moved in. 

Gio studied those photos over and over again, trying to make the people in them look familiar. The only one he recognized was Michelangelo, but it made his stomach squirm uncomfortably to recognize him, because it made it obvious how tired and dull his Mikey had become in comparison. Still the brightest thing in Gio’s whole life, but somehow, impossibly, not as bright as he would have been in a kinder world. 

And Splinter was a ghost of his old self, too. He had never fully recovered from losing one of his children, and now that the rest of them were grown, he had begun to allow himself to drift away.  

Leonardo, Gio thought sometimes, what did you save them from that could be worse than this?

“That’s okay,” Mikey said with forceful good cheer. “We can go through it together, maybe jog your memory.”

But Splinter’s energy wore off quickly, before they’d made it through more than a dozen pages. Mikey didn’t know how to apologize for that, and Gio didn’t know how to make him understand that he didn’t need to. 

He’d never known anyone stronger than Mikey, who flipped past a photo of Da Vinci’s La Scapigliata as easily as if the name in the header didn’t dig a knife right into his stomach. 

He’d never known anyone more deserving of a miracle. 

—

“Time travel is tricky,” Renet explained, kicking her feet idly, as at home on the edge of the rooftop as she seemed to be anywhere else. 

She had insisted they get iced coffees, her treat, but Gio couldn’t enjoy his drink. He was letting it melt into watery tastelessness without so much as taking an obligatory sip. 

“True time travel,” she added, not for the first time—really stressing the difference. “Mikey’s dimension-hopping is amazing, but it’s something else entirely. We’re talking about the real deal, here.”

The reason why Mikey and his brothers couldn’t go back, despite all their begging and bartering and, in one case, threatening over the years was simply because they were already there. They existed in the fabric of that time already. Things became unstable when they were overloaded and it was already such a delicate balance to maintain. 

“Like a coral reef,” she said, which was a less helpful explanation than she probably realized. 

Before, when Renet had said Gio didn’t belong here, she didn’t say it to be cruel. Gio’s knee-jerk reaction was hurt, and then an instant smothering of the hurt, and then an attempt to look unbothered so Mikey wouldn’t bare his toothed smile at Renet like a weapon. Some time after that, he let himself sit with her statement, and he realized that any friend of Mikey’s must have meant it some other way. 

Now she was explaining that Gio didn’t belong here because he actually belonged back there. In the past that Mikey had begged her a dozen times to send him back to. In the past where Leonardo was still alive. Gio should have been there all along, but he wasn’t. 

“You know, if we engage in a bit of healthy rules lawyering and obey the letter more than the spirit of Null Time’s foundational principles,” Renet said brightly, “we’re really, like, righting a wrong, if you think about it. Please don’t think too hard about it.”

“And when I’m done, you’ll bring me back?” Gio clarified. 

“You’ll end up exactly where you belong,” she told him. “Hey, you remember your yellow door?”

Gio, surprised she knew about that, nodded. 

Renet told him that she had been sent to investigate an explosion of mystic energy that opened windows throughout all of time and space. It was a spectacle that had led her right to the turtles. Right to Mikey. 

“That was him,” she explained, smiling at Gio. “He didn’t mean to, but he gave you a way home. Next time you’re lost, keep an eye out, and he might surprise you again. He really is amazing, huh?”

When Gio returned to the lair, Mikey seemed restless and unhappy. He looked like he was seconds away from grounding Gio from leaving ever again and pulling the plug on his scheming with Renet once and for all. He looked like he wanted to protect Gio from every bad thing that dared to darken their door. 

Gio really loved him. He really did. He hadn’t known what that felt like until he met his big brother, and then he knew it felt like carrying a sun around inside you. Impossible to contain, spilling light from every side. 

He wished for the thousandth time that he’d been here all along. But maybe it’s for the best that it worked out the way it did. 

It’s because he got lost back then that he could save Leonardo now. He was the only one who could. 

—

“You’re leaving,” Donatello said. 

Gio, who had lived there for almost a full year and could count the number of times Donatello had addressed him directly on one hand, froze mid-step. Being approached by the imposing turtle in the metal shell was a lot like staring down a shark in a swimming pool. 

He had no idea how this conversation was going to go, and had truthfully not even planned on having it in the first place. 

Saying goodbye to Raphael and Donatello was really for Gio’s own benefit, not theirs. They didn’t like him, and wouldn’t miss him, but Gio had never stopped wanting to be their brother. He hoped that if he did this right he’d get another chance to be. 

Yesterday, Gio went into the dojo after dinner and took his usual spot along the side of the room. Raphael didn’t always acknowledge his presence there, but he never kicked him out, allowing Gio to observe his training without censure. 

The snapping turtle was a powerhouse, enough force in each strike to level buildings—that probably would have rattled the entire underground if it weren’t seamlessly absorbed by the Genius Built equipment—but he was also incredibly precise. It was a marvel to watch someone so big do exacting, meticulous katas with a cool smoothness that belonged to water. 

Gio could see why he used to be the family’s foundation, why his siblings used to trust him to carry them everywhere. His siblings still did. Raphael was the one who lost that faith. 

Gio tucked his knees to his chest, made himself extra small and extra out-of-the-way, and rested his chin on his folded arms. He didn’t move for most of an hour, and Raphael sent him a few wondering, sidelong glances, clearly confused but unwilling to break their companionable silence. 

Bye, Raphael, Gio thought, a secret farewell to his biggest brother that he’d never hear. I hope you’ll be happier. 

Now he was standing in a hallway feeling half his height under Donatello’s unflinching stare. It was one thing to throw the term ‘genius’ around in conversation, and another thing entirely to be confronted by someone much smarter than everyone else to a degree that was laughable, feeling like a deer blinded by headlights on a highway. 

“Why bother?” Donatello asked. 

Gio tilted his head, not understanding the question. Feeling that instant gut-punch of fear that followed not knowing how to answer a question, that had followed him since he was five years old. 

“This has nothing to do with you,” Donatello said, each word blunt and precise, a knife punching through paper. “You didn’t even know Leo,” he went on. He spoke the name differently than he said every other word, placing it down instead of dropping it wherever. “Why do all of this for him?”

Nothing to do with me, Gio thought, letting the hit land where Donatello wanted it to. Since he didn’t know Leonardo, he wasn’t really family. He was missing something intrinsic and fundamental that every other Hamato had in spades. He knew that already. It still hurt. He still let it hurt. 

And now he did understand how to answer Donatello, but it wouldn’t endear him to the older turtle in the slightest. It might make Donatello angry enough to snap at him. 

The truth was that Gio wasn’t doing this for Leonardo. He wasn’t even really doing it for Donatello or Raphael or Splinter or April. 

“For Mikey,” he corrected, quiet in the cavernous hallway. 

The following silence was big and hungry enough to swallow up the whole city. Gio was braced for a lot of things to happen. He didn’t expect Donatello to draw back as if he’d been slapped in the face, staring at Gio with an actual emotion peeking out of his eyes—surprise, clear as day, where Gio was used to seeing weaponized nothing. 

Then Donatello turned in the direction of his lab and walked away as abruptly as he’d shown up in the first place. Gio stood still for an extra second or two, just in case the shark circled back. 

When Renet returned to the lair and announced everything was ready for their not-technically-illegal extracurriculars, Donatello appeared in the room moments later. He would stop a forest fire in its tracks, Gio thought, as all activity ground to an immediate halt with his arrival. 

Donatello didn’t so much as glance at Renet, radiating a frosty disinterest in her direction that even she knew better than to attempt to bubble her way through. He was holding something very purple in his hand, and Gio didn’t have time to do more than glance at it before the older turtle was walking right up to him and putting the purple thing in his jacket pocket. 

“This is for the Krang,” Donatello said flatly. On Gio’s other side, Mikey was watching in stunned disbelief. “Don’t handle it too much, it’s temperamental. Shoot it from your bow. And give that monster a message from me.” 

Message delivered, Donatello straightened Gio’s lapel idly, and then walked out of the room. Renet said, “Wow, he sure is a force of nature!” which was putting it lightly, since both she and Gio had been careful not to even breathe too loudly while the softshell was talking. “Anyway, you ready?” she asked Gio. 

He was ready. The sooner he left, the sooner he could come back. Mikey on the other hand looked so pale and miserable that Gio couldn’t help but tell him, “If you really don’t want me to go, I’ll stay.” 

A tiny, secret corner of his heart betrayed him by wishing Mikey would ask him to stay. But his big brother—who worried about him constantly when he stayed out too late, but never imposed a curfew, who fussed when he came home with scrapes or bruises from odd jobs in the Hidden City, but never forbade him from going back out—would never keep him here if he thought Gio wanted to go. 

His smile said as much. Warm, and not as bright as it should have been, and a little sad. 

“Then I’ll see you when it’s over,” Gio said firmly. 

Mikey’s smile faded, a crease forming in his brow. His eyes darted over to Renet and whatever he saw on her face surprised him. He glanced back at Gio with that surprise painted all over his expression. Then the sadness got bigger. Then the warmth won. 

He poked a spot on Gio’s forehead playfully, and pressed a kiss to the same place. Gio’s heart shuddered, unsure what to make of the flood of affection over its parched earth. 

“You are not alone,” Mikey said firmly. “Promise you’ll remember.” 

“Promise,” Gio whispered. 

The actual act of time travel was over before Gio had a chance to open his eyes. 

—

2020 

From all the stories Gio had heard about him, it would have made a certain kind of sense if Leonardo turned out to be ten feet tall. 

Gio had seen pictures. He’d even seen videos; windows into another life. He knew of Leonardo, the boy who had lived for his family with all the same earnestness and conviction that he had died for them with. The boy who tore a hole out of the world when he left it, a wound that closed up but didn’t heal right. The one whose absence was a scar slapped across the earth where no flowers could grow. 

He’s so small, was all Gio could think the first time he saw him. He’s so small. 

Nothing could have prepared him for Leonardo looking up at him and making a joke, as if he wasn’t broken and bleeding and farther away from home than he’d ever been. He was frightened and trying not to be, his smile fearless and his eyes glassy and traumatized. He was clinging to a bloody photo like it was the only thing left for him to hold. 

Gio had only just met him, and he already couldn’t imagine letting anything hurt him. He had already begun to realize, a light clicking on in his head, exactly why no one had really survived losing this kid. 

There was a light in Leonardo that felt familiar—cooler than Mikey’s warmth but gentle in the same way, like a breeze on a hot day—and Gio bumbled toward it the same way, too. Stupid moth dressed up in a turtle shell. 

You don’t belong in the dark, Gio didn’t say. 

“We’re going home,” Gio told him instead. 

The slider pressed his cheek against Gio’s shoulder and curled up tired and trusting in his arms, a little turtle familiar with the art of being carried someplace safe by someone bigger.  

Gio swallowed a painful lump in his throat and held his brother as securely as he knew how. 

He had never carried anyone before, had never been carried as far back as he could remember. He wanted to get it right. 

The Krang’s howls of pain had gone tellingly quiet when the yellow door glimmered into existence. Gio waited an extra moment to be sure, but he couldn’t imagine the revenge that Donatello had had almost eleven years to dream up would have left big enough pieces behind to be a problem even if one did manage to trickle through after them. 

It was the first time Gio had ever killed anything, but that knowledge wasn’t heavier than the kid who was bleeding all over his jacket, who wanted to go home so badly he was willing to trust a complete stranger to take him there. 

Compared to him, it wasn’t heavy at all. 

The walk to the lair was long, but with Leonardo’s tech thoroughly fried and his own phone full of numbers that had become extremely long-distance, Gio had no way of contacting the Hamatos for a pickup. He also wouldn’t have known how to start that conversation even if he had the means to. 

The lair itself was a step to the left of familiar. The walls and layout were exactly the same as Gio remembered them, but somehow it managed to look like an entirely different home. It was not the quiet museum he had lived in.

There were blankets everywhere, cups stacked haphazardly in an odd formation, a half-built computer taking up most of the coffee table. Comics and sweaters and sneakers and skateboards were strewn in all directions like someone’s closet had exploded. 

It couldn’t have been more obvious at a glance that a big family lived here. It wouldn’t have been unreasonable to guess, after one look around, that they were always sharing space, constantly getting under each other’s feet, comfortable in their closeness. 

Gio felt oddly seasick standing there, absorbing what this opposite shore had looked like before a devastating hurricane barreled through and rearranged the landscape. But he only had a moment to take it in. 

When Mikey started shouting, Gio started running, a knee-jerk reflex. 

Bursting into the garage was interrupting the opening act of a tragedy—entering stage left and changing the direction the play was going to go. 

