#i want him in every single way imaginable

[dasketcherz]

Just wanna share my thought process on the current set of visuals I made for the vat7k soundtrack headcanons cuz I had lots of fun composing the illustrations for each member!

So when I said "Live Again" is like Varian's version of "Wind In My Hair" well I had every intention to match the visual to that motif. So his pose in this visual pays homage to his most triumphant moment back in "Make You Proud" except instead of facing to the left (aka towards Corona), he is facing to the right to signify wanting to go out there beyond Corona.

And the setting is in the exact place Rapunzel made the decision to go over the walls of Corona from the pilot special (and yes he is standing in the exact wall she did to hammer home the parallels).

I made sure every single one of them are looking up towards the sky, a subtle way to unify them as a set. Something something "we are from different walks of life but we look up at the same sky" something if you will

I noticed how Yong, Nuru and Varian's current songs are "I Want" songs—while only Hugo's song is a turning point song number.... cuz he doesn't know what he really wants at the beginning and his song is him finally asking questions and reflecting with himself

And I also imagined the "I Want" songs for the three were sang prior to meeting each other while Hugo's is after he meets and spends time with them—because prior to team radical, Hugo wouldn't be looking up the same way they do otherwise but in this case, he does cuz he met really kind people like them and starts to slowly see glimpses of what they see too

I just thought that was pretty neat, but anyway! that's my yap, thank you for comin to my ted talk <3

[whumpsday]

Kane & Jim #57: Indulgence

Chronological masterlist / Writing order masterlist

content: recovery, comfort, starvation, body image issues, fear of torture, whumper turned whumpee

sorry for the long wait! i really do want to write more this year :)

-

Before Kane could get a single word out, he was tackled.

He just barely managed to keep his balance and stop himself from toppling to the ground as Bellamy’s arms wrapped around him like a blanket, pulling him in warm and tight.

“You were dead.” His voice came out squeaky, thick with quick-forming tears. “There was that incident last month, but everyone thought that must have had to have been an impersonator. You’re truly here! Truly!”

“I’m here.” Kane hugged him back, but they only stayed like that a moment before Bellamy pulled back to see his face, still looking quite as though he couldn’t believe Kane were real.

“Where on Earth were you?” he asked, hands still clutching Kane’s arms with the grip of a man who imagined those arms would vanish if he let go.

“It’s a long story.” Kane took a deep breath. “Bellamy, I’ve wanted to say this for a long time. I’m so sorry for how I treated you. I know–”

“Oh, don’t worry about that right now,” Bellamy did free one hand then, requiring it to gesture flippantly and then wipe the tears from his face. “Appreciated, to be sure, but there will be plenty of time for that after more pressing matters. Please, do come in, darling.”

A soft smile grew on Kane’s face. Bellamy wasn’t angry with him, at least. “Thank you. I would love to.”

It was only after he’d crossed the threshold of the doorway that Bellamy dared to let go, though he didn’t let his eyes off Kane for a moment as he made his way to sit on a plush couch in the living room.

“Can I get you something to drink?” he asked, all politeness, though Kane knew exactly what he must look like. What Bellamy must see. Perhaps if Bellamy had seen him months earlier, he would have been unable to maintain such composure.

Not that Kane really minded at all. He was being offered food. “Yes, please.”

Before he knew it–Bellamy having dashed the whole way to the refrigerator and back–there was a pack of cold blood in his hands. “I’m able to warm it up for you, of course, but I do recall that when we were boys, you’d always said the pre-packaged never tastes as good reheated.”

“I don’t mind either way, nowadays.” Truthfully, Bellamy could have tripped and spilled the blood all over the floor and he would have gladly licked it up without much thought. He had before.

He bit into the soft plastic casing and drank. The cool blood was a bit stale, though nowhere approaching spoiled. He wouldn’t have cared if it was. It was delicious nonetheless, and after he’d exhausted what he could suck out through the holes, he tore the packaging apart and licked up every remaining drop clinging to the sides.

“It’s ethically-sourced,” Bellamy commented. “From free, willing, paid humans overseas.”

“It’s really good! Can I have another?” Kane asked before he could stop himself. He’d never been able to indulge before, not since his capture. He was grateful for what Jim had given him, of course. Grateful would be the understatement of the century. But Jim was one human, and he could only give so much at a time.

“Of course!” Bellamy clapped, just once, delighted. And when Bellamy returned, he had two.

Kane downed both, in the same manner as the first. Three meals, just like a human.

“I don’t mean to pry,” Bellamy started slowly, despite that it was very obvious he quite badly wanted to pry. His voice got a touch lower, gentler. “But Kane, my dear. Have you been… eating well?”

Kane crinkled the empty casings, something to do with his hands. He’d really been very proud of the progress he’d made. When he’d first seen himself in Jim’s bathroom mirror, he looked almost like a skeleton, every available bit of fat and muscle his body could spare cannibalized in its attempt to find something to keep him going, until there was nothing left.

He did look better now, after six months of regular meals. He was still far, far skinnier than he was before the hunters, but he had some meat on him now. His cheeks only sunk in a little bit. His collarbone jutted out in a way that just barely bordered ‘passably normal’. You could see the bones of his arms from the inner arm, but not the outer, so as long as he took care to hold his arms just so, no one could tell. Not that he ever really made an effort. His hair didn’t have bald patches anymore, didn’t shed every time he touched it. If he wore layers, which he always did–and not even for that reason–you couldn’t see his ribs. So long as one didn’t look too carefully, he could pass as a regular man.

But Bellamy always looked carefully.

Bellamy didn’t look starved at all. He didn’t have to try not to, of course. His skin was smooth and his face was full. His hair was thick and lucious and styled. He had the figure of a healthy man, one who had food available to him every single day of his life. He only wore one shirt and his abdomen didn’t fall inward from under his ribs like Kane’s did. He smelled like lavender cologne. He practically glowed.

“I… went through a period where I hadn’t been eating very well at all. But as of the past few months, I have,” he answered honestly.

Bellamy sat beside him. “Truth be told, I do mean to pry this time. On account of my increasing worry, you see. Where have you been all this time?”

“Human territory.” Kane looked down at the empty packaging in his hands. The label used the same phrasing Bellamy had–Free, willing humans! “I was captured by vampire hunters when I’d, I’d, ah, hunted f-for a new human. Things were not, um, good there. I wasn’t fed, as you’ve gathered. Then Jim, you remember Jim? He came and got me out. I’ve been living with him for the past seven months. Not owning him!” he clarified hastily, looking up then. “As roommates.”

“I see.” Bellamy’s eyebrows had slowly drawn together in concern more and more the longer Kane had talked. “Well, I’m certainly glad you’re out of there now, dear. I did always like that Jim boy.”

“And I’m sorry,” Kane tried again. “You were right about everything. About humans, about me, about our families, all of it. And I was a bad friend. Even before we parted ways, I always acted like I was better than you. I’ve had a lot of time to think about this. I really am sorry.” And then, before he could stop himself: “Do you think we could try again?”

Bellamy smiled. “Well, I really am right about everything,” he mused. “I’ll admit, it’s all true. It took me a time to see as well, that you really were dreadful, though I never imagined I’d hear an apology from you.”

Though Kane had expected worse to start, it still tore a hole in him to hear Bellamy call him dreadful. Even if he knew it was true.

“That said,” Bellamy continued, “We were children. I was never the one bearing the brunt of your wrongs, and you’ve clearly turned over a new leaf. If even Jim has forgiven you, I see no reason not to. Absolutely, we can rekindle a friendship.”

Jim has not forgiven him: he’d made that clear. But he moved forward anyway. Maybe he could do that himself, too.

“I would love that.” Kane let out a sigh he didn’t realize he was holding, like a weight had been lifted from him after a century. “Maybe–maybe you could visit sometime. If you want to. I’d have to get permission. Do you ever go to human territory? I mean, you shouldn’t, but if I got permission, Jim’s sister is a hunter, you see, so it should–”

“Oh, yes, the sister! Elizabeth, if I recall? Yes, I’ve spoken with her, though well over a decade ago,” Bellamy cut in. “I do imagine she’s quite pleased to have her brother returned.”

Kane blinked. “You know Liz?”

“Oh, Jim and Caroline had exchanged phone numbers that night we met, you see. Caroline and the young girl had had a few conversations, but the girl had stopped at some point when she’d realized we had no way to affect Jim’s situation. I do not mean to imply I know her, I’d merely answered the phone and handed it off to Caroline a time or two. She’d always sounded frightened when I’d been the one to answer, so I did not linger,” he explained. “My, she must be grown by now. How time flies!”

“Oh. That’s–she never mentioned,” Kane stammered. “Is Caroline still…?”

“Alive and well, I assure you, though she has moved on to greener pastures. She’s found love, you see. She lives with her boyfriend nowadays, though she’s over often enough that my kitchen is still stocked with human food.” Bellamy reached to collect Kane’s empty packages, which he reluctantly released.

“So she’s back in human territory?” he asked.

“No, just across town. Her boyfriend is no human.”

Kane’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh. Oh my.”

He supposed he shouldn’t be too scandalized by the thought of a human and a vampire together. Humans were people, he knew that now, he’d accepted it long ago. Still, it felt… odd, in a way he could not adequately explain.

Bellamy laughed. “You must get with the times, darling.”

-

They sat there chatting for hours, and Kane had almost never felt lighter. It was like he was someone else, a version of him he’d never been before, where he was not horrible to anyone and no one had ever been horrible to him. Bellamy didn’t know what happened, not really, and with him, it was like he could forget, too. Just for an evening.

Just until he happened to glance at Bellamy’s clock and notice the time.

He startled out of nowhere. “It’s late,” he gasped. “I’m not–am I going to be able to get home in time?”

“Well, I’m not sure, as I’ve no idea where you live,” Bellamy points out. “Will you?”

It was the wrong thing to say. Kane grabbed Bellamy’s sleeve, terror striking his heart. “Please don’t make me go out there,” he begged. “I can’t–please, Bellamy, please.”

“What?” Bellamy put his hand over Kane’s, though he made no effort to remove his hold. “Of course, dear. You may spend the day if you wish. Why on earth would I force you into the morning?”

It was all crumbling apart. Of course he couldn’t be normal.

“I’m sorry,” Kane squeaked out, tearing up, but before he could say more, he found himself enveloped in a hug.

“It’s alright.” Bellamy held him as he struggled to collect himself. “You needn’t explain. Or you can, if you’re ready, or once you’re ready.”

“Thank you,” Kane breathed.

It was silent, then. He didn’t want to explain. Not yet.

When he’d stopped crying–not that long after, by Kane’s standards, to his pride–Bellamy pulled back. “You know,  I was wondering… how you’re getting blood? Is it still Jim?”

“Oh, yes,” Kane sniffled. “He’s very generous. But he’s actually just recently stopped, and I’m to provide my own from now on. I was meant to go to my parents and clear my status as deceased, but at the last second I decided to come here.”

“I’m flattered,” Bellamy said haughtily, a hand on his chest. “You’d mentioned my going to visit you. What if I were to bring you blood? The kind you’d ‘sampled’ tonight.”

“You’d really do that?” Kane asked. The idea was beyond tantalizing–he could have all the blood he wanted, and not have to run across human territory, even the part with friendly hunters.

“I do. I would so like a chance to visit human territory without scaring the locals, besides!” Bellamy enthused. “A win for us both!”

The next night, Kane returned home with a bag full of blood packs. For once, he could see a future for himself.

-

…

He reviewed the grainy VCR footage captured by the security cameras at the de Sang estate. It was the strangest thing: he just ran up to the gate, stood there for a moment, and ran away. And everyone else was ready to write it off as if it had never happened, all hush-hush. The boring lot of them.

Anton smiled. “Well, look who’s not dead.”

-

taglist in reblogs

[sevenangrybees]

YES!!! YEAS!!!!!!! I also think about Flamela yelling at Mithrun over the fairy when he first wakes up in The Big Shirt. She tells him to do his duty to the queen! The queen she fucking hates!!! I think Flamela thinks she's subtle when she absolutely is not. She tries to hide her resentment towards the queen out of necessity (in Queen Hemea's blurb in the new adventure's bible it says the Canaries report to her directly and Flamela's the Deputy, so having open personal beef with the queen would be bad for her job prospects, if not her survival prospects), and tries to cover them with very loud false patriotism. But of course, because she is Not Subtle, everyone who knows her knows she's full of shit.

Mithrun meanwhile definitely played the nobility social game before getting shipped of to the Canaries, probably after as well when on leave, and he was good at it! We see from Milsiril's extra that he was largely well regarded and "perfect" from her perspective. He'd have social skills! He'd know how to schmooze and leverage his family's wealth and status, how to charm people, and collect information and allies!

He has all the skills to be the perfect scheming mean girl at the office, but he can't be fucking bothered, and that makes it worse!!! He used to be the EPITOME of the parts of society that Flamela hates. He would have been her perfect rival, except. He just. Doesn't care.

She could back talk him all day, say shit that would get her court martialed by any other commanding officer to him, and if it doesn't interfere with his ability to delve dungeons, he does not give a single shit. No reaction. And that's the WORST because what she wants more than anything is to FIGHT, but Mithrun just won't (read can't) give her that, so she hates him even more!

And he's everything she wants to be: competent, able to pit himself against danger and prove himself, unaffected (as far as she knows) by the gossip and behind the back talk all around them. Like, of COURSE new recruits gossip about Mithrun, he's got a rivating, juicy, and mysterious history, butt once they get over that and his desirelessness, there's just not much to talk about. He's predictable, he doesn't do anything interesting or scandalous except get his seconds killed, and death's just part of the job.

Meanwhile Flamela's EVERY MOVE is probably subject to endless discussion because of her royal heritage, and unlike Mithrun (as she sees him) she's not made of stone!! She wants to be as unflappable and untouchable as he is, but everything she idolized about Mithrun is either something he hates about himself or a self destructive coping mechanism.

I think she's obsessed with him. I think everyone else thinks she has a misplaced crush on him and bullies him because of it, and no matter what she says no one believes her when she says she just hates him!!! Because she doesn't just hate him, but she's not gonna say that she idolizes him as someone who has everything she wants and is everything she wants to be. Both cause she not recognize those feelings it and because could you IMAGINE the field day everyone would have gossiping about that????

Ryoko Kui's characters make me go fucking rabid cause she knows how to imply so much complexity with so little. (I think about Mithrun's "I used to drink a lot before I became like this, and I acted poorly." so fucking much cause it implies he used to cope with his insecurities through alcohol and behaved in a way he knew was unacceptable, but did it anyway. It's so much fucking complexity added by a single sentence in an alcohol tolerance extra!!!) She really is one of the best to ever do it.

elf drama i just made up

[ivymarquis]

Say You Won't Let Go

Greedy Little Thing

Pairing| John Price x F!Single Mom!Reader Rating| E Word Count| 4.3k Kinks/Content/Warnings| Zombie!AU, PiV, Oral (F!Receiving), pregnancy sex, wee bit of lactation kink

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

If you thought your solo play time in the shower would calm you down, you thought wrong. 

You’re truly spinning out and losing your mind. That is the only reasonable explanation for the level of arousal flooding your system at the moment. 

All of a sudden you can’t help but be keyed into John’s every move. And surely you are projecting every depraved thought squirming around in your little brain- you’re imagining that he’s encroaching that much more into your personal space. His hands- broad and warm- gentle as always feel a bit firmer with his hold as he either brushes past you or herds you where he wants you.

You’re distracted, eyes fixated at the boarded up windows like they’re a big screen showing your favorite sitcom. The book you found lies open on the table, failing to capture your interest in favor of your imagination. Of another universe where John’s interest isn’t a figment of your imagination and he’s willing to do something about it. 

“Something on your mind, Love?” John’s voice startles you out of your thoughts and has you jumping on reflex. “Easy- ‘s just me,” he soothes as he crosses the distance from the doorway to the table you’re sitting at. 

“Nothing important,” you answer breezily, trying desperately to hide that you were just thinking about the various ways he could fold you like a piece of paper. Can always lie and claim to be reminiscing on the past.

He has no reason to doubt you, the rumbling hum of acknowledgment from him showing that you’ve not gained any unwanted attention. 

You don’t know what’s wrong with you, what all of a sudden has you acting like a cat in heat. The only thing you haven’t done at this point is lift your skirts and bend over the table in invitation. 

Any hope you may have of getting back into your book is dashed as he comes closer. 

You’ve never been one to fixate on how a man smells- and not even cologne, since that’s not an option these days really. But how he actually smells- you have no idea if you’re pulling off subtle well, but he smells divine and you know nothing will get done if you don’t get a hold of yourself. 

Hopefully your sinful thoughts are not evident on your face, but if they are then he doesn’t call you on it. 

It’s not uncommon for John to leave you alone for stretches and sporadically swing by to check on you. You know he’s in the neighborhood lurking for supplies and hoping to scrap up radio parts. 

The drop ins soothe your anxiety- that he is just across the street, or a few houses down. 

Although it’s still the end of the world and anything can happen. You begrudgingly accept that he has to leave on occasion so you don’t starve to death in the middle of winter in this frozen tundra.

“Gonna need to go further out today, Love. Not sure when I’ll be back.”

Your displeasure is blatant across your face. 

“None of that, now,” he reproaches firmly. “I’ll come back when I can. I want you back upstairs before the sun goes down.”

You’re pouting like a child, your earlier fantasies completely derailed as your thoughts swirl around the anxiety of being abandoned. Of course there’s a part of you that knows this is an inevitability. There’s only so many supplies in the area. John is reluctant to move you, knowing that the pair of you are relatively safe and hidden which means he’ll have to move further out to scavenge to care for you.

Your lack of an immediate response prompts him to reach out and cup your face, prying your mind from your surly thoughts. By now you know him well enough to understand the cue for what it is- a silent ask for you to soften back up to him and quit being a brat about him leaving. 

The logical part of your brain understands that there’s no choice considering you don’t wish to starve to death. Unfortunately until further notice your hormones are what call the shots so you can’t help yourself other than to be in duress over the thought of John leaving you for more than a few hours. 

“Why are you being difficult, hm?” He ponders, tone substantially softer than one might expect.

“I’m not trying to be,” you protest gently, settling into his hold. 

“And yet here we are,” his tone is more amused than anything else.

His free hand drops to your belly, something that immediately garners the attention of your baby who gives a volley of kicks. 

“You can’t wind him up and then leave me here alone to deal with him,” now it’s your turn to reproach John good naturedly.

Again, you blame your hormones. You like John’s hands on you- like John touching you. 

“He’ll be a good lad for his mummy, won’t he?” He prompts the baby, and you don’t protest as his hand smooths down your belly. 

This time your child is not called to action, deciding to spare your poor ribs from another litany of kicks. You decide to not question the way he immediately quiets down at John’s prompting. 

Despite the conversation you just had, you can’t help but pout and mope as John leaves. You keep it to yourself, even though you know your anxiety is bleeding through and he knows exactly what your thoughts on the matter are. 

There’s nothing to be done for it though, so you’re left alone with nothing but Fred’s shadow and your child for company.

You listen to John’s request and begin your trek up the stairs just before it starts to get dark. The natural lighting in the house is weird and casts odd shadows. It's overcast and a new moon, which will leave little to guide you with when the sun goes down.

With only your thoughts to occupy you, you think about silly little things because if you don’t then you’ll be cognizant of the crushing realization of your solitude. That John is out there somewhere in the murky darkness and there is no guarantee that he will come back to you. 

You’d have made a piss poor military wife.

It’s easier to think about how things could be in another life- if you would have met the handsome captain in some bar and flirted shamelessly in the hopes that he liked you enough to take you home and show you a good time.

That you were at his home, in his bed, with his baby nestled under your ribcage.

But you’re not, although in a way you are as close to that fantasy as you can get. 

You’re tucked into the little hidey hole that John has chosen to squirrel you away, waiting for his return upstairs just as he asked while your child does somersaults and uses a kidney for soccer practice.

Somewhere between bouts of fretting, you manage to fall asleep. It’s certainly not the best sleep of your life by any stretch but you’ve also had worse without question.

It’s also easily disrupted. There’s a part of you that is still keen to your surroundings- that’s still aware that you’re alone in the dark and the cold, and that to truly slip under the haze of sleep could sign your death warrant.

You don’t quite wake at the sound of the door creaking, but you drift that much closer to the land of the living. 