He had never seen Donatello wear emotions so plain on his face, eyes glassy with tears that went sliding down his cheeks the second Leonardo started to speak. He was across the room before anyone else had finished processing the prodigal son’s return, lifting his twin out of Gio’s arms and sinking to the floor with him, crushing Leonardo to his chest. He was rattled by the close call—crying mostly silently, but shaking like a leaf—and clinging with a desperation that Gio understood perhaps even better than Donatello did. 

He knew exactly what the nightmare scenario looked like in high definition. And he knew exactly what Donatello looked like after surviving it.

Gio wouldn’t wish that on anyone, but certainly not this kid. Donatello had never warmed up to Gio, never even came close, but Gio was quickly realizing that he would do anything—anything—to protect this bright, quick-to-cry little likeness of him. 

Raphael was weeping openly, huge, wracking sobs, lifting them all into his arms with a deftness and certainty that Gio had never witnessed before. His Raphael always hesitated before touching anyone, second-guessing his strength at every turn. The first time he had touched Gio’s shoulder, he had visibly worked up the courage to do so in a way that just hadn’t made sense. 

It made sense now. This big protector, the biggest brother, the shield who let a knife get through. The guardian who almost failed. 

Gio couldn’t look at Mikey for longer than a second at a time without feeling his chest start to constrict painfully. He wanted to go home. He kept waiting for a yellow door to appear. 

But Leonardo’s eyes flew wide with panic when he realized Gio wasn’t in step with him to the infirmary. Gio understood why the world fell to pieces without him because he had only known Leonardo for the better part of three hours and already his built-in response was to do anything to take that fear away. 

He took Leonardo’s reaching hands the way no one took Gio’s when he was sixteen and held them. He promised not to leave yet. 

“Thank you,” Raphael said suddenly. “God, no one said that yet. Thank you, Gio, for—”

“You don’t have to thank me,” Gio replied, staring at Leo’s hand squeezed around his, because it was the only safe place in the room. 

“Uh, we really do,” Raphael said. He was sitting patiently still while Casey cleaned his eye, gazing earnestly at Gio without moving his head. “I know some people have a thing about that, like, ‘there’s no place for thank yours or apologies between family,’ but we don’t subscribe to that policy.”

“Sometimes it’s just nice to hear it,” little Mikey piped up from where he had finally eeled his way onto Leonardo’s cot despite everyone else telling him not to. 

He snuggled right in, sure of his welcome, his shell a perfect fit beneath Leonardo’s arm. There was no way Donatello hadn’t noticed immediately, glued as he was to the other side of the bed, but he didn’t do more than roll his eyes. When the rest of the family clued in they let out aggravated sighs, but no one made any attempt to remove the smaller turtle. April only straightened out Leonardo’s blanket so it covered them both.

“I wanted to say it, too,” Mikey mumbled, word salad lost in the hollow of Leo’s neck and shoulder where he tucked his face to hide. “Thank you, Gio. And sorry, Leo. I couldn’t get you out. I tried and I couldn’t. If you died it would have been all my fault. I didn’t save you. Sorry, Leo,” he said again, voice thick and choked and giving himself away. 

Six people start talking at once, all of them vehemently opposed to the idea Mikey was presenting. Gio couldn’t stand the idea of even a sliver of his Mikey’s self-blame and self-hate existing here, too, when it never should have existed at all. 

“You did save him,” he said, unintentionally cutting through the noise as perfunctorily as an arrow piercing through a straw target. Mikey peeked out at him, red eyes miserable and swimming with tears, and Gio forced himself to meet those eyes head-on. “You sent me,” he said. 

“Oh,” Casey said, a look of slow-dawning understanding on his face. “You’re from the future, too.”

April said, “That would have been so much harder to believe yesterday.” 

Mikey’s eyes were round as he lifted his face most of the way out of hiding. Gio’s heart fucking broke letting himself remember for one second the life-altering grief that this fifteen-year-old had to live through the first time around. The bleakness that drained his whole world of idealism and wonder like rain washing colorful sidewalk chalk away. 

It didn’t happen, he thought, willing someone who wasn’t present to hear it somehow. It won’t ever happen now. 

“Did I really?” Mikey ventured in a tiny voice. 

“Really,” Gio said firmly. “You couldn’t reach him inside the prison dimension because he wasn’t there anymore. He was already gone.” 

“Because you got him out,” Donatello interjected, piecing it together laughably quickly. “Mikey’s portal on Staten Island didn’t work because his portal from the future beat him to it. Leo wasn’t there because he was with Georgie out here.” 

The nickname from him of all people rattled something in Gio’s heart that he was careful to step on and keep still. 

“How come it had to happen that way?” Mikey whined nasally, drying his face on the blanket even though it made Donatello hiss at him.  “That really scared me!”  

Casey was staring from across the room with a look on his face that was becoming more stricken and haunted by the second. Gio caught his eye and held it, the only confirmation he was willing to give that whatever conclusion the other time traveler had come to was probably the correct one—and also, hopefully, enough of a hint that Casey should keep it to himself. 

“Isn’t that a paradox?” Raphael was venturing nervously. “Like in the movies? Aren’t those—not good?”

“Not according to Novikov’s consistency principle,” Donnie said in a very loud, rapid-fire voice, phone appearing in his hand, “which I am happy to explain to you all if you’ll give me a brief moment to reorganize my PowerPoint slides. S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N., bring me the laser pointer.”

“No PowerPoints,” Splinter cut over him. “And no paradoxes! It is time for little turtles—and honorary turtles—to go to bed!” 

“Okay, well, we can not do the slideshow, but the paradox thing is kind of out of our hands?” April replied. 

She was kicking her shoes off as she said it, though, and climbing up next to Raphael on the other cot. The big snapping turtle patted the free side of the bed until Casey minced over to join them. 

“We will discuss it in the morning, like civilized mutants,” Splinter said decisively, distributing forehead kisses and blankets throughout the room in the same no-nonsense tone. It was businesslike to a degree that almost felt silly and performative—that was meant to be silly and performative, Gio realized, because it was causing Splinter’s children to scrunch their faces up and fight laughter.  

He blinked at the polka-dotted blanket that appeared in front of him. 

“Take that jacket off and I’ll get it cleaned for you,” Splinter said, tone gentling just slightly, just for him. “I know my turtles tend to run cold, so wrap up in this in the meantime.”

Gio was not a child who needed to be coddled or tucked in. He had outgrown any real need for a parent years ago. He had, within days of meeting Splinter in the future, smothered the little hope that his actual parent might want him. 

But he still shrugged out of his jacket, letting go of Leonardo’s hand only briefly to do it. He folded the jacket inside-out to hide the blood from anyone who hadn’t noticed it yet and traded it for the blanket that Splinter wrapped around his shoulders. 

He held the front edges together in his free hand so it didn’t slip down his shell. He couldn’t help rubbing the fabric between his thumb and the side of his forefinger, memorizing the softness. 

“You heard all that, right, Miguelito?” Leonardo mumbled, slowly losing his battle to stay conscious as he poked one of the sunny spots on Mikey’s cheek. “More proof that you’re the best little brother a guy could ask for. Maybe I’ll retire and leave all the portaling to you from now on, how ‘bout it?”

“That’s illegal,” Mikey replied promptly. He was unselfconcious about the tacky tear residue on his face and seemed to feel better now that he was done crying. “You’re stuck with us forever. Donnie, get up here already.”

“Yeah, Donnie, get up here already,” Leonardo parroted unhelpfully.

“You have so many broken bones, Nardo,” Donatello grumbled, sounding halfway convinced despite himself.

“So don’t break anymore of them and we’re golden, Tello.”

Leonardo finally fell asleep with his hand curled around Gio’s and his younger brother and older twin squeezed into the bed on either side of him. Everyone else dropped off one by one, unwilling to leave the room to find a more comfortable place to sleep, clustered together like it went against their very nature to be apart. 

When Gio gave in and rested his head in the pillow of his folded arm, he had only had his eyes closed for a number of minutes before a furry hand touched his forehead. He feigned sleep, a riot of tenderness and confusion taking over his chest, as a thumb brushed gently over his brow in a way that reminded Gio immediately of his big brother. 

His big brother who, Gio was only just realizing, was a patchwork of everyone who had ever loved him. Pieces that made up a greater whole, inherited and passed on. Love that traded so many hands before it made its way into Gio’s. 

Splinter was humming a song Gio didn’t recognize, low and soft, over and over. Gio shouldn’t have felt safe enough to sleep, but he did. And he was. 

—

Someone else was humming now, the same song in a different register. 

“Rise and shine, Clementine,” that voice says, warm and sweet and on the edge of crumbling, like a coffee cake crusted in cinnamon sugar, fresh out of the oven and falling apart in eager hands. 

Gio wonders for a second if he’s home. Then he realizes that he must be dreaming. He’s still in the infirmary but it’s darker now and absolutely silent, not even the machines at the bedside beeping or blinking. No one moves when he lifts his head or stands up to look around. And Mikey is here. 

Long dark hair in a messy plait, shoulders broad and burdened with things that weren’t just his to carry, twenty-six going on a hundred. Gio’s Mikey. 

Some jangling, dislocated thing in his chest is soothed by the presence of his big brother and Gio smiles automatically. 

Home came to him. That’s never happened before. 

“You’re amazing, you know that?” Mikey says, beaming back at him. “You did exactly what you said you would. You got him out. My big brother, my Leo—Gogo, thank you. Thank you.”

 The praise and gratitude fills him with a golden warmth that would put the sky in July to absolute shame. It isn’t hard to hear it from Mikey the way it was almost impossible to endure hearing it from little Raphael, because Gio keeps everything Mikey gives him, even the things he doesn’t deserve. 

“I can come back now,” he says, not quite a question. He can’t think of why else Mikey would be here. 

Something passes in front of Mikey’s joy like a cloud moving in front of the sun. A cold, hard kernel of dread lodges itself in Gio’s stomach, doubling in size by the second. It must show on his face, because Mikey crosses the few steps between them urgently. 

“If I could, I would,” he says. “I’d bring you anywhere you wanted to go. But I can’t.” 

Mikey wouldn’t hurt him—had never hurt him, had never given Gio any reason to believe he would ever hurt him—so when he holds out his hands, Gio takes them. It seems to give the older turtle a little strength, or maybe courage, some cluster of tension in his shoulders leveling out. 

They stand there together instead of apart as Mikey says, “You belong right here.” 

Gio has to fight his first and second impulse to flinch away from that. Maybe Mikey can tell, because he squeezes their joined hands, expression pleading. 

“Why?” Gio asks, barely enough strength behind the question to constitute a whisper. 

I wouldn’t have left if I knew I couldn’t come back, he doesn’t say, because it would be selfish and unkind, and maybe even untrue. He can’t imagine abandoning Leo to that dark place he found him in for any reason. It’s hard to even really think about leaving him after he pleaded with Gio not to go. The first person who had ever asked Gio not to go. 

“Why can't I go back?” he says, feeling half his age, that stupid child who still wanted to be wanted, who hadn’t figured out yet that it would never happen. 

“Georgie baby, the future hasn’t happened yet. There’s nothing there to go back to.” 

He struggles to wrap his mind around that, not quite understanding yet. “You’re there.”

“No,” Mikey admits, “not even me. All that’s left of me is this part, the part that went with you.” 

Horror creeps in like a late autumn chill through a window someone didn’t shut right. Gio’s world is upending, a disaster that’s about to happen, the split-second before a car crash. 

Mikey goes on, “I asked Renet to let me tag along. This much of me, anyway. Sorry, shortcake,” he adds ruefully, a younger brother who lived long enough to become the overbearing older one. “I know you wanted to go, and I couldn’t force you to stay. But I hated the thought of you out there by yourself.”

“I thought I’d get to come home,” Gio says. He feels crushed, eyes stinging, a hopeless aching thing yawning open inside him. He feels stupid. He should have known better. He thinks of Mikey’s face when Gio left, just another person who left. He thinks of never seeing Mikey’s face again, and the pain pours out of him because it’s too big and too full of sharp broken edges to hold. 

“I’m sorry,” he tries to say, but it comes out punchy and strangled, mostly a sob, “I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” Mikey says, all fast, swooping right in. His hands come to rest on Gio’s shoulders, a familiar comfort. “Sweet kid, you didn’t do anything wrong.” 

Gio’s big brother, the one who taught him everything that matters. How to cook soft scrambled eggs. How to make a friendship bracelet. All the words to Ribs by Lorde, learned while dancing together in the kitchen in the middle of the night. Gio had never held hands with anyone just to dance. He had never laughed so loud in his life. 

That kitchen was the safest place in the entire world. The heart of an almost-empty home, where a little light above the stove always stayed on. Gio could find his way to that room in total darkness. He could find his way there from the other side of the universe. 

“You meant the world to me,” Mikey says. “That doesn’t just disappear.”

The tears don’t stop, betraying him one after another. A dam broke somewhere inside him, the last levee standing underwater. He’s pulled into a hug, tucked under his brother’s chin for what could be the last time. Gio clings to him the way he never allowed himself to before, some desperate and frightened and homesick corner of his heart convinced that he can hold on tight enough to never let go. 

Mikey presses his cheek to the top of Gio’s head, swaying them back and forth. Effortlessly kind, even now, even when Gio doesn’t have to be his problem anymore.  

“Will I see you again?” Gio asks, not sure he wants to know the answer. 

“Who knows?” Mikey tells him warmly. “Maybe you should wake up and find out.” 

—

Someone is gently shaking him awake. He doesn’t flinch away because the hands on his arm are familiar. They’re smaller than he remembers but he’d know Michelangelo anywhere. He’d never mistake him for anyone else. 

When Gio opens his eyes, a round, bright face is beaming at him. There is nothing broken or worn out or drowning about this kid. He’s summer sunshine, he’s spoiled and loved and has never gone a single day without being scooped up and smothered in affection. He wouldn’t know the first thing about living without all of that. 

And he looks at Gio the way Gio’s big brother used to, like there was no one he would rather share all his light with than him. 

“Rise and shine, Georgie!” Mikey chirps. “You were promised breakfast empanadas and I aim to deliver. Wanna help me out? I need someone on bell pepper duty before Raphie eats them all!” 

Some things change and some things stay exactly the same. Gio smiles before he realizes he’s going to, helpless to do anything else. 

Maybe this is where he’ll be allowed to stay. 

[girlgenius1111]

we don't have to talk about it

part 2 of cool about it because you're all depressed

warnings: heavy descriptions of depression + depressive thoughts. self harm. maybe we'll make reader go to therapy in the next installment.

also i didn't proofread this purely so i can read it before bed and feel all warm and fuzzy inside

Alexia made a conscious effort to be more attentive to your mood, noticing highs and lows. You still struggled to let her in, and tell her when you weren't doing well, but it was improving. Mostly because of how persistent she was.

Alexia knowing, and just being there, was so helpful. It had been so long since you'd really struggled, and things were going well in your life, generally, so it caught you off guard when things started to worsen.

It was a few months after Alexia really learned about the depths of you mental health struggles, and both of you were incredibly busy. So busy, in fact, that neither of you really noticed that you weren't doing well. You chalked up your low energy to exhaustion from the season, and stress, and Alexia didn't think to question it.

It only hit you, what was really going on, when the Alexia left on national duty, and you remained in Barcelona. While England had been eliminated from the Nations League, you still had friendlies to play, but you'd picked up a minor concussion, and stayed behind, not wanting to risk anything for a friendly.

10 days without Alexia was not something you were looking forward too, and 10 days without Alexia, while you couldn't practice, sounded pretty awful. Maybe this is what caused your slump, or maybe it was some combination of the concussion and being alone with nothing to do. Or maybe, it was just something that happened.

You liked to think you had the depression beat, completely managed. Trying to find a cause to attribute your low mood too was your way of convincing yourself that you were fine. Normally it worked.

A few days after Alexia left, you realized what was going on. You had returned from dropping her at the airport, immediately falling asleep on the couch. You normally didn't nap, only when you weren't feeling right, so when you woke up a few hours later, you were already suspicious. This suspicion only remained over the next couple days, growing with each irritating symptom.

Leaving the house was an ordeal. You tried to get out everyday, you really did, but everything made your head hurt, and it was so much easier to stay in. And you were so, so, tired. Exhaustion that settled in your bones, that didn't fade even marginally, no matter how much you slept. You found yourself stressing over simple things, like what to reply to Alexia's good morning text, or what to eat for lunch. You made excuses for why you couldn't spend time with your teammates that had also remained in Barcelona, because none of them were Alexia, and Alexia was all you wanted.

You just didn't feel right. All you wanted to do was lay down and do nothing. Something within you ached, and you couldn't get rid of it. And with the ache, came insecurity. All the progress you'd made, letting Alexia see this part of you, vanished as soon as things got a little harder than normal. You had a lot of time to think, and think you did. About how sure you were that Alexia really didn't wan't to deal with this, with you like this.

Part of you wanted her, desperately, and the other part wouldn't allow it. It was so confusing, like all your emotions were contradicting each other. As a result, you pulled back a little. Answering her texts with shorter responses, making excuses about why you couldn't call. You told yourself that it was because you wanted her to focus on the games she was playing. Really, it was because you knew the minute she talked to you for more than 5 minutes, she'd know something wasn't right.

You were used to the decent into feeling worthless when you were depressed. It had never quite been this bad before; the regular feelings seemed to combine with the immense guilt you felt. Guilt for not letting Alexia in, and for letting her in too much. For not being strong enough to go 10 days without her, just 10 days, without completely collapsing. The guilt made you feel worse, until it was almost unbearable. Until it was unbearable. That was around day 7.

Day 9 was when you did the thing you promised yourself that you would never do again. You couldn't help it, really. Everything in your brain was screaming at you that you weren't good, weren't trying hard enough, weren't good enough at anything.

In hindsight, maybe trying to get rid of guilt by doing something that had, historically, made you feel incredibly guilty, was not the best plan. With each cut, the guilt weighing on you grew, until it stopped. Until there was nothing, you felt nothing, except the sharp sting on your thigh. You finally had a moment of peace, but it didn't last long.

Because, fuck, Alexia was going to be home tomorrow. Perfect, sweet Alexia, who took herself so seriously, and who blamed herself whenever anything went wrong.

You didn't cry, you didn't think you could, but you wanted to. As you disinfected and bandaged your thigh, you wished that you would feel the sting of tears in your eyes, but none came. Tears would have been a sign that you were coming out of this, whatever was happening to you.

You went to bed that night, not setting an alarm because you didn't need to get Alexia from the airport until the afternoon. You drifted off, buried on her side of the bed, wearing only her clothes, clinging to her pillow desperately. Every movement you made stung your leg, and you were reminded of what you'd done to yourself. You couldn't remember the last time it had been this bad, this heavy, this incapacitating. Your last thoughts before you fell asleep was how the hell you were going to keep this from Alexia.

-----

Alexia wasn't really sure what was going on. You'd seemed fine when she left, concussed and tired, but fine. As the days passed, she noticed you pull away. It was a busy break, and she had meetings on top of training and games. Her little free time was spent worrying, wondering if you were mad at her. It was the only thing she could think of, because you'd been so good about telling her when you weren't feeling right.

Her worry had grown so much that her friends got tired of how distracted she was, and told her to just fly back early if she was so concerned.

She only landed a few hours earlier, in the morning, getting an uber to your guys' apartment. Alexia was sure she'd find you mad at her, about something, and was prepared to do anything to fix it. What she wasn't expecting was to find you sitting on the couch, wrapped in one of her blankets, staring at the door as she walked in as if she'd caught you cheating on her or something.

"Ale?" you wondered, "I- I was gonna get you from the airport. Later. What are you doing here?"

Something wasn't right. You weren't mad, which she would've preferred to the empty look on your face. Normally when you guys reunited, even after only a couple days apart, you greeted her with a hug, and kisses. You were sitting, frozen, on the couch though.

"I came earlier, I missed you," she said, watching carefully as she spoke. "Can I have a hug, amor?"

At that, you seemed to realize that Alexia really was here, right in front of you, and you launched yourself off the couch, around the coffee table, and into her arms.

"Oof- hola mi bebé," she said, catching you in her arms with a huff. You clung to her, desperately, and she returned the embrace, as you buried your face in her chest. She was startled to feel that you were trembling slightly in her embrace. She tightened her arms around you, pressing a kiss to your head, before pulling away, and cradling your face with her hands.

"What's wrong? You're shaking."

"Just a long week. I missed you." You replied, but you wouldn't meet her eyes.

"Okay... if you say so. I need to shower. Want to join me?" She asked, hoping to distract you from whatever was wrong. She was well versed in how to get you to talk, and distracting you until she could catch you off guard was one sure way.

Alexia watched as your face brightened slightly, and you opened your mouth to say yes. Suddenly though, a look of panic crossed your face, your mouth snapped shut, and you shook your head.

"No, I... No I don't feel like showering." You told her shakily. You winced internally, realizing you probably could have come up with a better excuse than that. You couldn't shower with her though, couldn't let her see you. See what you'd done. She'd been with you through a lot, but never this. Never with something this bad.

Alexia was looking at you, very carefully. As different explanations for why you wouldn't want to shower with her flew through her head, an explanation that covered how panicked you had been when you said no, she settled on a clear answer. One that made her heart sink, and one that explained your odd behavior the past 10 days.

You knew you were caught, the look on her face told you that she'd put it together. She softened, looking at you so gently, it made you want to collapse into her arms.

"Mi amor-" She started, but you interrupted.

"I have to go. I have an errand to run, I need to go," You said, because you couldn't deal with this. You just couldn't. You tried to head for the door, but Alexia's grip on you was strong, one hand holding your wrist, the other wrapping around your waist, pulling you into her.

"No, bebé, I need you to stay here," she cooed into your ear and you shook your head frantically.

"No, Ale, please, I need to go," you said, struggling against her, and she felt tears pooling in her eyes at the desperation with which you spoke. Alexia didn't respond, simply kissing your cheek a few times until she felt you go limp in her arms, abandoning your fight.

Alexia picked you up easily, cradling you in her arms, and made her way to your bedroom. As she walked in, she noticed that your side of the bed was untouched. On her pillow, one of her sweatshirts was crumpled there, as if you'd been holding it as you slept. She didn't understand why you hadn't called her. You'd clearly needed her, desperately, but you'd suffered in silence. She set you down on the edge of the bed, and you stared at the floor.

Kneeling in between your legs, she looked up at you. "Y/n, what happened?" She asked carefully.

"I don't know. It just got so out of control and I didn't know what else to do." You replied, still refusing to meet her eyes. She wanted to shout that you could have called her, could have asked her for help. That wouldn't do anything, though, so she just nodded.

"Come shower with me, please. Then we can just hangout until you're ready to talk," she said, and you knew there was no other option. You nodded, and she stood, tilting your chin up to press a sweet kiss to your lips. "I love you." She told you, figuring that you might need to hear it.

"I love you too." you replied, giving her a weak smile.

Alexia took your hand, and led you into the bathroom. She turned the shower on, setting it to the exact temperature you would have, and your heart clenched at the small gesture. She turned back to you, and you felt your lip start to tremble, knowing what you needed to do.

"Mi niña bonita, it's going to be okay, I promise." She said, noticing the tears in your eyes. She gently tugged your top and bra off, trailing kisses down your chest and stomach as she kneeled in front of you. There was nothing sexual about the actions, she was simply trying to bring you any comfort she could. She rested her hands on the waistband of the sweatpants you had on, looking up at you, waiting for you to be ready.

"Are you mad?" you asked, squeezing your eyes shut.

"No. I'm not mad, I could never be mad. Not for this," she promised, and you opened your eyes, looking down at her. She was looking up at you, green eyes wide with such sincerity, you nodded, giving her the go ahead.

Alexia tugged your pants and underwear down together, carefully lifting the waistband over the bandage on your thigh. She worked to keep her face neutral, which was hard. The brown bandage covered up so much of your thigh, all of your old scars were covered by it. She bit her lip, trying to withhold her emotions for now. You needed her, which she was reminded when she looked back up at you, to see you staring at the ceiling.

"Amor, can I take this off?" she asked. Now that she knew you had clearly properly cared for the cuts, she didn't need to take the bandage off, and she wouldn't make you. She wanted to see, though, see how bad it was. She had to know, if she was going to be able to help. One cut was a lot different than ten.

You looked back down at her, taking a second before answering. everything in you was telling you to say no, but hiding things hadn't been working so well. It was what got you on the bathroom floor with a razor blade yesterday, and now, with your girlfriend kneeled at your feet, thumbs rubbing gentle circles into the skin of your thigh.

"I'll do it," you told her, taking a deep breath. You reached your hands down from where they held tight to the counter, ignoring the way they shook. You tugged on the bandage, not bothering to be gentle as you peeled it off. You wouldn't look, you couldn't. You heard Alexia's intake of breath at the sight, and you felt a tear drop from your face. You felt something featherlight touch the partially healed cuts, and you looked down on instinct. Alexia was placing a light kiss on every cut, and you couldn't hold back anymore.

Letting out a sob, you cried harder than you had in a long time. "I'm sorry, Ale, I'm so sorry. I'm so fucking sorry." Alexia was up in a flash, cradling you against her as you cried. Her hands rubbed up and down your bare back as she spoke quietly in your ear.