It’s when the bed dips under his weight that you stir, partly in offense at the cold air that creeps under the covers with him.

The greeting that escapes you is more of a whine than anything else, hands grabbing at him and trying to burrow under the weight of him.

“I’m right here, lovely- told you I’d be back.” He soothes you like an over reactive pet that’s absolutely enthralled with his return and showcasing it by trying to crawl into his skin.

He’s warm, a welcome reprieve from the biting cold waiting for you just outside your blankets. You want to melt at the sensation of his hands on your back. You’re a puddle of a human being in his hold.

And somewhere between your squirming and his soothing, you’re not completely sure who ends up kissing who first but you have zero complaints.

Quickly your searching hands find purchase on him, just as his anchor you to him.

You’re drowning, you think- head dizzy, completely disoriented as lust burns through you. This is everything you’ve been pining for and now that it’s in your hold you don’t quite know what to do with it. 

John rolls you gently onto your back as the pair of you break for air- hovers above you, mindful of your belly while still not being too far away.

“Tell me to stop,” he looks as flustered as you feel, and a part of you preens in the knowledge that you’ve impacted him the way he’s impacted you. That you haven’t been the only one yearning for more. 

“Please don’t s-“ you don’t even finish the sentence before he’s on you again, the covers rustling as he shuffles to position himself closer to you.

“Good girl” he praises against your lips, the words itching something seated deep inside you.

John’s hands roam your body, searching for the hemline of your dress only to hike the skirt up to your hips once he finds it. 

“Please,” you whimper and try to arch under his touch. 

Rather than immediately diving under the skirt of your dress, he continues to feel up your chest, back, hips and thighs. You could practically melt at the attention, gladly feeling him up in turn before your hands grope down his chest to pry at his shirt. Your make out is briefly interrupted as he shucks his shirt, although in the dim lighting of the dark it’s hard to fully appreciate everything he’s displaying at the moment.

“God, you are soft,” he marvels, lips leaving yours to kiss down your neck. 

You realize that he’s trying to keep the covers over you as he works your dress up your body, pooling the fabric around your collar bones as his attention drifts from your neck to your sternum.

One hand gropes at a breast as he teases your nipple with his tongue, immediately making you gasp and grab his hair. 

“Gentle!” You correct him- while under normal circumstances his grip on you would have been perfectly acceptable, you’re currently very pregnant and part of that means your chest has been sore the last few weeks. You’re so sensitive now. 

“I’m sorry, lovely. I’ll be gentle,” he apologizes, and you relax back into the mattress.True to his promise, John is far more careful of where he gropes and kisses, delighting in all the noises you make.

The sensitivity in your breasts has you squirming underneath him, whining in pleasure.

You feel strung out and desperate, some nebulous part of you aware that you're in trouble if you're already this amped up and he's barely begun to touch you yet.

Arching into his hold, you both freeze at the same moment you feel something akin to a release in the pressure of your chest. You haven't quite been sure when you would start actually lactating- knowing that the real stuff wouldn't come in until after birth, but knowing that there was the colostrum prior.

You're not quite sure what you feel. Flustered? Relieved? Embarrassed? But John remains unflappable, a mere "Tastes sweet" before returning to the task at hand.

The hand not anchoring your breast for his mouth drifts down your side, ghosting over the fabric of your underwear. You're wet- keenly aware of how his fingers trace across your skin. Gooseflesh rises in the wake of his touch, something to do less with the all encompassing chill that you two are trying to avoid and more to do with the lust that is firmly growing in your belly. The gusset of your panties doesn't take long to soak as he teases you over the fabric.

Your hips twitch, trying desperately to follow his fingers. 

You want more. It's been so long since you've had anyone touch you, and the weight of John over you feels phenomenal. "Please, John- I need you to touch me." Never in all your days have you actually begged a man to touch you, but your life has just been full of unexpected surprises lately.

"I'll take care of you, lovely- gotta be patient," he consoles you, paired with a teasing suck of one nipple before moving across your chest to get to the other one.

You don't want to be patient. You want him- now- and even though you actively have him right in this moment it's somehow still not enough. You'd say you're like an animal in heat, but animals in heat aren't usually ready to calve at any moment. It's almost alarming how little control you have over your own body right now. You're little more than your most base urges with spread thighs and heaving breaths as you keenly watch him.

"Gotta get you ready for me, sweetheart," he soothes with his words as his hand slips under the waistband of your panties. "'m not a small man- don't want to hurt you."

You feel dizzy just at the thought. You're well acquainted with what he's packing at this point, and the knowledge he's going to try to make sure it's good for you too is enough for you to find what minimal patience you possess.

The feel of his fingertips lightly searching for your clit has your legs spreading and thighs twitching in anticipation. He's an insufferable tease, tracing the pad of one calloused fingertip around your vulva and teasing the seam of your lower lips. Just enough to keep you keyed in on him, hook line and sinker, whining for more like an anxious dog. 

When he finally parts your pussy with his fingers, you arch up into his hold as he spreads your wetness around. "Bein’ such a good girl f'r me" his praise is low and gravely and shoots straight between your thighs. 

God the things that this man could make you do if he asked you nicely.

"John, please!"

"So impatient" he chuckles against your soft skin, nipping at you ever so carefully. Just enough to get your skin between his teeth, the squeal that escapes you more in anticipation than from any actual discomfort.

He shushes you, lapping at the patch of skin that he nipped in a mock apology as the hand slipping between your lower lips slides one finger inside of you.

There's certainly more to his one finger than to your own, and you must be such a greedy little thing tonight because you're still wanting another finger. John is in no hurry it seems, content to rock his one finger in and out of you as your body gets wetter in preparation of future events. 

His hand doesn't leave from between your thighs, but he moves further under the covers where they've obscured him completely, falling around your collar bones. Certainly warmer for the pair of you for him to do this like this, although your hips are already rocking. 

You've got a reasonable guess on what he's about to do, but not being able to physically see him does, you admit, add a certain level of excitement. There's nothing you can do other than lay on your back patiently like a good girl and wait for him to make his next move. His warm breath on your pussy makes you jolt, a thrill shooting up your spine.

 You haven't gotten head in ages- certainly not with your last beau.

"Try to be quiet for me, lovely. Don't need anything outside hearing your pretty noises," is all the warning you get before he's lowering his mouth to you.

It is certainly easier said than done- partly you manage to keep your whines and whimpers down, but it just makes your eyes want to roll back the way John doesn't hesitate to put his tongue to work.With a cursory lap of your vulva, he's quick to hone his attention on your clit while his finger continues to slip in and out of you.

 After a few thrusts of his wrists you have to turn your head and muffle yourself with a pillow as he gives you the second finger you've been so keen for. His fingers stroking you from the inside paired with his tongue on your clit is certainly enough to work you steadily towards your orgasm.

You're not sure that you're going to last much longer when he starts to crook his fingers against the anterior wall of you- seems he knows exactly how to try to wring out every last drop of pleasure from you, and you're more than game to let him.

"John," your whine is a small, pleading thing this time- not the same feverish anxious plea from earlier, attempting to get him to give exactly what you want. This is a softer cry, a plea and an acknowledgement all wrapped together that he will take you where you're trying to go if you'll just let him do it.

Cold be damned, your activities under the sheets have a sheen of sweat breaking out over your skin. You pull the blanket off of you, partially because you're starting to get hot and partially on the reflex that you want to watch him- although that isn't really going to be an option with your belly in the way. "Oh my God, please don't stop,” you beg, perfectly able to picture the smug grin on his face as you feel the vibration of him chuckling in amusement at you.

Your squirming is dealt with swiftly as he grips one of your hips with his free hand, holding you in place as you rock against his mouth. The pleasure coiling in your belly twists down tighter and tighter, your staccato breaths hitching as he pushes you closer to your climax.

Right when the dam breaks, it seems both of you were on the same page- one of your hands clamping over your mouth to muffle yourself right at the moment John straightens a bit and abandons your hip in favor of trying to cover your mouth as well.

Which suddenly puts you in the position of being completely at his mercy- that he's using the hand buried between your legs to see how much he can get you to squeal now that your noises are  muffled to his standard. 

When he lets up, you're dizzy and gasping for air. This is so much more intense than the orgasm you'd brought yourself to in the shower and that one had literally brought you to your knees. There's a part of your brain still cognizant enough that you want to return the favor- That he's made you feel absolutely divine and it's only fair to reciprocate that. 

However, rather than functional words, all you can come up with is to just paw at the top of his pants, mumbling more so than speaking "I want- I-"

Despite your complete lack of clarity, he seems to understand what your mission is regardless.

 "We can worry about that later, Love," he assures you, coaxing you onto your side and getting in close behind you. Despite having just gotten yours, for a moment you are incredulous at the idea that he's about to just tuck you back into bed and go to sleep.Then you realize the covers are still down around your ankles, and your night dress up across your breasts- and, blessedly, that he's pulling down his pants. 

God you wish you could see it, but between the darkness and the angle with him behind you it's not really an option. You can see enough shadows to have a vague idea of where he is behind you, but also the lack of vision is adding to the experience. 

Just groping and touching in the dark like a pair of frisky teenagers trying to not get caught.

"I've got what you need right here, pretty girl- lift your leg up for me," he instructs and you comply immediately. 

Oh God he's big. You knew that, sorta- have been well acquainted with what he feels like pressing up against you with morning wood. And he just told you that you needed to be prepped in order to take him. 

But somehow this feels completely different, and here you are lying soft and compliant on your side with your legs spread wondering how the fuck he's going to make it fit.You're completely gagging for it either way. 

"Please, please, plea-" you beg, head turning his direction in the dark even if you can't see well. Your begging is cut off as he drags his cock across your swollen folds, sensitive from the earlier attention he paid to you. 

"Easy, lovely. Told you I'd take care of you," he instructs, and it takes everything in you to lie still in his hold while he lines himself up with you.

Your mind is spinning a hundred miles an hour, excited by the prospect as he finally pushes the head in and gives a shallow thrust.

His chest is lined up to your back, one hand helping prop up your thigh to give better access. It's the most intimate position the two of you can manage, and it gives you a front row seat as he groans low in the back of his throat.

Oh, you like that noise.

You want to hear him make it again.

"Christ you're warm," he chokes, and a deep satisfaction rolls through you. Just knowing that he's as affected by you, as you are by him is enough to stroke your ego.