"It's okay, you don't need to be sorry, mi amor. I love you. It's all going to be okay. Estoy aquí, no voy a ninguna. Te tengo, para siempre," she murmured.

She got you to stop crying, if only slightly, and pulled you into the shower, after taking her own clothes off. It was a blur, you knew she washed your hair, and you knew she was talking to you the whole time, but suddenly, you were sitting on the bed again, and she was carefully wrapping up your thigh.

"Feel okay?" she asked, once she'd secured the bandage on. You told her it did and she sent you a soft smile, before pulling clothes on you both. Alexia gave you your favorite sweatshirt of hers, an old Barca crewneck, and herself pulled on one of yours, a grey, ripped and faded hoodie, that she swore was the softest thing you owned.

Carefully, she brushed your hair out, tying it back in a loose braid, knowing you hated when your wet hair got your shirt all wet. She brushed through her own hair quickly, not daring to leave your side. It was silent as she did so. You were truly astounded with the level of care with which she was treating you. It made you feel like the thoughts that had been swirling around your brain for days might be wrong.

Alexia made the bed, then, knowing you preferred to lay on top of the covers with a blanket during the day, before laying down, and opening her arms for you to join her. You crawled up the bed, settling down with your back to her chest, lacing your fingers with hers, and pulling her arms to wrap around your body.

It was calming, feeling the rise and fall of your girlfriend's chest under you, feeling her chin rest lightly on the top of your head. Alexia wasn't sure what to say, where to start. She had so many questions. Luckily, it had seemed you'd found your voice, as you spoke.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you it was bad again," you rasped, throat somewhat raw from crying.

"Why didn't you?" she questioned.

"It wasn't on purpose at first. And then suddenly it was so bad and I didn't want you to know. I was worried it would be too much. I felt so guilty, like I was letting you down by not calling, but like I couldn't burden you with it."

Alexia hummed in response, thinking carefully about her next words. "Bebé, did you really think I'd be mad at you?"

"Yeah. When I get like this, I just. Convince myself that I'm not good enough for you, and I'm so scared that if I mess up, you'll leave."

"I'm not leaving. Ever. No matter what," she promised. "Can you tell me why? What were you thinking that made you do that to yourself?" You took a deep breath at her words, and you felt her arms tighten around you, just slightly.

"I felt like a bad person. I couldn't even make it 10 days without you, I was such a mess. I couldn't feel anything, but this insane guilt, all I could hear was my brain telling me that I'm not good. I just needed it to stop." It was the most you'd ever told anyone. You felt Alexia deserved an actual explanation, and you trusted her. You really did, even though sometimes it seemed like you didn't. It was you that you didn't trust as much.

"Did it work?"

"For a bit. Then all I could think was that you were going to be disappointed in me." You felt her shake her head behind you.

"Never. You are good, mi niña, you are so good. You are kind, and thoughtful, and you always make me laugh. When I get to make you smile, it's better than scoring 100 goals in Camp Nou. You are the most important thing to me."

"And it makes me chest hurt, to think of you doing this, to think that your thoughts were so bad, you didn't feel like you had another choice. You always have another choice, mi amor. You can always call me when you need me. When you feel like that, and your brain isn't being very nice to you, I will remind you every time that it's wrong." she paused.

"And I don't want you to feel like you need to hide it from me if you hurt yourself. I want to know, because I love you, and I care about you, and I want you to be safe, and happy, and healthy. I'll never be mad, mi amor. I want to help, but I can only do that if you let me, if you trust me," she finished, wishing she could see your face.

"I trust you. I promise I do, I just got so scared that it would be too much this time."

"You will never be too much for me," she responded firmly.

"I promise that if this happens again, I'll tell you. I promise," you repeated, promising yourself as well. Alexia kissed the top of your head in response. You shifted on top of her, rolling onto your stomach, resting your chin on her chest to look at her. Her thumb came up to gently wipe a tear off your face.

"Thank you. I know you said you don't mind, that you aren't mad, but you don't have to be as perfect, as patient, as you are."

"You are perfect, mi niña, you'll always be perfect. My most perfect girl," she said. You couldn't find a trace of doubt in her face. You looked up at her for a few more seconds, and she looked down at you, watching as you decided whether or not to speak.

"What is it?" she asked gently, watching as you fought back tears once again.

"It's stupid," you replied, and she raised an eyebrow at you. "I was clean for 4 years, and now I'm not. I have to go back to day 1, Ale, and I don't know how." You told her, vulnerability clear on your face.

"That's not stupid, not at all. We'll do it again, together. It'll be easier this, time because I'm not letting you do any of it alone. We'll get you to 4 years again, and 5 and 6. And if you slip up, we'll deal with that too. You aren't doing this by yourself, we'll figure it out. I promise."

"How do you always know what to say?" you asked, sniffling.

She chuckled lightly, and it was the first real smile you'd seen on her face since she'd walked through the door. "Because I know you, and I know how your brain works. I know that it's telling you, all the time, that I'm going to leave. All I need to do is promise that I'm not going anywhere, because I'm not. Being here, it's the easiest thing in the world, because you are so easy to love, so easy to be with."

Alexia tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear, looking at you with an adoring face that you couldn't help but return. The force of her love for you tended to knock you off your feet, sometimes. You only really believed it, believed her, because you knew it was how you felt about her. You saw your love for her reflected in her eyes at you, and if anything was going to get you through this, it was the knowledge that she wanted to be here. That she loved you, no matter what. You knew she'd make you love yourself again, whatever it took.

-----

try to end one of my fics without both girls going to sleep challenge. i hope everything made sense. i feel like it's really hard to describe how i feel when i'm depressed, and i don't want to make it so specific that people will have a hard time relating. anyway, if you read this and it resonated with you at all, i hope you're doing okay. And if you're not, you will be. i promise. <3 i love you all

[pandora-writes-one-piece]

The Meet Cute - Law's Story - 2

Source for pic

The Great Pretender 2

Word Count: 4816

Tags For The Whole Story: Fem!Reader; Law is a soft dom; you have bratty tendencies (not all the time); voice kink; praise kink; cursing; very suggestive behaviour and innuendo from the start; sexual tension; teasing; so much flirting; romance; slow-burn; fluff; slight angst; mature audiences (though explicit NSFW moments will be properly tagged on the chapter); possessive Law; protective Law; soft Law; teasing Law; manipulative Doflamingo; inappropriate Doflamingo; fake relationship trope; only one-bed trope; reader has some anxiety issues; reader is a control freak and perfectionist; modern day AU

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Summary: After moving away from the hustle and bustle of Grand Line City to help your father around the property following a horse-riding accident - and in the hopes of healing your broken heart after your asshole ex-fiancé cheated - you settle into the country calmness of the Calm Belt. You and Law (your father's doctor) start to build a flirty friendship because of your father’s procedure. So much so that when he’s invited to Baby 5’s wedding (his cousin), he asks you to be his date. His uncle Doflamingo - who is filthy rich - is very adamant on finding a suitable wife for him. Seeing as he wants to avoid that, he asks you to pretend to be his girlfriend for the weekend.

Notes: Here's chapter 2! We're still setting up the stage to more exciting events coming up! It's time for Shanks' surgery now.

Tag List: @rosidaze @beachaddict48 @armiliadawn @jintaka-hane @sprinkklz @baby5555

Masterlist

|Chapter 1| | |Chapter 3|

“What do you know about Dr. Law?” Sipping your coffee you stare at Nami, trying to hide the curiosity gnawing at your brain. You haven’t been able to stop thinking about the handsome dark-haired doctor since the appointment two days ago. When you slipped him your number, you unconsciously hoped he would send you a text or give you a call, but then again, why would he? You gave him your number for professional reasons and, despite all the fun teasing when you were with him, you know he’s very professional at his job. 

Also, you knew Kaya would be able to answer any and all lingering questions you might have about him, but Kaya was too invested in trying to set you up and, as attracted as you felt to him, you didn’t really want to act on it.

It was just curiosity.

Right?

“Dr. Law? From the clinic?” Nami placed a finger on her chin as her eyes wandered to the ceiling. “Well, he’s a very good doctor but he’s not very sociable. I think Luffy knows him and they get along well. But he doesn’t party very much. He drinks a lot of coffee - I think Sanji can vouch for that - but he doesn’t hang around coffee shops. He keeps to himself, mostly.” She sighed. “Maybe you should ask Kaya? She sees him on a daily basis! Oh, Robin might answer some questions for you too, they worked together on some paper for a science magazine a while ago.”

Damn it. Not one drop of interesting information. Only that he wasn’t a social butterfly. Shrugging, you nodded and were about to change the subject when Nami’s brow rose. “Why?”

You tried to hide your blush behind the coffee mug. “Oh, no big deal! He’s my dad’s doctor and he’s going to be the one performing his back surgery, should he agree to it. I just wondered how good of a doctor he really was. He seemed professional but you never know!” She was still watching you closely. You were rambling, so you shut up with another sip of coffee. 

“Riiiight.” Her smirk grew. “I’ll pretend to believe you. But I want all the information when things progress between you two!”

-*-

Another two days go by without any exciting news and, somehow, you manage to push Law to the back of your mind, what with the constant scolding of your father’s terrible seating habits, all the helping around the property, and a part-time job Nami had recommended to you at her firm. It was basically sorting files and organising old data and, despite Nami’s assurance that it was mind-numbing, boring work, you secretly loved it.

Because, as Law perfectly diagnosed, you are a bit of a control freak. 

Now that you are back to thinking about him, you remember him telling you that he had a few tips for you to let go and relax. Was he talking about everyday tips or… intimacy tips? Because his tone of voice had suggested something else. 

You are wound up so tight that the thought of relaxing in someone’s care is-... exhilarating. 

Fortunately the buzz of your phone wakes you from your reverie and, patting the cow in front of you on the hind, you walk away from the barn while picking up the call.

“Hello?”

The deep voice calling your name on the other side brings shivers down your spine. It’s Law. “Is this a good time to speak?”

“Yes!” You shake your head and inhale deeply. “Sorry, I was doing some chores for my dad. It’s fine, I’m fine. I mean… yes, you can speak.” Fuck. Once again you wonder what is it about his voice that makes you weak in the knees and dumb in the head?

The vibrato of his chuckle doesn’t have the same effect on you over the phone, but it’s still very endearing. “I’m calling because I’ve managed to check your notebook and I would like to arrange a house call so we can surprise your father.”

Ah, the ambush! You are ready for that. Shanks isn’t.

“I think he will be working around the property all day this week. I won’t be available in the mornings, though. If you can manage a visit in the afternoon, it would work best.”

He hums on the other side and you sit down on a hay bale. Can there be a way to avoid being affected by a tone of voice? Would online research help? “I can make it tomorrow, if that works?”

“Yes! I’m open for you.” You almost bite your tongue as your hand slaps your head. “My schedule is open for you! My schedule!” You bet that if you could see his face, the man would be smirking.

There’s definitely amusement in the tone of his voice. “Tomorrow it is, then.” 

You say your goodbyes and put the phone away as you groan in frustration. How dumb can you be, really?

-*-

When you get home from your part-time job, your organisational needs fulfilled for the day, your father tells you that Ace had come by to help and all the chores were taken care of, so he’s heading out to Beckman’s for beers and to watch the football game.

“No! No, no!” You quickly grab your phone and text the number from which Law called, hoping it’s his personal, or at least professional phone and that he’s carrying it with him now. You quickly say your dad is about to leave and he needs to come ASAP.

Then you turn to Shanks with a pained smile. “Dad, the car is giving me trouble again and I need your help. Teach me how to get it to work effortlessly every time!”

Shanks sighs and looks at his watch. “Fineee. The game doesn’t start for another four hours anyway.”

Placing your hands on your hips, you scrunch your nose. “Four hours? Then why the hell are you going there so early?”

Shanks guffaws. “Pre-game drinks, bug! Why else?” Rolling your eyes to the back of your head, you make your way outside to your car. You keep pestering Shanks about different things, trying to buy your time and, slowly, pissing him off inadvertently, until you spot a fancy car coming up the driveway. 

“Oh, thank God.” You mutter, having exhausted all your car-related questions in your arsenal. 

“Thank God, what? Who’s that?” Shanks closes the door of your car and tilts his head sideways. Once he sees the driver, he groans. “An ambush?” His glare could almost burn holes into you.

“Sorry, Shanks. It’s the only way you’ll speak with Dr. Law! You will undergo that surgery. It’s for your own good!”