"John, I can't wait anymore," you whine, pushing back against him in encouragement for him to move. Since when did you become such a needy little mess? It would be embarrassing if you could bring yourself to care. 

You've been long overdue for a good romp between the sheets, and you are just thrilled to pieces that the captain has decided to be the one up for the task.

"You are an impatient creature, aren't you pet?" His admonishment is a gentle thing, as are his first few thrusts as your bodies acclimate to each other.

"It feels so good. Want you to feel good too," you plead your case, and really who was he to disagree with that?

"Feels fuckin' incredible, lovely, don't you worry about that. Sweet pussy of yours has me like a vice," You push back against his thrusts, eyes rolling as the angle lets him hit that one spot in you. Pragmatically, this position was the best to allow the pair of you to be close to each other while not overcrowding around your belly- allow some level of intimacy, as John is able to get up close behind you, and you can reasonably turn to touch and paw at him. But God is it also working for you as far as bringing you pleasure. Each time his hips bury against the plush of your ass he hits that spot that makes your leg shake in his hold.

"Gonna get you there, lovely, just-" it strokes your ego that he's babbling slightly as he speaks. That he's just as excited to have access to your body, to let you have him like this.

"John, right there- I, ah!- Oh God, right there," your pleading seems to just ramp him up. He's not rough with you by any stretch, just clearly comfortable that he's not going to hurt you and confident that your body's acclimated to take all of him. It's your turn to babble, whimpering and whining in his hold. The hand holding your thigh spread coaxes your leg over his hip, hand drifting back to your clit to stroke the little bundle of nerves.

"Just like that, hm?" he asks you like your eyes aren't almost crossing from how good he's giving it to you.

"Oh my God, please!" your brain's possibly broken. Your entire universe has condensed down to you, and him, and this bed and how damn good he's making you feel. 

A quick study, he's already learned your tells that you're inching closer to your climax.

"You can do it, pet- cum for me. I wanna see your pretty face when you cum all over my cock.”

You’re past words, clinging to him with one hand and the sheets with the other as you breathe and try to relax your tensing body.

“That’s it, good girl- deep breaths,” he coaxes you, and that’s the magic combination to get you seeing fireworks. 

He must still doubt your ability to stifle your orgasm yourself, muffling your noises by grabbing your face and turning it so he can kiss you. You certainly have no complaints, aware by the way his pace changes for a few thrusts that he’s not very far behind you before reaching his own end.

For a moment, the pair of you recline in silence as you come down from your respective highs. The heat the two of you made quickly starts to dissipate in the night with the covers still bunched at the foot of the bed, making you shiver as the cold finally settles back over you.

That movement is enough to bring John out of whatever post coital bliss he was in, shifting behind you to pull out.

“Hang on, love,” he instructs while pulling his pants back over his hips before pulling your dress back down your legs and grabbing the covers.

You feel calm for the first time in days, content to laze on your side with John behind you as he snuggles in next to you.

You remember turning your head back towards him for one last kiss- something slow and soft and gentle- and don’t even realize it when you fall asleep.

Age in bio/pinned or I will block you ♡

[dollfacefantasy]

TELL ME WHEN YOU HEAR MY HEART STOP ♡

pairing: naoya zen'in x fem!reader

summary: today's a very special day for you and naoya, and he plans to celebrate it with a very special gift.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, dubcon, kidnapping/captivity, drugging, stockholm syndrome, p in v, fingering, breeding kink, puppy play, misogyny, mentions of spanking, corporal punishment, and psychological torture stuff

a/n: birthday gift for my sweet wonderful friend who i love so very much @nexysworld <3 also!! imagine naoya as a few years older than his canon age for the timeline in this story to work.

“Naoya taking a wife… I never thought I’d see the day.”

The sound of Jinichi’s voice speaking his name drew Naoya’s attention to the two men walking several feet ahead of him on the stone path. His golden eyes flitted from the blue sky above to the pair of them, narrowing as he focused on hearing the next part of the conversation.

“It’s not that shocking,” Ogi replied, “He’s the future head of the clan. There’s no way Naobito would let him fail to produce an heir. Even if the old man had to find some bitch to pay off, the kid was always going to get married.”

“That’s true, but don’t you find it the least bit odd? Seeing him at events with some girl on his arm now? Before, he could never shut up about how the women shouldn’t even be allowed at those things. To be honest with you, I always thought he swung the other way,” Jinichi added.

“Well, yeah. But look at her. If he was ever gonna wed a woman, it was gonna be one like her. Quiet as a mouse. Moves through rooms like a scrap of silk in the wind. Doesn’t go anywhere without him,” Ogi reasoned.

“I don’t think that’s her choice,” the other man quipped.

Ogi shrugged. “Maybe not, but she goes along with it. I only wonder if she’s always been so naturally obedient or if the kid beat it into her.”

Gritting his teeth, Naoya had enough of listening to this. He sped up to catch his relatives. Once within arm’s length, he laid a hand upon Jinichi’s shoulder and pulled him around. His lips curled into a sneer upon making eye contact.

The sudden tug shocked the older Zen’in, his brows raising and lips pausing around the word they had been forming. Ogi followed his direction and came to face the future head of the clan as well. The three of them stood there for a moment. Naoya let them have a few seconds to register that he’d heard their conversation.

“I’ve never thought of either of you as intelligent, but I thought you smarter than thinking it was acceptable to disparage your future clan leader out in the open like this,” he said.

“Our words weren’t intended to be negative, Naoya. We didn’t mean to upset you,” Jinichi started.

“Because you didn’t think I would hear,” he shot back.

From the looks on the two faces in front of him, it was clear the men weren’t afraid of Naoya. That irritated him of course. He wanted all of them to fear him, to feel that if they so much as put him in a bad mood, they would suffer. But the emotion he did see on their features satisfied him enough to prevent that from being a pressing issue.

The gleam in both Jinichi and Ogi’s eyes told him they respected his rank. They may hate him and believe him to be nothing more than Naobito’s spoiled-rotten son, but they accepted the fact that there was nothing they could do about it. And he almost liked that more.

“But really? The implication that I have to lay hands on my betrothed to receive her submission wasn’t meant to be an insult?” he mocked, “The idea that my father would have to pay some woman to be my wife wasn’t said to demean me? I don’t believe that for a second.”

“They were just jokes,” Ogi defended, “How you deal with your woman is your business.”

“Oh, I know it is. How I discipline her is of no concern to you, but do you really think I would have chosen someone so unruly to spend my life with?” he questioned.

“It’s just that you have such high standards-” Jinichi stated.

“I do have high standards. And she meets every single one,” Naoya cut him off, “You two don’t have to explain any further. I’ve already decided to forgive you because I know the root of all of this is jealousy. Ogi, I can tell you wish there was some way you could trade in your wife for mine. Someone young and fresh. Eager and passionate. Not dried up and drained of any personality from more than a decade of dealing with you.

“And Jinichi. Have you ever even been with a girl? I’m sure if my wife took the time to so much as smile at you, she’d have you trailing her like a drooling dog. So please, spare me your judgements about her being ‘quiet’ or shy or whatever you think. There simply isn’t much to say when the company is made up of people like you two,” he finished.

The both of them blinked at Naoya in return, unsure of what to say in response to the scathing words. Arguing would probably cause a blow up that would draw the attention of Naobito, but cowering would inflate the young man’s already super-sized ego. Luckily for them, Naoya continued speaking before they had to make a decision.

“Either way, it’s all water under the bridge. I know you two won’t make this mistake again,” he smiled, “But in case you need the reminder, don’t ever utter the word ‘bitch’ in a discussion about my wife. And if I hear you calling me kid again, you’ll find yourself feeling sorely out of place when I take mine as head of this clan.”

This time Naoya didn’t bother waiting for a potential reply before pushing through them and continuing his walk. The pathway fell into serene silence now that it wasn’t polluted by their annoying chatter. Birds chirped in the trees above while a gentle Spring breeze rustled the hedges on either side of him.

He let out a soft sigh as he turned a corner as his shared suite came into view in the distance. Never did Naoya think he’d see the day where he defended a woman so valiantly. Though that was the crux of why he did it he supposed. You weren’t just some woman. You were his. His bride-to-be, his beloved, his special girl. The only person of the female persuasion he’d let walk one pace behind him instead of three.

God, it was ridiculous. Even thinking of you now made his heart race. He envisioned your sweet, sparkling eyes. Your cute lips that tasted like the richest wine in the world. That luscious body below that gave him wet dreams like he was a horny teenager.

He sighed, longing for you even though he’d be in your presence in a matter of seconds. No matter how often he saw you, it seemed it was never enough. If he could, he’d blow off all his duties around here and stay with you for the entire day.

Opening the miniature gates to his suite, he walked across the paved path to a small wooden staircase. He headed up the three steps and finally reached the doorway that would lead to you.

Upon entering his home, he slipped off his shoes and took a glance in the nearby mirror to make sure his hair was in place. On the thin end table against the wall was a pile of wedding invitations. The sight of them brought a smirk to his lips. Save the date! Mr. and Mrs. Zen’in would like to invite you… scrawled in elegant calligraphy and bordered in gold trim.

“Sweetheart, I’m home,” he called through the house.

He waited a few seconds for the sound of you rushing towards him. That phrase served the same purpose as a whistle to a trained hound. He’d taught you well over the last year. Everyday when he said those words, he could count on you to come to him, to ask about his day, and check on what he needed.

Only today, he didn’t hear the pitter-patter of your footsteps.

His eyebrow raised. In an instant, his body tensed, his lips set into a scowl. He tried telling himself you could be temporarily occupied. Maybe you were taking a bath or had fallen asleep for an afternoon nap. You could just be watching tv or listening to some music that muffled the sound of his voice.

He knew it was probably one of those, but his mind couldn’t help going to the worst place. That you had escaped.

His fist clenched by his sides. He bit the inside of his cheek. Walking further into your shared home, his eyes glanced around to look for any immediate signs of your departure. So far there was nothing. All the furniture was in place, no windows had been left ajar, one of your jackets draped across the back of an armchair.

She knows better now, he thought to himself. Last time you’d tried leaving two months ago, he had hoped it would be the last time. He’d caught you tumbling from the bedroom window while coming home to fetch a paper he’d forgotten. If he found out you’d pulled the vanishing act again today, he’d make the fury he’d felt in that moment seem like minor irritation.