Your dad still tries to escape, but as soon as he witnesses the scowl on Law’s face, he stops trying to struggle and resigns himself to the situation. Law is dressed casually without his doctor’s coat on: black t-shirt and again with those cute, spotted jeans. He’s so tall and lean, with defined muscles, but nothing too big. And the tattoos… paired with the earrings and the rebel goatee, they almost make you want to squeal. This man is too damn hot to be walking around.

He says your name as he leaves the car with a sly smile and then turns to your dad. “Mr. S. Hi. So sorry for the ambush, but you wouldn’t come to me, so I had to come to you. I’m told we’re going through with the surgery and I’m here to explain everything.”

Shanks groans and you chuckle. “Let’s go inside, I’ll make coffee.” 

Law’s ears perk at that, as you knew they would, and now you’re feeling the pressure of making a good cup of coffee. Fortunately, you’ve just stocked up on some amazing roasted coffee beans that Sanji recommended, and they truly make a delicious brew. 

-*-

Two and a half hours are all it takes for Law to go over the questions in your notebook. He compliments your organisational skills with a slight smirk, and a teasing remark about you trying to control everything, but you try to ignore his tone and he continues. 

He also answers all of your father’s sillier questions, even the one where he asks if he would lose function of any necessary limbs - you know what he’s referring to and you just shake your head at him - but Law handles it very professionally.

By the end, Shanks seems to be a bit more at ease with the whole process - and frankly, so are you - so he agrees when Law says he’ll schedule all necessary pre-surgery exams and the surgery itself.

Shanks leaves in a hurry to go and meet Beckman because the game should be starting in under two hours and he’s not nearly tipsy enough to watch his team lose. Thanking Law, he leaves you two alone telling you not to wait up for him.

Sighing, you get up from your chair to collect the empty coffee mugs. “That went well!” You can’t hide a soft smile from gracing your lips. Law gets up too as he helps you by grabbing his mug and a plate with cookies you had set out, and follows you to the kitchen.

“It really did. I’ll let you both know when the exams and the surgery are scheduled. His jitters will come back, but, if we’re lucky, only on surgery day. He’s going to be fine.”

You finish placing the dirty mugs in the sink and turn to him, leaning on the counter slightly and nodding your head with a weary smile. “Yes, yes, I know. He’s in good hands.”

Law approaches and, reaching behind you, places his dirty mug in the sink, his body a breath away from yours. You can almost feel his own breath in your ear, just for a moment, before he pulls back and steps away from you.

You release the breath you barely realised had been trapped as he keeps eye contact with you. “Thank you for the coffee you made for me. It was delicious.”

“I…” The praise! The damned praise! It turns your legs into jelly and leaves your tongue tied. You have to clear your throat before you manage to utter a full sentence. “Thank you. Sanji said it was a very good quality bean and I followed his instructions.”

His smirk disarms you as much as his praise and he partners it with a slight chuckle and by crossing his arms over his chest. “And do you always follow instructions that well?”

Oh… cheeky.

“Not always. It depends on the instructions. I tend to be a bit of a brat, sometimes.” You respond in kind to his teasing and, as you notice the glint in his eyes and the slight bob of his throat, you don’t regret it one bit. 

“Interesting.”

The look you give each other feels charged with tension, electrical, almost. Again, this was supposed to be a professional visit. Why do the two of you keep playing this dangerous game of teasing each other?

Are you willing to push the game further?

You wouldn’t mind trying a few naughty things with the doctor, but then again, you came to the Calm Belt to get your mind off romantic affairs and help mend your broken heart. 

But then again… this wouldn’t be romantic… just a bit of fun. And don’t they say that rebound sex is good for broken hearts?

Your wandering thoughts are cut short by an insistent beep from Law’s pager. He grunts and grabs it, glancing at it before sighing. “It’s the hospital. I have to go. We’ll keep in touch, okay?”

Yeah you wouldn’t mind that… keeping in touch…

“Yes! We’ll wait for the exam confirmations. Thank you for all your help.” You say while accompanying him to the door. 

As he descends the steps of the porch, he glances back to give you one last smirk, the tension of your previous moment still hovering above you both. “You did very well with that notebook. It was very thorough and neatly organised.” 

Your breath hitches and you feel your cheeks flush with colour. Law opens the door to his car and gazes at you, burning you with his stare. “I can’t wait to witness how you act when you stop trying to control everything and just… surrender.”

His voice is low, teasing and commanding. Laced with a promise of something more, something else, a not so subtle invitation to a very enticing what if. As his car rides up the driveway, you’re left standing in the doorway, your pulse quickening, even though he’s long gone. 

-*-

The day of the surgery finally arrives and you’re sure that your father didn’t sleep a wink. And neither have you. You shower and get dressed and when you get downstairs, he’s sitting by the kitchen chair looking very pale and worried.

“Morning, dad.” Shanks can’t eat or drink anything pre-surgery so you fill your coffee cup and stuff an apple in your purse for later. “How are you feeling? Get any sleep?”

Shanks groans. “I’m terrible, bug. I didn’t sleep a wink.”

You smile as you reach and hug his shoulders from behind. “It’s okay, daddy. You’ll sleep under anaesthesia.” He doesn’t laugh as you hoped he would, so you try to reassure him. “Dr. Law is very good at his job, dad. You’ll be in and out in an instant. Everything will be alright! Plus, I’ll be there waiting for you, okay?”

You asked for days off work to help a family member and arranged with Ace to feed the animals on the property, so you’re covered. All you have to do is worry nonstop in a hospital waiting room while your father is being operated on. 

Nothing too serious. 

Everything passes in a blur after you both leave the house. Shanks is feeling more and more anxious and you aren’t faring much better either. By the time you reach the hospital - in the next town over, where Law performs surgeries on his days off from the clinic - you are both very pale and nauseous. 

You check him in and, as he’s being taken to a room to get prepped for surgery, Law appears and asks you to come in so he can speak with both of you. He reviews the process step by step as you nod along - having studied the procedure from front to back, as the little control freak you are - assures you both that he will be there the entire time, reassuring you that it’s a routine procedure and everything will be alright. 

Shanks feels better once the nurses start to apply drugs to the IV, but you’re still wound as tight as a rope, so Law gently grasps your arm, leading you to the room where you will be waiting for the surgery to be over. He seats you in a chair and fills a cup of water from the dispenser.

“Drink.” He uses the commanding tone you’re slowly getting used to, and you do as you’re told. “You have nothing to worry about. I’ll take care of your father. He’s a strong man and this is routine. He’s got this.” Your eyes fix somewhere in front of you, staring into a void as your heart thumps against your eardrums in a deafening rhythm. Law’s firm hand captures your chin as he tilts your head up to meet his amber gaze. “I’ve got this. I won’t let anything happen to him. Do you trust me?”

It seems like such a charged question. As if he’s asking this and meaning so much more than the hours he’ll spend operating on your dad. Yet, you have no doubt about the answer.

“I do.” You whisper softly. 

Nodding, he turns to leave. “It will pass in an instant, okay? Try not to worry.” He leaves you alone, feeling the weight of fear crushing you and pressing down on your back. You feel helpless, impotent about what you can do to help, to make sure the outcome is a happy one.

But everything feels too out of control. 

Half an hour passes. The clock ticks relentlessly, and you still haven't moved. You brought a book and your cell phone is fully charged, yet you haven’t even taken your purse off your shoulder, your fingers still clutch the plastic cup that Law filled with water for you.

Your throat is dry yet you can’t find the strength to get more water. Your breath comes in shallow, uneven gasps, and your legs are restless.

Another ten minutes pass before you feel a light tap on your shoulder, pulling you back from the stress of the unknown, the unplanned, and the endless possibilities of what can go wrong.

“Kaya?” You whisper, your voice hoarse and ragged with fear.

Your friend smiles at you as she sits down by your side. “Dr. Law called me. He said to leave the clinic to the two morons - Penguin and Shachi are some of his closest friends, did you know that? - and said that I should come to you, immediately! Leaving no chance to argue back. He said he would pay me extra, but I told him to shove the berries in his back pocket because I’d gladly help you without any coercion.”

You blink slowly, your mind still too deep in the fog of uncertainty to really focus on Kaya’s words. Besides, she just dumped a lot of information on you, though one thought lingers front and centre: Law told her to come to you.

“Wait, Law told you to come here?”

She squeals excitedly while nodding with vigour. “He did! He said you looked scared and on the verge of a panic attack and he didn’t want you to be alone in the waiting room for two to three hours. How romantic is that?”

You take a deep breath and, finally, lean back in your chair, removing the strap from your purse and drinking the rest of the water. You already feel more at ease. Kaya’s presence is already reassuring you and easing your fears. “Not as romantic as you make it seem, since I’m about to shit my pants with fear.”

Kaya chuckles and takes the empty cup from your hand, throwing it in the trash and sitting back down. She takes your hand in hers in a reassuring way. “Honey, there’s no need to fret. Dr. Law is the best. You really don’t have to worry. You have no idea how many awards he has! And he’s still so young! He’s not even thirty yet, the man is a medical genius or something!”

She chuckles again and you stare in awe. You had no idea. Kaya sees your reaction and continues. 

“He even skipped a few grades in school. He took advanced classes and entered university two years early! He managed to finish his degree in half the time. He’s really smart and diligent.”

“Wow…” You say dumbly. “I didn’t know that. He did seem very professional and young, but I had no idea he was so good.”

“Honey, he’s much better than just good! I guarantee you that!” She giggles one more time, certainly already adding another chapter to her imaginary novel of your romance. “Did you know he comes from money?”

Raising a brow you turn fully to her, waiting for her to continue.

“He’s related to the Donquixotes. They’re filthy rich.”

Oh, you know damn well who the Donquixotes are. They’re close friends of the Vinsmokes, your ex’s family. You know they have loads of money, influence, power, status… you name it. You never made official acquaintance with them, but you glimpsed the head of the family, Donquixote Doflamingo, at some important parties, and the whole demeanour of the man demands respect. 

You had no idea Law was related to them. 

“I had no idea, Kaya. I know who they are. My ex’s family was very influential and they often frequented the same social circles.”

She’s just about to retort with some more gossip - you assume - when the staff door opens and a slightly frazzled nurse comes to speak with you. Immediately standing, you hope to hear her say that the surgery’s over, but her countenance tells you otherwise, and her words confirm it.

“There was a slight complication with your father’s procedure. There’s some unexpected swelling and inflammation in the tissue surrounding the herniated disc. Dr. Law wanted me to reassure you that all is well, and the only thing this means is that the surgery will be prolonged since he needs to proceed slower and with more caution.” The nurse gives you a strained smile. “He was very adamant that I make sure you understood that he would never let anything happen to your father and to confirm you were already accompanied by Nurse Kaya.”

You nod as you slump back down in the chair, all words stripped away from you, leaving Kaya to answer instead.

“Thank you nurse. Please assure Dr. Law that I’m with her and she’s very grateful for his help.”

The nurse nods and goes back inside while you review the surgery procedure again in your head. You remember reading something in the complications section about tissue swelling. Going back and forth on your mental notes, you don’t think it's something to worry about, but that means that Shanks is going to be under anaesthesia for at least one or two hours more than originally planned and-...

“What? Sorry!” You answer, as Kaya had been repeating your name for a while, trying to ground you back in reality. 

“I said he’s going to be fine! It’s a very normal thing to happen in these procedures. Dr. Law is perfectly equipped to handle it! Remember? He’s a genius!”

You nod vigorously. You know he’s going to be fine. You just know. 

He has to.

-*-

Five hours and thirty-three minutes.

That is the total amount of time that your father stayed in the operating room. But now that a nurse has come by to tell you the surgery is over and they are moving him to the recovery room, you can finally breathe. 

Kaya has stayed by your side the whole time. You received a bunch of phone calls from your friends and neighbours and time passed. Sometimes slowly, other times in a blink. But now everything is fine.

And the man you have to thank for that, has just opened the door to speak with you. His eyes seem weary and tired, the bags under them a bit more pronounced, but he has a reassuring smile on his lips as he approaches you.

He says your name and you get up to meet him halfway. “The surgery is over, Mr. S. is fine and will recover from the anaesthesia in one or two hours. After that he’ll be transferred to a room where I specifically said that you were allowed in, at any time of the day during how long you wish to remain.”

Your eyes feel wet and prickly as the lump in your throat tightens and makes it hard to breathe. Kaya squeezes your hand and Law continues.

“Despite the unexpected complication, everything went according to plan. The hernia was removed and, after appropriate recovery time and some physical therapy, your father will recover perfectly well.”

You are so grateful that you have to fight the urge to wrap your arms around his neck. “Thank you, Law.” The sound that comes from your lips is a mere whisper. 

“I told you to trust me, didn’t I?” His smile deepens and you hear a muffled squeal coming from Kaya, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Law. “Nurse Kaya, thank you for being here.”

She nods and grins at him. “I would never leave our girl alone and afraid, Dr. Law!”

Our girl? You raise an eyebrow at her expecting Law to make some stern remark, but he just chuckles and nods. “Right.” He says. “Thank you. I will check on Mr. S. in a couple of hours.” Then he stares straight into your eyes, his amber gaze full of care and assuredness. “If you need anything at all, you have my number.”

-*-

Kaya wants to stay with you until you are allowed to see your dad, but you tell her to go home. Usopp, her fiancé, has already called her because she’s usually off work by now, and you don’t want to impose.

Besides, there’s nothing else to be scared of. The surgery is over and Shanks is fine. 

She finally relents and leaves you alone and you barely have to wait another hour before the nurse summons you and takes you to your father’s room. He’s lying in bed with a very tired look on his face.

“Dad!” You exclaim as soon as you enter.

“Bug, I thought you were home.” His voice seems very hoarse and you can see he’s making an effort, so you sit down in the chair next to the bed and take his hand, squeezing it tightly. 

“Don’t speak, dad. Just rest. I’m so happy you’re okay. Law said I was allowed to stay in your room for as long as I wish. I’ll stay here with you!” You eye the couch set in the corner of the room. It seems perfectly comfortable for you to sleep on. You just don’t want to leave him.

You forced him to undergo surgery, so you feel responsible for his well-being and want to be there to cater to his every need. 

He nods and closes his eyes. “Are you in pain? Just nod or shake your head, don’t try to speak.” He shakes his head and you sigh. “Okay daddy.” You lean in and place a lingering kiss on his temple. “I’m here for you. Whatever you need.”

“How are we feeling?” Law asks from near your chair and you jump. You didn’t even hear him enter the room. 

Shanks opens his eyes but doesn’t speak, instead, he raises his thumb to give Law a thumbs up, making the doctor chuckle lightly. 

“Alright, Mr. S., I’m going to do a quick check-up before leaving you to rest for the night, okay?” Shanks nods and you get up to give Law some space. After he finishes the exam, checking the drugs in the IV bag and his charts, Shanks is already snoring, so he beckons you to follow him outside the room.

“How is he?” Anxiety laces your question as you wring your fingers together. “From what I’ve read, there can be about a 10% chance of post-surgery infection, so we need to watch out for any redness or swelling, and maybe some fever. Though since he’s under a lot of drugs, we might not spot a fever right away. And, oh! There’s also a supposed 3% chance of blood clots occurring -...”

“Relax.” His hands rest against your shoulders, pressing firmly while his thumbs draw soft circles against your shirt. “I told you I’ve got this. Your father’s in good hands. You said you trusted me.”

You open your mouth to speak, clearly still meaning to add more information about post-surgical statistics you’ve been reading about since Kaya left, but one of his hands climbs up your shoulder and rests on your cheek in an affectionate gesture, much more intimate than you were expecting. 

“Relax. There’s no need to be in control now. I’m in control here. Okay? Just let go.”

All the breath leaves your lungs at once. The firmness of his touch and the assuredness of his voice make you nod and comply, your shoulders slumping forward, immediately relaxing your posture.

What the hell?

You have suffered quite a bit in the past with anxiety and stressful situations, often finding yourself spiralling because you couldn’t control a specific situation. You had never managed to calm down so easily, so effortlessly. Ichiji only made it worse, so you never really had an anchor to ground you. But Law… he did it in the blink of an eye. With a touch and a few words.

This is a first.

Surprise is still etched on your face when he steps back, leaving only a cold void within you. “His vitals are all stable and he’s not in pain. The night nurse will keep monitoring his condition. You’re welcome to stay by his side or go home and rest. He’s in good hands.” 

You nod, still too stunned to speak and exhaustion is beginning to take its toll on your body and mind. “I’ll… I’ll stay. My brain is too numb to drive home now.”

He nods in understanding. “I’ll be here around lunchtime to check on him again. Try to rest. Everything’s alright now.”

Once again, his words stir something within you, a feeling of safety, and you nod in agreement. 

It will all be fine now.

|Chapter 3|

[yoonia]

— Dia’s tumblr wrapped 2024 

I know it’s super late for me to share this, but just as many would say, it’s better late than never. Thank you so much for the lovely people who tagged me to do this: @beomcoups, @shadowkoo, @kingofbodyrolls ♡

2024 started off smoothly…until it didn’t. The final quarter of the year has always been a hard time for me and it wasn’t that much different this year. As you can probably notice that I’ve been mostly absent ever since the end of October and I deeply apologise for that. I also regret not planning things properly and for not keeping up with my goals this year but that only means that I'll be dragging my WIP list towards the next year.

Thank you so much for everyone who has been there for me this year, and those of you who have stuck by me despite my inconsistencies. I really appreciate your presence on my blog, whether it’s through your likes and kudos, your reblogs, your comments and replies on my contents, and the kind words you sent me through my ask box. You guys have made it worthwhile for me to be here even after all these years, and I don’t think I can thank you enough for that. Here’s to mark the end of our wild journey through 2024 and enter the new year of 2025. 

OVERALL FIC STATS 2024

Number of fics posted: 4 (four) one-shots, 2 (two) ongoing series, 3 (three) ficlets

Number of fics revamped: 2 (two) completed fics, 2 (two) ongoing series

Number of words written: 448,057 words (dang, no wonder I felt so burned out lol)

Number of fics in progress: 32 (oh, boy…) 

FIRST FIC OF 2024

❥ A Christmas Fix 01 & 02 —  posted Jan 31st & Feb 1st | 1,926 & 1,226 notes

My thoughts: This was…quite a journey. It’s been a while since I wrote a rom-com story and I was pleased to have been given the chance to write this idea through a collab. The final outcome wasn’t too disappointing either, since I enjoyed writing it and reading it afterwards. I’m glad everyone loved this story as well.

MOST POPULAR FIC OF 2024

❥ The Stand-In (Revamped version) — posted Aug 13th | 4,267 notes

My thoughts: Okay, yeah…I cheated a little. But to be fair, this fic did get a lot of notes this year before and after the revamping process. I loved this story so much that I felt like it deserved a major makeover and I’m glad I managed to do it this year.

LONGEST FIC OF 2024

❥ The Bedroom Hymns — series, ongoing, last updated Sept 9th | 50k++ words | I’m too lazy to open each chapter to count the notes I’m so sorry lol

My thoughts: I know…I know, I need to update this one again. I had to take a break from this series because this fic literally became my main focus this year that a lot of my WIPs kept getting pushed back just so I could finish more of this. I had to stop at some point to finally set free my WIPs. I have to admit that I also lost my motivation to write this due to the lack of notes and responses that I got with each update no matter how much time I spent working on it (tacky, I know…but it is what it is). I still love and enjoy writing this, so more chapters are coming. I can see this fic becoming my main focus again in 2025 until I’m done with it.

LAST FIC OF 2024

❥ The Forsaken II: Tears of the Sea — posted Oct 24th | 712 notes

My thoughts: Holy hell…this fic. Who would’ve thought that I’d be revisiting siren!Taehyung this year after…3 years?? Thank you, whoever it was that sent this during my birthday event. I never expected to write a full fic for this to continue the original story and to answer a lot of your questions, but I’m glad I did! 

Honorable mention: 

❥ Our Imperfections — posted Oct 30th | 92 notes

My thoughts: This was the last thing I actually released before I dipped into the void but I couldn’t count this as a fic as this was considered a ficlet or, in a more common term, a drabble.

PERSONAL FAVOURITE FIC OF 2024

❥ Blooming Wallflowers — posted Sept 25th | 927 notes

My thoughts: I had one of those rare moments where I found myself enjoying the writing process of a story so much that things simply kept flowing until it became a full story. This one went twice the size planned (and commissioned) but I have no regrets. At all.

Honorable mention: 

❥ Maps (revamped version) — series, completed, posted Sept 6th, 7th, & 11th | 1,4k++ notes (again, I’m too lazy to open each chapter lol)

My thoughts: I initially planned to release something else for DPR Ian’s birthday this year. But then I started revamping the graphics for his old fics instead and decided to revamp the whole series while I had the chance. This one has always been my fave work that I wrote for Christian, so diving back into this to do a makeover and give it a major upgrade felt absolutely fulfilling. 

2024 SPECIAL EVENT

❥ 𝖙𝖜𝖎𝖑𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙 𝖋𝖆𝖑𝖑 𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖊𝖓𝖆𝖉𝖊: yoonia’s 2024 birthday bash

My thoughts: Once again, I can’t thank you guys enough for joining this small event of mine. I promise that I’ll have another event in 2025 so please stay tuned! (see you in March!) 

Fave reads of 2024

I have to admit that I haven’t been doing a lot of fic reading this year. But I’m happy that I got to dive back into reading some fanfics during my birthday event and found some lovely gems that I truly enjoyed

The Taste of Sin by @shadowkoo

Vignette: Duty by @cybrsan

The Athlete by @beomcoups

A Lover's Redemption by @writtenwhalien

Dandelion by @shina913

The Wood by @sailoryooons

Minted by @kithtaehyung

Mr. & Mrs. Yoon by @monamipencil

On The Ropes by @raplinesmoon

Top Ten Tracks of 2024

Loved — B.I

People — Agust D

Make You Mine — Black Violet

Gemini — Cheyenne 

Close To Me — Mamie, Eloy, Trippy Bass

HUH?! — Agust D feat. J-hope

Love — Lana Del Rey 

Reasons — COTIS 

Watch Me Burn — Michelle Morrone 

Die First — Nessa Barrett  

GOALS FOR 2025

Write more. Tackle more WIPs each month. 

Finally finish my old abandoned WIPs (About Time, Blood Moon Rising and the Shifters Series, Chance Encounter) 

Finish writing and officially release my original stories/novel as a web-series

Try to do better with planning and scheduling and keeping up with them

Finish revamping Carousel and release the novel version on Ream

Read more. Both published books and released fics

Focus more on my personal health, mental and physical 

Start job hunting again

I know I’m late for this, so I’m passing this over to the writers who are tagged on the list above (if you haven’t done this yet) and also tagging a few who come across my mind right now (only if you want to!): @ressjeon @lo1k-diamonds @pars-ley @minisugakoobies @inkedtae

And also tagging randomly anyone who feels inspired to create their own tumblr wrapped! 

[mythicmanuscripts]

hi! omg i absolutely adore all your stuff, it's so good, and the subby!boys with wife! reader is such a perfect dynamic.

would absolutely love to see more sub!jace being clingy and teary, and not wanting you to leave him at all -- maybe he's not feeling well or is sad about something going on and all he wants is to stay in your arms.

and maybe someone walks in on you and he gets so upset because your arms are his safe space and you need to soothe and comfort him?

honestly everything you write is amazing, sub!jace is literally my new obsession <3

Oh my god I love this!!! We’re all so obsessed with clingy sensitive Jace I love it.

While my answer definitely isn’t very graphic, it is definitely sub!jace with implied sexual content so I’m gonna hide it under the cut for those who don’t want to read that :))

So I think this works best when discussing how Jace would be once he’s more comfortable? For the first two or three months he’s mostly very put together and trying to impress you and be a good husband, he wants to prove himself.

You’d only ever seen him unsettled and needy during sex and immediately after. It was always such an odd change because he’d instantly go from being polite and withdrawn and sometimes even dominant to try and show he can provide for you but then you kiss him and get a hand in his hair and instantly his knees are buckling and he’s whining into your mouth. So for a while it’s mostly Jace being put together and then when he couldn’t manage that anymore there would be brief bursts of him being very very needy.

But as he starts to get more comfortable and starts to accept that you really do love him and would never leave him for showing you his emotions, then he starts to become a lot more like that clingy version of himself all the time?

Eventually he won’t try to hide when he’s upset or stop himself from begging you to stay longer or telling you he wants to leave a public event and be alone with you. You always listen and help him and he just feels so so good because you’re his wife and his biggest support.

(By the way, this is definitely something noticed by both the rest of the castle and Rhaenyra. They all can see how as your relationship progressed Jace becomes more clingy and stays by your side, going everywhere with you and pulling you into hugs in public. At first Jace is worried how his mother will react but actually she’s just so so happy for him? She knows exactly what it’s like to be married to someone you can’t love and so she gets teary eyed every time she sees how in love and Jace are because she knows if there’s one thing she’s certainly done right, it’s making sure her son marries the love of his life and no one else.)

Anyway, I think Jace would be the most clingy and needy after he’s been without you for a while? From your wedding night onwards (and let’s be a honest a few nights before that too), he’s always slept in the same bed as you. Even when he was still trying to uphold this tough facade, he would still insist on sleeping in the same bed as you and he wouldn’t be able to sleep into you came to bed.