When you tried leaving out the window, the two of you had locked eyes as you clambered off the ground. It would have been kind of cute if he wasn’t so pissed, the way he could see the realization in your eyes that you had majorly fucked up. You tried running, but Naoya was fast. He had you by the back of the neck in seconds, his nails digging into your tender skin.

“My little puppy felt like exploring outside her crate, hm?” he’d asked with barely constrained rage, “You know you’re supposed to ask for permission to do that. You’re not allowed to wander on your own yet.”

Naoya always ended his rules in yet even though he wasn’t sure if he actually planned on ever giving you the freedoms he currently forbade. A small part of him believed that the false hope would inspire your obedience better than direct punishments would. Not that it stopped him from giving you regular punishment though. That day he dragged you back into the house and spanked you till your ass was raw. You wouldn’t have been able to run for a light jog after that. It left you crying for nearly a whole day, so he had hoped it would have been a lasting lesson.

He continued to prowl through the house like a fox hunting its prey. Gliding into the kitchen, he again saw nothing out of the ordinary. You even had the oven on. He wanted that to be enough to put him at ease, but he couldn’t let himself relax. You might have left it on intending to burn the house down.

From there he slipped into the hall. You weren’t in any of the rooms off that walkway, so he headed for the stairs. He moved up them in silence. If you were still here, he didn’t want you to know his exact location. Paranoia had fully taken root. It wasn’t just escape that worried him now. Maybe you had figured out that never worked. You could have graduated to planning an attack. That wouldn’t work either, but he wouldn’t put it past you. For all the times you’d wailed about wanting to kill him, he didn’t believe logic factored into these little rebellions.

God, what if you had found the propofol in his nightstand. He kept it unlabeled, but you’d probably recognize that milky liquid by now. You could have found the syringes in his sock drawer too while doing the laundry.

Shit. Shit. Shit. You could be waiting, tucked behind a corner, ready to jab him in the throat like he’d done to you a year ago. In his defense though, you actually needed it. You were so upset that night, it bordered on hysterical. He’d come over to keep you company because even though he’d only been with you for a year, he’d known you much longer.

You were Toji’s girlfriend.

He’d met you while trying to track him down years before. The day he spotted you, his eyes had been trying to find his older cousin on a crowded city street. Instead they landed on you. Back then, you had a real baby face. Your eyes shined under the rays like they'd never known a cloudy day. The delicate daylight made your skin glow and your features appear softer. He felt drawn to you. It was like fate that you happened to be hanging off Toji’s arm.

Naoya had become friends with both of you. Hanging out with Toji was great because he was Toji. Naoya would have had fun with him if they just sat there and stared at each other. But shocking to everyone including himself, he actually liked you. He acted polite towards you, friendly even. He naturally smiled when you laughed. His eyes watched you during conversation. He took interest in the things you said.

In his mind, he maintained that he still didn’t like the company of women for the most part. But if Toji took an interest in you, there must have been something that made you worthwhile.

He fell in love with you silently. It was a feeling he never planned to act on. He would never betray his cousin like that. Instead, he’d just observe you in awe from a distance. He’d resign himself to only being your friend. Cousin-in-law if it came to that.

But then Toji died.

It left you devastated. Naoya felt hollowed out too, of course. He never thought he’d see Toji die. Part of him didn’t even believe that was possible. But even in comparison to his shock and grief and despair, you took it really hard.

You pulled away from him. Gaps between his visits transformed from days to weeks to months. You never outright told him you didn’t want him around. Your offers to play video games just dried up. You didn’t start conversations anymore, only offering minimal reactions to what he said. Most days you were busy taking extra shifts at work and on weekends you were hanging out with your own friends who Naoya “didn’t know.”

He followed you to a couple of these outings after feeling like he was going crazy experiencing withdrawal from you. Only he didn’t find “friends.” He found you, alone at the bar, getting yourself wasted until some guy would take you home with him and leave you feeling more empty than before.

After that, Naoya decided it was his duty to intervene. He would never have betrayed Toji for you, but now that Toji was gone, he would be what you needed. His cousin would want that, someone to protect you and make you feel loved. Someone to prevent you from destroying yourself in your sadness.

So on the anniversary of Toji’s death, he came to visit you. The two of you talked in short, tension-filled sentences. He could feel the guilt dripping from your every word. It was awkward, and he didn’t try making it any easier. Soon enough, as he expected, you pulled out something to drink to soothe your nerves and make the evening tolerable. And with the liquor came your tears.

It was easy really, corralling you to his chest and rubbing your back, whispering I’ve got you over and over. Then one little prick and you were out cold against him in less than a minute.

You weren’t too happy when you woke up the next afternoon in a place you didn’t recognize. His bedroom was much nicer than your apartment. Luxury furnishings adorned the space while expensive blankets covered your sluggish form. The upgrade in surroundings did little to convince you though.

When he came in to explain to you your new circumstances, you listened quietly at first. He thought for a second that it might all go smoothly, that you would see the value in him taking care of you. But then he got to the part about becoming his wife and bearing the next generation of Zen’ins… and you didn’t seem so on board with all of that.

Now, his heart pounded in his ears as he reached the top of the stairs. 

The first few months of your training had been rough, but he honestly thought he’d made great progress with you. All the fighting and yelling and crying broke you down quite a bit. The period of sleep deprivation helped as well. And of course, you’d done great for that couple weeks he’d kept you on a leash. You’d still have your bratty moments every now and then, but overall, you were doing much better now. You’d come so far and learned your place. Just sometimes, you forgot that he knew what was best for you.

And he wasn’t evil. He could be understanding. Going from your life of reckless independence to being taken care of by someone so responsible would be a big change, especially for such an emotional little thing like you. That’s why he only punished for actual disrespect.

He hoped that wasn’t what this was right now. Today was a special day. He planned to come home with open arms for you, not a raised belt. But like always, he would do what he had to.

Cautiously, he ventured through the second floor of your house back towards the bedroom. Once he was within a few feet of the door, he could hear some rustling. Finally some indication that you were still in the house. He let out a breath, but his muscles stayed taut. You could be trying to slip out the window again, prying off the nails he’d tacked through the sill.

His shaking hand landed on the door, his fingertips giving it a light push to knock it open. He braced himself, ready for the worst possible scenario. His plan wouldn’t change. Your compliance was the only variable in this situation.

He came into the bedroom and scanned around for trouble. You weren’t at the window or rummaging through his nightstand like he’d feared. You weren’t crouched at the foot of the bed, poised for an attack. Rather, he saw the closet doors open. That was where the noise was coming from.

Crossing the room, he peered between the double doors. Now his body could finally relax. He let out a deep breath and ran his hand over his face. Inside, you were there, safe and sound and not trying to escape. You were on your hands and knees, ducking beneath a shelf as if trying to find something. It seemed like you were having some trouble. Soft grunts fell from your lips and your hips wiggled as you tried to reach further. He couldn’t help noticing the way your back arched in this position along with your hips squirming. His pants felt a little tighter while watching you struggle, but he could deal with that in a few minutes. He cleared his throat to get your attention.

“There you are,” he said.

At the sound of his voice, your head shot up, knocking into the shelf above you.

“Ow,” you squeaked before pulling yourself free and sitting up. Your eyes looked up at him, wide and nervous. “Hi. Sorry. I didn’t hear you come in.”

He laughed at your little mishap before walking over to you and patting your head. “It’s alright,” he said, running his fingers along your scalp. 

His sweet puppy. Obedient just as he’d hoped. You deserved more credit than he gave you it seemed. He couldn’t let you totally off the hook for not meeting him at the door though. That was how bad habits formed. 

“Though maybe you shouldn’t start cleaning out the closet around the time I’m usually home.”

You nodded without protest before rising to your feet and tucking yourself to his side, your cheek squishing against the crisp fabric of his shirt.

“How was your day?” you asked. Your voice sounded meeker than usual, but he supposed you still feared the possibility of getting in trouble.

He wrapped his arm around you and squeezed your shoulder. “It was fine. Nothing special,” he said with a shrug. He began walking you out of the closet and back into the main part of the bedroom. “What were you looking for in there?”

“Today those people came over to fit me for the wedding dress, and while I had it on, I remembered these shoes I have that would go with it. I was just trying to find them, so I could ask if you liked them,” you answered.

A perfect answer in his book. You were looking for something in regards to the wedding, and not only that, but you planned on asking him for his opinion on it. It made his heart soar.

His fingers coasted up and swept below your chin, making you look up at him. As your jaw tilted upwards, his eyes fell to your neck. More specifically, the tight piece of material wrapped around your neck.

Your collar.

Just looking at it had Naoya’s cock stirring in his pants. He valued that little strap of fabric more than the diamond ring around your finger that cost thousands. His fingertips flicked the dangling silver tag that hung at the front.

“That’s my good girl,” he praised, “Are you getting excited for the wedding?”

You shrugged and gave him a small smile. While he would have preferred a resounding Yes, he would take this. It was a vast improvement from the times you’d burst into tears if he so much as uttered the words wedding or bride in your presence.

He planted a kiss on your forehead before sitting on the foot of the bed and pulling you into his lap. You sat up straight on his thigh with your shoulders back. Good. He stressed the importance of not slouching to you. It was unbecoming of someone with your beauty.

Two of his knuckles dragged down the curve of your face while his eyes studied your face for a moment.

“You know… today is a very special day,” he said, connecting his gaze with yours.

They swirled with nervousness, uncertain what kind of special today was. “It is?” you asked.

“Yeah. It is,” he confirmed. His fingers rested below your jaw while his thumb swiped back and forth across your chin. “Today’s our anniversary.”

You blinked at him for a few seconds. “But we’re not married yet…” you said and cocked your head a little.

“I know that, silly girl,” he said, rolling his eyes, “I’m not talking about our wedding anniversary. I’m talking about the anniversary of us. Of me bringing you here. The real start of your life.”

Realization dawned all across your face. “Oh,” was all you said.

“Don’t give me that,” he said with a little pinch to your jaw, “It’s a lot more important than ‘oh.’ That was the day you really became mine. My little puppy.”

He snuck his arms around you and pulled you flush against his chest, rocking back and forth with you for a few moments. The way his body swayed felt like how a child would do it with their favorite doll. His fingers traced up and down your spine.