But unfortunately there’s a war ongoing, and that means both of you are regularly sent on missions for days and sometimes weeks at a time. Jace isn’t too bad when he’s the one being sent somewhere. Of course he really really misses you, but he knows you’re safe at the castle and will be there when he returns.

The issue is when you’re the one sent out. He understands why he can’t come with and he’d never try to tell you that you can’t do it, but damn it he hates every single second without you. He spends the entire time you’re away worrying about you. He has horrible dreams of all the different ways you could be hurt or killed, he spends hours at a time sitting on the beach just staring into the distance in hopes he may spot you. Rhaenyra always tries her best to comfort him but it’s no real help and she knows she can’t do any more.

As a result of this, when you do return I think his nerves would always be completely shot? He’s spent the entire time you were away in a perpetual state of tension and anxiety and fear and so now that you’re back it’s almost like he crashes? He knows you’re safe and his body just can’t keep him running in this state anymore.

Everyone else knows not to get in front of Jace when you return. The moment you’re within reach he’s running down to you and pulling you into the tightest hug possible. He buries his head in your neck and you can feel his shoulders shake as he cries. You tell him you’re here now, you’re back, you’re safe. Eventually he’ll collapse into you and then you have to gently push him away and wrap an arm around his waist to help him back to your shared quarters.

The first time you went on a mission after marrying Jace, some members of the council made the mistake of rushing over the moment your hug with Jace ended and started asking for updates. Jace very nearly had them killed and the only reason they’re still alive is because his mother thankfully realised what was happening and told everyone that they’d only get a debrief on your mission the next morning because she can see Jace is at the end of his rope.

He’s so shamelessly clingy for the entire evening. He never lets you out of his sight and cries if you even think about moving. He needs be with you for the entire time so that he can slowly begin to accept that you’re alright and you’re back with him.

You spend more whole time in bed with him in various states of undress. It always starts with Jace begging to undress you and be allowed to take a bath with you. At this point his motives aren’t even sexual. He wants to make sure you don’t have any injuries anywhere and because it’s been so long since he last submitted, he really wants to please you and do acts of service for you.

Of course you agree to both and he’s so so gentle.

The problem comes from whenever sometimes comes into the room. A few other councils members will always inevitably try to come in and ask you about how the trip is, but there’s also the servants and Jace gets unsettled no matter who is in the room during those times.

It takes at least an hour of cuddling before Jace will be ready to hear about what happened during your mission because first he just has to accept that you’re actually there and safe.

And good luck to anyone who opens that door because Jace will immediately cling to you and never let go. He’s been without you for far too long and you can’t just speak to someone else now. He’s your husband and for once he will use that to his advantage and demand uninterrupted times with you.

[haikyu-mp4]

Hi! Your Haikyuu x 1D event sounds so exciting! I was initially going to request Better Than Words with Nishinoya but it's no longer available 🙈 If it's still available, could I please listen to I Would with Nishinoya instead? I love the song but I always found it sad. If it's still available, I'm excited to see how you write it, I'd always choose Noya over anyone ❤️ Thank you for doing this! Hope you're doing good!

Now playing... I Would

word count; 624 – gn!reader, for my 1D x Haikyu event

Training camp is not for the weak. That’s what Nishinoya said as he was forming an alliance with Tanaka and Yamamoto so that the three of them could protect their precious managers.

Kiyoko had managed to recruit you around the same time as Yachi, meaning you were still quite new to the volleyball club. Because Nishinoya was in your class, he saw it as his responsibility to make sure you were comfortable and happy. It might also be because of his huge crush on you, but that’s still up for debate.

Every moment he’s not immersed in a practice game, he’s keeping a watchful eye on you. His mental reports mostly say “smiling”, “looking cute” and “clapping, probably for me”, so he’s happy with the progress so far. You seem to be settling in very well.

Until there’s a break, and while he’s chugging down more water than what should fit in his body, he sees you flirting it up with Kuroo, standing between two of the courts.

Kuroo could never be the right guy for you. He could never treat you the way Nishinoya would. He’s also way too tall, it would be bad for your neck.

Noya’s gasp was audible and made you turn your head, only to see your favourite libero with his teeth practically bared like an animal. You chuckled under your breath, shaking your head and telling Kuroo good luck on his next game.

When you returned to your team’s side, you bumped your elbow into Nishinoya’s arm. “Hey there, tiger. Ready for the next set?”

Nishinoya lifted his chin with that cheeky smile on his lips. “Always.”

He acted like usual, most of the time. Nothing could disturb his focus as Karasuno’s guardian. However, any time off the court, his attention is dedicated to you.

Nishinoya watched as Kuroo offered up his dessert to you after dinner. As he made you swoon with his undeniable charm.

And as you’re on dishwashing duty one of the last evenings, Nishinoya strolls into the room and practically scares the life out of you. “Has he said he’s in love with you?”

“Who?” His hair is still dripping, he must have just washed up. You put down what you were doing and shake the soapy water off your hands.

“That boyfriend of yours, Kuroo Tetsuro.”

“Kuroo?” You laughed but then did a double-take. “Boyfriend?!” By now, Noshinoya had crossed his arms, and you almost wondered if you were in trouble.

“Has he said he’s in L-O-V-E? Because I would.”

“You… would?” you ask slowly, not quite understanding what the problem is. Noya walks closer and puts one hand on each of your upper arms.

“You’re literally so cool and pretty.” You looked down at each of his hands and then back at his face with wide eyes.

“Thank you,” you squeaked. “But Kuroo isn’t my boyfriend.”

Noshinoya blinked once, twice, and then quickly let go of you. A light blush blossomed on his cheeks as he realised he might have gotten ahead of himself there. “Right. That’s what I came in here to ask you…”

By now you’ve ditched your confusion to laugh at him, one hand covering your mouth so it wouldn’t be so loud. “Then the answer is no! But I appreciate the compliments.”

Noya chuckled, never one to falter for long. At least you’re laughing and not just awkwardly crawling away from him. “You can have as many as you want.”

“Because you’re in L-O-V-E?” Nishinoya thought his heart might beat out of his chest because that smug look on your face right then was exactly what made him fall so hard in the first place. The same look you had after naming his signature move rolling thunder.

“Exactly.”

masterlist

[pinastrihaven]

Pr. Cooper Adams

NSFW... +18...

@yerma69 gave me my first request and asked me to write about Cooper as a teacher. I'm quite honored and hope you'll will enjoy it.

- It didn't take long for Professor Adams to seduce you. Of course all students are completely enthralled with him and he's the subject of many discussions, fantasies. Even though everyone know they don't stand a chance: he's a married man, has two beautiful kids. He does not appear as the type of man who takes advantage of his charms. He's Mister everybody after all, right ?

- You are no exception but it was quite unexpected for you to get Cooper's attention.

You've kept wondering '' is he really looking at me like that? " during lectures for several weeks.

- Cooper started to take up a lot of space in your mind as time passed and he began to give you very subtle and soft touch.

'' Do you have any other question Miss y/n ? ''.

He would pass a hand on your back while giving you feedback for papers you just rendered, speaking very close to you, especially during small group classes... His voice is just like honey to your ears. You could smell his scent being this close to him, you could only imagine the grain the feeling of his skin. You were longing to touch and be touched by him.

- Things went south that time he asked you to stay after a class, expressing some concerns toward the subject you've picked for your memoir. You started to freak out thinking you would fail your year.

You didn't really expect him to shove his hand down your skirt and slide his fingers into your panties. M. Adams just stared at you while doing so, amused by your little panting and the fact that you were lifting your skirt for more. He did slide one finger, two then three, and started fucking you really hard, getting you to howl and scream to the point of orgasm, legs spread eagle on his desk, your arms around his neck.

He made you lick his hand clean while assuring you that he was confident concerning your progress in his class ;)

- M. Cooper Adams wants you to be his top student. Only straight A's. He will ask more results from you than from any other students. Get ready for some spanking by the end of the day if your grades are not up to his standards or if you give him wrong or unelaborated answers during class. And I mean real spanking, you asscheeks will fear his name.

'' I'm sure you can do better. '' Cooper would then tie your hair in two ponytails and give you his cock to suck. He loves to hear you chock on his girth while pulling on your hair, gasping, coughing. '' Yeah show me your tears, little angel '' he would say as your eyes tear up.

- Cooper wants you to be reachable on your phone at any time. Of course your location is on all the time and don't even think about airplane mode. He won't necessarily ask for nude photos but M. Adams wants to know your every moves. He will often facetime you and ask you to place the phone so he can see whatever you're doing. Especially during holidays and when you're at home, far away from the campus. He loves to check on you at night, during family gathering. "I want to see my bunny now. '' he would text you.

- Get ready to be fucked at the most random time and places at the campus. Mostly at his desk, but also the janitors locker, that place outdoor behind the sport court (that's where he gave you your first anal), his car. And that one time he gave you the fright of your life when he broke into your bedroom at the dorm... You still have no idea how he did that and he refuses to tell how he manage to do it. He just smile when you keep asking him.

- Professor Adams gives you special assignments. You're only allowed to wear skirts and dresses because this is what he loves the best and he can access you more easily. When you attend his class he would text you orders beforehand.

'' Hey Sweetheart, you can open the present box I gave you last time........ Yes this is a anal plug. I picked you favorite color ❤️. I want you to put it on for today's class and don't bother with panties. I want you naked down there. And pick your shortest skirt. Don't ruin your seat ;) ''.

- M. Adams loves to keep you at his desk when grading papers or writing his next course.

He would tie you with his belt and keep you pressed against his leg under his desk, petting your hair, from time to time, or pinching your tits through the fabric of your shirt. You would feel in a haze being this close to him, seeing his bulge getting bigger until he fucks you. He loves to have you in submissive positions where you can barely move or escape his hard thrust. His favorite is to have you in the Nelson position with a good headlock (those who know know ;) ).

He sometimes edges you and sent you back home all wet and desoriented.

- And because Cooper keeps his lives separated he needs to find a way to keep you near him after you finally graduated. So you barely had the choice to become his assistant which allows you to spend more time together, and get more of his treatments.

[tkwrites]

I miss you. Quinn Hughes x ofc

Photo from Pinterest

Title: I miss you.

Author: Tory / @tkwrites 

Relationship: Quinn Hughes x Sarah Roberts (ofc) 

Warnings: Mostly fluff, mentions of smut & p in v, but nothing particularly graphic.

Summary: After their longest separation of the summer, Quinn and Sarah reunite.

Word Count: 3,000

Comments: You all happened to pick the piece I had the most progress on for my next post, so good on you! This is way beyond the timeline I’ve posted so far. I have so much more planned for their summer, so stay tuned. 

Thank you for all the support for this fic. I sometimes have to remind myself it isn’t a dream.  Please let me know what you think, and if there’s anything in this series you’d like to see. Sending all the love.

I miss you.

A Quinn & Sarah Snapshot

Sarah was at the aquarium, taking samples from the tanks when her watch dinged with a text. 

She knew it would be from Quinn. It was mid day in Michigan, about the time he finished with his morning workouts. He'd be headed home for lunch before whatever plans he had for the evening. She would call him on her break. It was their daily routine while they were in this less than ideal summer situation.

When she finally got the samples set to be tested and out of her gloves and lab coat, she pulled her phone from her bag. 

“I'm taking my break,” she told Joshua, walking outside before he could respond.

Miss you like crazy, Quinn had sent along with a picture of the sun glinting off the water of their lake. Call me when you're free. 

The phone didn't even have a chance to ring before his voice filled her ear, “hi.” 

“Hey, that was quick.”

“I was already on my phone,” he said, “answered as soon as it popped up.”

She giggled. 

“What are you up to today?” he asked. 

She heard a chair scraping against the floor. 

“Working,” she said, leaning against the building, letting the warmth from the brick soak into her back. “I'm testing our tanks for invasive micro algae.”

“That sounds thrilling,” he said. 

She wondered if he was going outside when she heard a door shut. Maybe he was going into his room. 

“It's tedious,” she agreed, “but if we catch it early we don't have to deal with a full on bloom later, which is a bitch to clean up. How about you?”

“Gym this morning,” he said even though she knew that part of his schedule. 

“How’s your stick defending coming along?” she asked. 

“Good,” he said, smiling that she remembered he was focusing on that today. “I finally managed to strip the puck from Jack pretty consistently.” 

“Look at you go,” she praised. “What’s on the calendar for tonight?”

“We're going out for Penn's birthday.”

“That sounds fun.” 

“More fun if you were here.”

“We both know that's not true,” she chastised. “I'm the worst at a party.”

“Well, it would be more fun for me.”

She snorted. 