You shut your eyes and relaxed in the embrace for a few moments. His tender attitude at the moment helped keep your thoughts quiet, which was good since the information he just gave you feelings the exact opposite of his.

While nostalgia warmed Naoya’s chest, a sense of dread permeated your body. You had been here for a whole year. An entire year of your life, wasted away while you played house between the walls of the Zen’in estate. You had honestly given up on escape after the last time when he threatened to upgrade your collar to an electric one, but the idea that you would actually be here forever didn’t feel real until right now.

Something about the one year marker ticking by made the time more than an abstract concept. The same was true of Toji’s death. Some days it felt like he was gone only a week, others you felt like the last time you laid with him was in another life.

Tears pricked at your eyes as you think of him now. It was stupid, but sometimes you worried he’d be disappointed in you for giving in. He fought his way out of this place. Now one of them had you, and you were just taking it lying down.

But you couldn’t fight back anymore. You just couldn’t. This wasn’t so bad. You told yourself that everyday as you lounged around the house or made him dinner. It could be so much worse. It’s not like Naoya kept you in a box under the bed or in some dank basement. He treated you like a wife. Sure he could be… old-fashioned to put it nicely, but you were pretty sure that, in his own twisted way, he really believed he loved you.

And the worst part about this whole thing was you were kind of sure that, in some fucked up way, you felt some sort of attachment to him too.

You’d liked Naoya as a friend before any of this happened. When he was just Toji’s little cousin. You thought he was cute. A little mouthy, but funny and sharp. He was still that way now, and when you behaved he let you see that. That was when nostalgia hits you. When he got you laughing, some part of your brain felt like you were back in the apartment, waiting for Toji to come home from the store.

And when he wasn’t in a bad mood, he could be pretty sweet. Sure the puppy stuff made you want to vomit at first but now it was kinda cute… It was just his special thing for you. That’s what you told yourself. He took care of you, and he could be loving and gentle. He could be a lot worse to you. Some of the other men around here were to their wives.

Those thoughts only brought you turmoil though. You hated yourself for getting used to him. For finding reasons to defend him to yourself. To justify his eternal presence in your life.

As much as you tried to keep it down, a sniffle broke its way out of you. You hoped he didn’t notice. He was being nice right now, and you wanted so badly to keep that going. You didn’t want this to turn into a lesson.

But unfortunately, he heard the soft sound. He narrowed his eyes and grabbed your jaw, forcing your head off his chest. His eyes looked down upon your face now, not in admiration but with inquisition.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, the words coming out with the smallest hint of accusation.

Before you could even think of a cover, you shook your head. There was no way you were gonna risk having to explain your feelings to him. Naoya wasn’t the best with that.

“No…” you replied, “I’m just… I’m so… I’m so happy.”

He continued to stare at you, though his gaze dissolved from displeased to plain confusion. You brought your hand up to hold his wrist.

“I never thought I would be so lucky to have someone like you who takes care of me and looks out for me. I just can’t believe it’s been a whole year. It just makes me think about everything,” you whispered. The low volume helped them seem more authentic. If you had to be emphatic about this, it would probably seem forced.

A gradual smile began forming on his face. “Well no wonder you’re crying. You know you and thinking don’t go well together,” he teased and pulled you back to his body.

He let out a lovesick sigh and rested his cheek against the top of your head. You released a breath too. Without his scrutiny, you could relax. His hand resumed petting up and down your back while he held you.

“My poor puppydoll… you get overwhelmed by all those big feelings in your head so easily,” he cooed, “That’s why you need me. You know I can handle it all for you.”

You nodded on instinct.

“That’s my girl,” he praised, “But I didn’t bring today up for no reason. I wanted to tell you something.”

“What is it?” you asked and wiped at your misty eyes before looking up at him again.

“Well, because today is our anniversary, I thought you deserved a gift. But you’ve been such a good girl lately, so polite and well behaved, doing everything I ask of you. It couldn’t be just anything. It had to be special,” he explained.

You tried to map out where this might be going, but you came up short. He rolled over with you, slotting you beneath him on the mattress. His elbow held him above you while his free hand came up and clicked off your collar. Your eyes widened as he pushed it aside. Today must have really been special to him.

“I was thinking and thinking and thinking, but I couldn’t come up with anything that my puppy would need. You already have so many pretty outfits. So many good pairs of shoes. All the toys you could want. I keep you so well-spoiled… so what would be a good enough present for my sweet little bride?” he asked as he ducked down to your neck, “Can you guess?”

His mouth began laying hot kisses on your throat. You shuddered under his touch. He licked at your pulse point before nipping at the skin. You know he wanted to leave a mark. That was the main reason he bothered kissing your neck at all.

When he didn’t say anything after a few seconds, you realized his question wasn’t rhetorical. He expected you to guess.

“Um… I don’t know. Are we gonna go out somewhere together?” you asked hopefully. It had been a long time since you’d seen the city. Or anywhere that wasn’t this house or the grounds of this estate.

He laughed a little against your skin, peppering the area with another series of pecks. “Good try, but no. I thought of something even better,” he breathed.

You tried to think of another guess, but you honestly had no clue what he intended to use to mark this occasion.

“I don’t know,” you acquiesced.

“That’s ok, baby. I didn’t think you’d get it. It was just cute watching you try,” he teased. 

He nosed at your neck once more before pulling back and looking down at you. His hand rested on your hips, his fingers clasped around the soft flesh there.

“I was thinking that because you’ve been such a good girl for me lately, that you’re ready for me to give you the greatest gift you’ll ever receive,” he whispered, “My heir.”

Every cell in your body froze upon hearing those words. You stared at him, jaw tight and eyes unmoving. How did you not think of that? It was obvious now that he’d said it. You’d known about his desire to eventually get you pregnant since your first day here, but he’d always referred to it as some distant thing. Some event that would occur after the two of you married.

There was only a month until the wedding though, so you supposed he was on track.

“Like a baby?” you whispered back, still wishing somehow that you’d misinterpreted what he meant.

“Well obviously,” he said, “Now’s not the time for joking, puppy. I know you’re ready.”

“I…” you started, but you cut yourself short. You didn’t know how to divert him from that idea without causing a blow up. “I’m scared…” you tried.

“There’s no reason to be. You know I’ll take care of you. The whole time you’re pregnant, you’ll be spoiled even more than you are now,” he said and kissed you, this time on the mouth. His lips moved against your own at a sensual pace before he pulled back. “It’ll feel so good. It’s what this body was made for. To carry Zen’in babies.”

You didn’t know what else you could possibly say, but luckily that wasn’t a worry for long. He went back in for more kisses. His tongue worked your mouth open before slipping in and caressing your own. You moaned softly and brought your hand up to thread through his bleached tresses.

He smirked against your lips. You could feel the smug curve of it rise as he steadied himself above you. His hand kneaded your hips before his fingers hooked over the top of your bottoms and began pulling them down.

Your heart thundered in your chest. “Nao, I don’t know…” you whimpered, but he silenced you by pressing his mouth harder against you.

“There’s nothing for you to know, baby. Nothing you need to worry about. You let me make the decisions remember? Just be a good girl for me,” he mumbled. 

He rolled his hips against your center, forcing your legs to spread wider in the process. You could feel his bulge against the thin cloth of your panties. He did it a couple more times, rocking the hard mound against your clothed cunt. The dull friction felt good, you couldn’t deny that. Your breath hitched and you arched against him slightly.

Despite you starting to reciprocate somewhat, he could still feel the tension in you, and he didn’t like that. Normally it wouldn’t bother him so much, but tonight was different. He wanted you desperate to carry his babies, begging for him to fuck you full of his seed. It was an honor after all. Even if you still had reservations, you would come to see that in time.

His right set of fingers delved between your thighs, lifting the elastic of your panties and cupping your pussy. He slid his middle digit between your folds. In a few seconds, the pad swirled around your sensitive bundle of nerves. It flicked across your little clit, drawing a whine out of you.

“You don’t understand how badly I need to breed you, precious,” he breathed.

Your legs squirmed, and you bit your lip. You tried to keep your thoughts in line. A few small strokes to your pussy wouldn’t melt you so easily.

But it wasn’t just a few small strokes.

Naoya went back to kissing your neck, working all over from your jaw to your shoulder. His finger played with you until you began leaking arousal. He ground his erection against your thigh and whimpered next to your ear.

You could try to ignore it all you wanted, but you could hear the need in his voice. He sounded like an animal in pain. His other hand gripped you with the force of one as well.

“It’s all I want in this world. To rule this clan with you at my side, full with my child,” he panted, “You’ll look beautiful. Swollen in all the right places. Your body glowing as it does what it was meant to.”

Another moan fell from your mouth as his dreams began to infiltrate your mind as well. And while you were all worked up, you could kind of see the appeal.

“It’ll feel so good for you, fulfilling your purpose. Your body will be so sensitive too. You’ll ache for me, puppy. Your body will crave me like oxygen because it’ll know I own you.”

“Naoya,” you gasped. His finger slid down to your entrance and prodded inside for a moment. He pumped it in and out. It wasn’t enough to make you cum or give you serious pleasure. But it was the perfect amount to steal the thoughts from your head and melt you beneath him.

“Good girl,” he purred, “This is what you need, baby. That silly little brain is trying to hold you back because you’ve been taught that everyone expects more of you. But I don’t. I don’t expect you to work or make decisions or do any of that hard stuff because I know that’s too complicated for my little puppy. It wouldn’t be fair to ask that of you. All I want you to do is relax and let me have control. Just be my good little girl and listen to what I tell you. And what I’m telling you is that you’re meant to be bred. That’s all you need to do, my sweet wife.”

A moment passed where nothing changed. He kept kissing you while you stayed still. But then your hands rose to his chest and started grabbing at his shirt, trying to tug it off. And he knew he had you.

“Silly girl, just a few sweet words and you fall apart so easily for me,” he muttered.

In your mind, your resolve hadn’t completely collapsed. But what he’d said didn’t sound horrible. It was definitely the best case scenario for being here. So why not enjoy your anniversary. You could worry about the consequences tomorrow.

He made quick work of his clothing and your remaining coverings. In no time, he stood nude above him while you laid exposed on the mattress.

Stroking his cock a few times, he climbed on top of you. His golden eyes drooped with lust as they focused on you. You wrapped your legs around his waist in an attempt to guide him where you needed him most.