“Plus it would mean I could leave early.”

“You can still leave early.”

“Yeah, but it's easier when you're there.”

“I'm beginning to think half of this relationship is just the convenience of getting you out of social situations.”

He laughed. 

She smiled at the sound. “God, I miss you so much.”

“I know. Me too. You're sure I can't fly you up for a weekend?” 

“As much as I would love that, I don't want to interfere with family time.”

“You're not interfering with family time,” he insisted, “they'd be here too.”

“I mean,” she bit her lip, even though he couldn't see her, “I'd want you all to myself, and that's not fair when you don't see your family much as it is.”

“You want me all to yourself?” he repeated, his tone light and teasing. 

“I do.” 

“And why would you want that, Sarah Roberts?”

Her cheeks flamed, but she persisted, “so I don't have to just dream about you being inside me anymore.” 

He groaned. “You dream about that?” 

“For the past week,” she admitted. “I dream about it every night and then I wake up and you're not here.” She sighed, “and then I just have to try to figure it out by myself.”

He was booking a ticket to see her. She couldn't say something like that and expect him to just stay in Michigan. If she didn't want to come here, he'd go there. Or they could meet in the middle somewhere. 

“I hear Utah’s beautiful this time of year,” he said.  

She laughed. “Utah?”

“Yeah. We could meet in the middle. You know, see some red rocks.”

She hummed, grinning. 

“Or I could just come back to Van and we could spend the weekend in my apartment.”

“Now that you say it, Utah does sound pretty appealing.”

Her tone was teasing, but he still found himself groaning. 

“Come on," she said, "you could hike in some shorts and I can fantasize about your thighs all day.” 

Quinn felt his face get hot, instantly glad he'd come out to the porch. 

He knew she had a bit of a fetish for his thighs. He didn't understand it, but if it got her hot and bothered for him, he didn't really mind. “I can just do squats in my boxers like that one time.”

A few weeks after they started sleeping together, she was lounging in his bed the night before a game. When he thought she’d fallen asleep, he slipped on his boxers and did a round of squats, trying to keep his legs nimble. It was a routine he'd built in college and he didn't sleep well if he didn't do it, even now. 

“Your thighs are so sexy,” she had said as she watched from the bed. 

They'd had sex again, and she asked for reverse cowgirl, something they hadn't done yet. She rode him gripping his thighs so hard he was surprised he didn't have bruises the next day. He loved watching her back and feeling her at a new angle. Loved that after she came hard - fluttering around him, and milking him dry - she collapsed against him, back to chest, breathing hard. It was one of the hottest things he’d ever experienced.

Sarah often thought and dreamed about that night when they were apart - how his powerful thighs flexed under her grip when she rode him that way. It was a surefire way to get her riled up. The next time she saw him, she was going to lick him from knee to hip. 

Something nagged at the back of her mind. “That's still taking you away from your family,” she said, “and I don’t want to disrupt your training.” 

“Sar, my family gets it. We went from seeing each other every day to living in different countries. They know we miss each other. Besides, it would just be a weekend. I could fly in on Friday night and come back on Monday morning. I'd really only miss one day of training.”

There was a pause before she said, “Friday afternoon.”

“What?” 

“I work a half day on Friday, so you should come in the afternoon.”

“Done.” 

“Joshua's giving me the evil eye," she said as he looked at her pointedly through the window even though it had barely been ten minutes. "I have to get back to work.”

“That micro algae doesn’t wait.” 

She laughed.

"I’ll let you know when I book my ticket.”

“I can’t wait to see you.” 

Three days. Only three days. 

Sarah was already in the parking lot when Quinn texted that his flight had landed. She’d come straight from work, not wanting to go home, even if it meant an extra thirty minutes in the cell phone lot.

Relaxing in the reclined drivers seat, she waited for him to tell her he was ready to be picked up. 

After reading the same page four times, she tossed the book into the back seat. The thought of Quinn being by her side for the first time in 24 days was too distracting. 

Closing her eyes, she thought about kissing him. She couldn’t wait to kiss him and kiss him and kiss him, no need to feel rushed, or worry that someone might come home earlier than expected. 

The ache in her belly and the empty feeling in her mouth intensified. 

Walking down now. 

When she pulled up, he threw his bags in the back and threw himself into the passenger seat before she could get out to hug him. 

“Welcome back,” she said with a grin.

He returned it as he leaned over the center console to kiss her cheek, “I missed you so much," he said, catching a whiff of her perfume. 

As much as she wanted to kiss him right there, she knew the airport pickup lane wouldn't be the best place. There were already a few people looking at them. So she put the car in drive and started into the city as they talked about his flight. 

He took her hand, brushing his thumb over her knuckles. The need in her stomach deepened. 

The city slipped by as she drove. She somehow got to his street, though she didn’t remember making any of the turns. 

Just as she was turning into the parking garage, Quinn remembered, “Oh, we can’t go to my place.”. 

Sarah looked over at him, crestfallen. “Why not?” They were so close. 

“They’re doing some kind of roof repair. I told them these dates were fine at the beginning of the summer, but didn’t remember until I got a notice from the building last night,” he said. 

“So we go to mine?”

“I booked us a hotel so we wouldn't make your roommates uncomfortable,” Quinn said. 

A smile melted onto Sarah’s face. He was so thoughtful. He made her feel seen and understood, loved and cared for. It was somehow more evident through their separation. He called every day, and always remembered what she was working on. His attention spelled love to her.

“What hotel?” she asked. 

He pulled it up on his phone. It was a bed and breakfast he’d asked his mom to help him pick out. It was a ways out of the city, along the coast. 

“Oh,” Sarah said, “we’ll have to stop by my place so I can pack.” 

“You didn’t pack already?” 

“None of my skincare and stuff, that’s already at your place." 

Even knowing this was his fault for not telling her last night, Quinn found himself wishing she had somehow known so there wouldn’t be another delay to finally be alone together out of the car. Having her so close, and not kissing her was driving him wild. 

After another twenty minutes that felt more like fourty, he followed her up to her apartment like a lost puppy. 

When the door swung shut behind him, he finally - finally - wrapped his arms around her, sighing when she returned the embrace. He’d been waiting so long, too long. 

“Are your roommates home?” he asked, nuzzling his nose into her neck. 

“Jane might be,” Sarah said, backing into her room. She felt like she would explode if she put off kissing him one second longer. 

The door to her room clicked shut, and Quinn pinned her against it, crushing his mouth to hers. He needed - he needed - God, he needed her. He’d been dreaming about it for too long without having her near enough to satisfy any of his hunger. 

This arrangement wasn’t going to work for another year. Either she’d have to come to Michigan, or he’d have to stay in Vancouver. Maybe they could split the summer between the two.

The kiss was all at once passionate. Falling together into the heat of a moment that had been building for weeks apart and minutes separated by a car console. 

His hands wandered over her body. He knew she wouldn’t be comfortable having sex here, so he brushed it aside and went on kissing her, refilling the Sarah shaped well inside him. He had been surviving on fumes and memories for far too long. 

“I missed you so much.” he said against her mouth. 

She pulled back so she could look into his eyes. They looked hazel in the light filtering through the sheer green curtains. “I’ve missed you too. Thank you for coming.”

“Like you could have stopped me after telling me you were dreaming about me,” he teased, leaning in to skim his lips over hers. 

He often dreamed of her while they were apart, but the night after her admission, his dreams had been so intense that the next day, while they were out on the lake, Jack started teasing him for moaning and crying out in his sleep. 

“Sarah,” he’d mocked, his voice thrown into a dramatic, porn star moan. “Oh, Sarah!”  

Everyone else in the boat laughed.

None of them got it. Some of the guys had girlfriends, but they were all either living together or, at the very least, in the same state for the summer. Quinn was the only one separated from the woman he loved by several thousand miles. 

When he'd told the family he was going to Van for the weekend, Jack had sighed dramatically and said, "finally I can get some sleep."

Quinn had flipped him off. 

Sarah’s hands wove into his hair, and pulled his mouth flush to hers. Kissing him was…

Kissing Quinn was a symphony. Plush lips and warm tongue, the bitter zing of coffee mixed with the tart sweetness of cream in his mouth, the softness of his hair, the very real warmth of his skin, the smell of his cologne. God the smell of him, she’d missed it so much. 

The door to the apartment opened and closed and the moment popped like a delicate soap bubble. Someone was home. 

Quinn pulled away and pulled his bottom lip into his mouth. 

“I should pack,” Sarah said, nearly whispering. 

“Sarah?” Jane asked, “I saw your car. Are you okay? I thought Quinn was coming in today.”

Sarah turned and opened the door, “he did. I’m just packing before we go for the weekend.” 

Quinn leaned around her to smile at Jane. 

“Oh,” she said. “Have fun then.” 

Sarah pulled out her weekender bag and threw some things into it. Truthfully, she did have things packed in the car, but they weren’t things for polite company when they would likely be going out to dinner instead of ordering doordash to his apartment. She needed some more normal clothes and her toiletries for this different weekend that he had suddenly sprung on her. 

“See you Monday,” Sarah said, waving as they left. 

Quinn collapsed onto the bed as soon as they got through the door. His backpack thudded off the side, and he didn’t even care. 

“Tired?” Sarah asked as she crawled on the bed to lay next to him. 

Rolling onto his side, he wrapped his arms around her. “Yeah. Give me thirty minutes and I’ll be raring to go.” 

“It’s fine,” she said, brushing her hand up his forearm.

“But, we’re supposed to…” 

“We’re supposed to be together,” she said gently, leaning in to brush her lips over his. “I’ve missed having sex with you, but I’ve missed cuddling, and talking face to face, and sleeping in the same bed with you too.” 

Her voice was gentle and it put him in a kind of trance, relaxing him all over. 

“You don’t mind?”

“No. We’ve got all weekend, and frankly I don’t want our first time back together to be sloppy tired.”

Letting out a relieved sigh, he pulled her against him. “I love you,” he said into her hair. 

“I love you too, Quinn.” 

When he woke, Sarah wasn’t with him. He looked around and found her on the balcony, reading her book. She looked so beautiful there, with the ocean behind her, and the breeze gently mussing her hair. He dug his phone out to snap a picture before she realized he was awake.

Glancing at the time, he was surprised to find he’d slept for two and a half hours. 

He hauled himself out of bed and walked to the open sliding glass door, “why are you out here?”

She jumped, “Jesus, I didn't even hear you get up.”

He laughed.

She put a marker in her book. “I had to get up to go to the bathroom, and I didn’t want to wake you up getting back in bed, so I came out here.”

“Come back inside,” he said, extending his hand. The hair on the left side of his head was pushed up, and he looked adorable: warm and sleepy. 

She followed him, slipping the book onto the breakfast table as they passed. 

“No more waiting,” Quinn said quietly, pulling her against him. 

“No more waiting,” she agreed before she pressed her lips to his. 

Every time they had been together that summer, it had been rushed, racing to get to the end before anyone walked in on them. This kiss, though, this kiss was slow and passionate. It made Quinn’s knees weak. A small noise escaped his throat. 

Sarah giggled against his mouth. 

“Don't make fun,” he chastised, backing up until his legs hit the bed. 

She pushed on his chest so he fell back. Scooting to the pillows, he tore off his shirt, desperate to have her skin against his.  

“I'm not making fun,” she said, as she straddled his hips, “I'm just glad that it still works.” She reached for the hem of her top and stripped it off. 

His eyes grew wide. The bra she had on was light purple with a lace panel covering the center of each breast. Other than that, it was sheer. 

He gulped. “Have you been wearing that all day?”

She nodded, leaning down to kiss him. 

Thank God he hadn't known that before. He would have certainly done something stupid if he did. 

They took their time, slowly making love in a way that had been taken from them since May. They held eye contact, and touched with reverence. 

When at last, he collapsed on top of her, his face in her neck, Quinn mumbled, “I am never going this long without seeing you again.” 

She laughed and agreed. 

After a few minutes of his weight fully on hers as they caught their breath, Sarah tapped his hip. “I need to get up,” she whispered. 

“No,” he whined teasingly. 

“Yes,” she insisted, wriggling underneath him. 

He rolled to the side with a groan, and watched her pad to the bathroom. 

After cleaning up, she went back to the bed, ready to lay down and be held by him. 

He brought her against him. They were both still a bit flushed, and she relished the feeling of his heated skin against hers. 

“I'm so glad you're here,” she said quietly. 

"I'm so glad you're still mine," he said, pressing a kiss to her temple. 

“It’s not like I threatened to leave.”

“I know.” He paused, adjusting to slot one of his legs between hers. “I just - I know it hasn’t been easy.” 

“Nothing worth having ever is.” 

Bonus scene here.

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