“So eager to be full now, are you?” he mocked.

You nodded and looped your arms around his shoulders, pulling him down on you. Most of the time, he wasn’t a fan of such clinginess while he was on top of you, but you were behaving better than he expected. He could let it slide just this once. It was your anniversary after all.

He lined up with your hole and nudged the tip against you teasingly.

“Naoya,” you whined, tightening your legs around him.

“This is what I get for spoiling you, huh? A whiny pup,” he murmured and pecked your cheek as he sheathed himself inside you.

Your walls locked around him, squeezing and fluttering at the pleasure that came with the first thrust. His breath came out a little shaky as he adjusted to the feeling of you around him. He shut his eyes for a moment, just feeling the warmth of your tight embrace.

“Your pussy’s begging for it,” he said as he dragged his hips back. He then pushed into you again.

Another long stroke followed the first, and then another after that. He set himself into a steady rhythm, rocking his hips back and forth. You mewled and clutched at his shoulders.

“It just feels so good,” you whimpered.

His grip became stronger on you too. He held you close to his body, ensured you couldn’t run or squirm away from him in the slightest. His pelvis continued to piston against you. The faint sound of skin clapping on skin filled the bedroom along with your combined sounds of ecstasy.

Every time he bottomed out, his silky tip bumped against some sweet spot. You cried out with almost everyone. Your eyes rolled back, blissed out from the continuous stimulation.

“That’s it. Just take it,” he huffed, nestling his face against your neck. You could feel his hot breath steaming against your skin.

Arousal continued to gush from you around his cock. Your slick smeared against your skin and coated the patch of dark hair at the base of his dick.

“Nao… deeper, please,” you whined.

He sighed and obliged your request, slamming into you as hard as he could. Your head board knocked against the wall.

“There you go,” he grunted, “Nice and deep. Gotta get it all the way in so it will take.”

You felt so good that hearing that didn’t even bother you. If anything, it dragged you closer to the edge.

“Gonna- ah! Gonna…” you tried to tell him.

“Just think about it. If I knock you up tonight, you’ll be pregnant during our wedding,” he said. He rolled his hips against you at a slower pace that still reached just as deep. “You’re supposed to wait till the wedding night to try, but no one would know. It’d be our little secret. My gorgeous bride, bred and beautiful just for me.”

Your hips bucked eagerly, out of your control. A pitchy whine left you, audible proof of your desperation.

“That’s it, puppy. Cum for me,” he crooned, “Cum for me so I can pump you full and put a baby in your belly.”

You cried out and locked your limbs around his body. Your muscles all quivered as release crashed into you. It hit you like a bomb going off. Your eyes screwed shut while your jaw clenched. Strangled moans still made their way out though.

He groaned right beside your ear. The pulsing of your cunt only grew more rapid around his length. It massaged him just how he needed to reach the finish line. He kept working himself in and out right until he felt that peak. Then he slid in all the way and let his body go lax on you, trembling with the pleasure of his orgasm.

You held him while his cum spilled inside of you, and afterwards the both of you remained attached. Your hearts pounded against each other where your chests met, rising and falling with labored breaths. His fingers lazily pet your head, trailing down to your shoulder to trace little patterns there.

Eventually, he pulled out and rolled off of you. His hand came to rest on your lower stomach without a word. He held it there for a few moments before rising onto his elbow and giving you a kiss.

“My perfect bride-to-be,” he whispered, the tip of his nose nearly touching yours, “I think whatever you had in the oven has long burnt by now.”

The tone in which he said the words had you thinking for a few seconds they were just some sweet nothings you didn’t understand. But upon taking a deeper breath and smelling the air, you realized he was right. The food you’d put in the oven before he’d come home was probably burnt to a crisp at this point.

“Sorry,” you said, instantly sitting up to go and correct your mistake.

But with a gentle hand on your shoulder, he ushered you back down against the mattress.

“I’ll have the servants bring us something better and clean it up,” he said and nuzzled your cheek, “What do I always say? I’ll take care of you. Even your little mistakes.”

You nodded and relaxed again. Your eyes drifted down to your stomach, the location of your possible future greatest mistake. Despite everything that had just transpired, you hoped it wouldn’t take.

“Oh I almost forgot,” he said, breaking you from your thoughts. His hand came up to your throat, your collar between his fingers. He grinned as he fastened it back into place. “There we go. It would be wrong of me to leave my pup without her collar.”

He flicked the dangling tag once more before laying beside you again.

[muletia]

Thinking about Rachet on Synth-En and how openly off the wall insane he'd be about you.

Rather or not this is a timeline where he knows Optimus has eyes for you, I imagine Rachet keeps his more troubling cravings on the down-low. Which all goes out the window as soon as he gets the unstable substance in his system.

You WILL know how attractive he finds you (i can see him practically cat-calling you like a fratboy), and he WILL start fights to both impress you and get the others to leave you alone. He acts like a buck in that way, incredibly eager to butt heads with everyone especially when you're around to see.

For his own sake he better hope you were already publicly together at that point, cause after it wears off there's only so much he can hand wave as being the Synth-En's fault.

Obsessed!synth-en!Ratchet goes so hard, but enduring more than five minutes with him is practically impossible. Not to mention how unbearable, clingy, and horny he becomes when you're alone with him. Every dirty, hidden secret he’s been keeping, every ugly and impure need he has for you, all come spilling out. No filter, and zero intention of hiding them.

Imagine hearing, "How’s it hummin’?" every single time you walk past him (as he leans against a wall with his arms crossed, giving you the most bedroom optics you’ve ever seen from him).

The drawn-out whistles every time you have to bend down for something, or worse, just stretch casually.

Or him throwing the most diabolical, unexpected, and vile line you've ever heard in your life, like: "Hey, sugar tits," and doing it in front of all the bots because synth-en!Ratchet has no concept of shame or subtlety.

And those constant fights, damn You can’t even talk to Optimus about the weather without Ratchet butting in, convinced Optimus is trying to flirt with you. The same goes for everyone else. Bulkhead interacts with you? Ratchet is ready to rip his spark out of his chest. Bumblebee glances your way? Ratchet's already calling him out for a one-on-one in the middle of the base, and you better be there to witness him kicking the young scout’s aft. And yes, after his victory, he’ll demand a reward. And don’t make him laugh with some meek, innocent kiss on the cheek... bro is after that humanussy.

I also think synth-en!Ratchet would have absolutely no problem with PDA and becomes much more impulsive with touch. If he suddenly decides he wants to kiss you, you’re about to have the sloppiest make-out session in history. If he concludes that you’re not giving him enough attention (you just looked somewhere else for like one second) he will immediately scoop you and sit you on his shoulder so you don't have a choice but to interact with him.

You can’t even find a quiet corner to rest, because Ratchet will definitely find you. Anywhere. Don’t even think you can hide from him (a.k.a. function for a moment without being scooped up without warning). He has to be with you 24/7.

Which is why he becomes unbelievably problematic once you leave the base. Just mentioning that you have to go home makes him go feral. The entire team will have to pin him down just to open a ground bridge to your home, though Ratchet will still find a way to slip out. Before you’ve had a moment to relax, you’ll be calling Optimus, because there’s a very sus ambulance parked outside your house. And then that same ambulance will snatch the phone from your hand before you can make the call because Ratchet is feeling romantical...

[goodlucktai]

one of the rotten ones

rottmnt word count: 2k pairing: don & leo, don & OC title borrowed from anthems for a seventeen year old by yeule part of the archer au :) read on ao3

x

“I don’t think Gio likes me,” Donnie blurts. 

He’d feel self-conscious if he was pressed to admit it anywhere else, but he’s in the infirmary, and the only one around to hear him say so is his twin. 

They’re moving into hour two of Leo’s “faves” playlist and the fourth consecutive Taylor Swift song even though he swore he put it on shuffle. Leo is going through cabinets and shelves systematically, updating inventory on his phone, while Donnie infodumps about energy storage and projectile dynamics and the breaking strength of crossbow string. 

Donatello’s base knowledge of this particular ranged weapon is severely lacking, which is a significant personal problem for him now that he has a sibling with a preference for archery. He needs to be the world’s leading expert on the subject yesterday. He has half a dozen half-formed plans for things like sonar bolts for 3-D mapping, which may or may not have been inspired by the Jupiter Jim Pluto Vacation run.   

Only every glance at the project folder simply labeled ‘G-01’ causes an uncomfortable feeling to squirm to life in his stomach, not unlike the Krang tentacles that had attached themselves to his carapace on the day the world didn’t end. 

Donnie isn’t good at people. He doesn’t know how they tick, and there are no reliable lines of code or handy user manuals that he can fall back on when he’s mystified by human behavior. 

His siblings don’t have the same problem. Leo is perceptive to a degree that borders upon clairvoyance, Mikey is the single-most emotionally intelligent member of their family, Raph is more charming than he gets credit for, and April can talk her way through any closed door, police tape or VIP-only entrance. None of them fumble the way Donnie does when a social interaction goes off-script, like it’s a volleyball that got served his way without the ample warning he needs to be anything approaching passable at the sport. 

But he knows he’s not imagining it—the way Gio seems to brace himself when Donnie comes into the room, like he’s expecting a confrontation every time. Like the last thing Donatello could want with him is something good. 

Donnie can be a lot. They all can. They come by it honestly, equal parts chaotic lab experiments and their father’s sons. And not every structure is built to withstand hurricane winds. Not every person is equipped to deal with a Hamato level weather event. 

But he has never seen Gio flinch away from anyone else. 

So he did what he always did when confronted by something outside his formidable repertoire—he took it to Leo. 

There had never in Donnie’s life been a problem that couldn’t be made into their problem. It came with twin territory. 

And Donnie’s twin in particular is good at translating Donatello and translating other people for Donatello, and jumps on any chance to be helpful and feel wanted, and absolutely loves problems. It’s one of the most annoying and endearing things about him. If there is any trouble within a hundred miles, Leo will find it. He will worm his way into the center of it and then puzzle his way out from the inside. Most other clever and curious people were satisfied by the daily Wordle; Leo would chew through a wall unless he had something more hands-on to occupy his mind with. As polar-opposite as the two of them could be in, in that regard, they were one and the same. 

It’s somewhat reassuring to Donnie that Leo’s immediate reaction is plain incredulity. He looks baffled, like Donnie has just started throwing stuff around the room for no reason. 

(He knows better. In the medbay, of all places, that would be a death wish. Leo runs a tight ship here and only here.)

“Sorry, you don’t think Gio likes you?” Leo says slowly. “Our Gio? The guy who let you infodump about the mycelial networks of fungi to him for almost two hours, all because Mikey mentioned he was making mushroom stir-fry for dinner?” 

Donnie scoffs, but he can’t help but feel warmed by the reminder. Gio had settled right in, the way he always did once he was sure of his welcome, and watched Donnie talk like nothing more interesting existed on this side of the equator.

“His eyes didn’t even glaze over,” Leo goes on, doing what he always does and pressing the advantage. “That’s a new personal best in this family. Even April started looking for a window to climb out of at the thirty minute mark.”

“There was bound to be at least one other mutant turtle in the New York metropolitan area with an appreciation for botany,” Donnie says imperiously, tilting his chin up. 

But the worry is still there, firmly rooted, trying to flower. Leo must be able to tell because his frown deepens, playfulness evaporating by the second. He pauses the music and sets his phone down. The room rings in the sudden silence, but it’s not uncomfortable, because it’s a room Donnie exists in with his twin. 

“I just want him to like me,” Donnie says. It’s a childish want, it makes him feel half his age, but it’s true. 

He was never one of those human kids lingering near the playground, on the edge of the classroom, desperate to fit in. He was never on the outs because he never had the chance to be. But this is probably what that would have felt like. 

Giorgio is quiet by default, absorbing everything with dark brown eyes, always pausing to think before speaking in a low, flat register that is becoming as familiar to Donnie as Raph’s comforting rumbles and Mikey’s energetic shrieks and Leo’s sweet or sly laughter. 

He hasn’t been anything but kind since he got here. He saved Leo, brought him home from a place it should have been impossible to come home from, so Donatello would put up with any manner of assholery from that quarter in exchange—but it’s not that at all. 

Once Gio’s initial guard goes up and then comes down, once they outlive that moment of consideration that verges upon scrutiny without ever crossing the line, the eldest turtle softens for any younger one like clockwork. He indulges whatever noise or nonsense they’ve brought with them like there is no better use of his time. 

It doesn’t seem like a lie. But Donnie is the least qualified person he knows to make that judgement call. 

There’s a lot at stake if he’s wrong, is all. 

Leo looks like Donnie has taken a melon baller to his insides just for fun. 

“I’d know if he didn’t like you,” Leo says with absolute certainty. And he probably would. And he would take it so personally. He wouldn’t let Gio know a single moment’s rest until the spotted turtle had a coming-to-Jesus moment and acknowledged his wrongdoings in canceled Youtuber apology video format. 

Since that isn’t the reality they live in—and Leo’s daily relentless pestering of Gio is harmless and little-sibling-shaped and decidedly not mean-spirited by any stretch of the imagination—some small part of the tight, unhappy feeling in Donnie’s heart has no choice but to accept that as the compelling argument it is. 

“He probably misses you, Tello,” Leo adds, something softening in his face that it hurts to look directly at. “His you, I mean. I know I would be a train wreck cosplaying as a person if I had to go someplace I’d never see you again. Can you imagine how screwed-up I’d be?”

Donnie’s whole soul shudders at the idea, at the nightmare that almost came true when the portal closed around the Technodrome and as good as severed Donnie clean down the middle. At the glimpse of a life he’d be forced to live with one leg, one lung, one arm, one eye, half a heart. 

“That’ll never happen,” he says, a little too loud. 

“You’re stuck with me,” Leo agrees. He means it, Donnie can tell—even after that almost-nightmare he put his family through, he means it. It’s one thing to take the nuclear option at the actual on-paper end of the world, it’s another to sit in a safe, warmly-lit room with his twin brother and try to conceive of an existence in which their dynamic duo was whittled down to a solo act. 

When they were little, Donnie once tried to explain how big the unobservable universe was. He told Leo that light from the big bang hadn’t reached Earth from all the way over there yet. It was a concept he struggled with as a child, that something could be so unknowable and immeasurable.

“That’s how big my ‘I love you’ is,” he said, all of seven years old and putting it into words the best way he knew how.

“I love you bigger than that,” Leo said promptly. 

“Ugh, you can’t,” Donnie said, frustrated at his twin for always trying to one-up him, for not understanding the huge thing Donnie was trying to compress and fit into his hands. “It’s not possible.”

“It is,” Leo said firmly, eyes gold to match Donnie’s, warm and shining in a way that was all his own. “I do.”

And then Leo went on to prove it. In a way Donnie never would have wanted him to—in an explosion that split the sky and left flash burns in their eyes, and the hollow pain of a surgical removal as the still-beating heart of their family was cut away, and the discordant electronic fuzz where a beloved voice had been rushing through last words, replaced by the sound of a radio without a signal, a device unpaired—but he proved it in a thousand other ways, too. 

He was even proving it now, this afternoon he spent leaning on a forearm crutch and ambling around to various shelves and cabinets to keep up with his stock of medical supplies that had been severely depleted in the weeks after the invasion. Leo had carried bandaids and lidocaine spray in a tiny tote bag since he was two feet tall. He couldn’t stop bad things from happening but he could try to make the bad things better. 

He’s looking at Donnie like he would right every wrong for him if he knew where to start. Like the unobservable universe was small enough to fit in his pocket compared to the lengths Leonardo would go for Donatello. 

Leo is the younger twin, but sometimes the only thing there is for Donnie to do is shuffle over and bonk their foreheads together and believe him. 

“If Gigi hated you, he wouldn’t be a Hamato,” Leo announces, muffled and silly and entirely correct. “It’s a required qualification. You must have missed that meeting with HR.” And then, because it’s important, he whispers, “I promise, okay?”

“Okay,” Donnie whispers back. 

At about that moment, TSwift’s I Think He Knows comes on, proving once and for all that there is actually no way Leo’s playlist is on shuffle. The weighted moment they’re holding on tight to transitions into a lighter one that gets flung haphazardly around as an immediate life-or-death struggle for the phone ensues. 

Stalemate is only reached when Splinter barges in to read them the riot act for daring to roughhouse while they had a non-zero number of broken bones between the two of them. Leo is bright-eyed with mischief and already fast-talking their way out of trouble the same effortless way April can rattle off her brothers’ favorite coffee orders, and Donnie’s worry has been soundly evicted, all its belongings in boxes in the yard. 

Sitting around has never been his style. He’s a turtle of discovery and invention. And now that he’s been reassured that the absolute worst-case scenario is not on the table—that it, in fact, was never on the table to begin with—curiosity rears its head and snaps up the dregs of anxiety like a hungry wolfhound who mistook it for an unattended rack of lamb. 

Hypothesis: Georgie isn’t being weird out of dislike of Donatello. Leo’s certain he’s not, so certain that he was willing to promise, point-blank and absolute, instead of being tricky and sly in the name of cheering Donnie up instead. Leo even offered a much more palatable alternative, but further evidentiary support is required. 

So after dinner a week later, as the whole family crowds comfortably around the banana split bar spilling across the entire kitchen island and argues over which toppings Gio and Casey should stack their bowls with first, Donnie blurts, “Can I see your crossbow?”

Giorgio really is one of the clowns in this circus. He proves it by putting his ice cream down, and picking the bow up from where it was relegated to the bench seat where everyone tosses their coats and shoes when they get home, and passing it right over. No normal person would put a loaded weapon in Donnie’s hands just because he asked nicely. 

As if in tacit agreement, both of Casey’s eyebrows shoot toward his hairline and Raph makes incredulous scoffing noises. April says, “You did not just—” at the same time Splinter blusters, “Purple, you fire that thing off in this house even once and I am grounding you from everything you know and love, including Orange!” and Donnie screeches, over Mikey and Leo’s hysterical laughter, “I can be trusted with projectile weaponry!”

The crossbow has been carefully maintained, but it hasn’t been used in weeks that Donnie is aware of. They’ve all stuck pretty close to home since the invasion, and it’s not like Gio knows anyone but them—it’s not like they need firepower for grocery hauls or pizza runs, though, knowing their luck, that could change any given day. 

But Gio still cleans it regularly, and he’s become a familiar sight at the kitchen table; parts spread out on an oil-stained rag, meticulous and methodical with the one belonging he brought here with him from the future other than the clothes on his back and the colorful friendship bracelet on his right wrist. 

It’s important to him, clearly, but he’s letting Donnie handle it with an indulgent look on his face. Like there are no better hands to leave it in than his little brother’s. 

Because he’s at risk of having a whole emotion about that out loud, where his entire family is assembled to witness it, Donnie quickly turns his mind onto the much safer road of gadgetry.  

He has never actually held a crossbow before, has never built or used one, but he’s been doing a lot of research. He has a lot of ideas. He wants to print mechanical broadhead arrows with explosive tips, or tear gas canisters, or EMP charges. It’s a brand new world of creative chaos and that’s not even touching all the build customizations Donnie has in mind. His fingers are already itching to dismantle and reassemble the machine into something better, something that won’t ever fail, something his big brother will love. 

Only—huh. What feels like a low-level electric current thrums to quiet life like it was waiting to be noticed by the right pair of eyes, just enough of a static shock to get his attention and guide his hand to the rail. Glowing purple does the work of an allen wrench in seconds and a handful of screws clatter to the table. Donnie removes the scope in one sure motion, and moves on to snap the rail from the stock. 

Raph says, low and warning, “Donnie,” intimately familiar with gremlin gadget mode and all the kitchen appliances and shared toys destroyed in Donnie’s early years in the name of science. But he’s not breaking this time, he’s just looking. 

He flips the rail over in his hands and finds the source of that odd electricity-conductive feeling. Hidden on the underside is a small embossed logo that Donnie would recognize anywhere, because it’s his.

“A-ha!” he says, absurdly pleased with the discovery. “A Genius Built mod.” 

The rail was one of the first things he’d had in mind to upgrade, but it looks like he’d beaten himself to the punch. 

“With a custom rail, we can add whatever attachments we want to the stock, way beyond just an average scope or a rangefinder,” Donnie says eagerly, his mind darting ahead in three different directions at once. “The world is our oyster, Georgie!” 

He can’t help grinning. His logo on Gio’s prized possession is that last little bit of evidence he needed. He’s never been happier to be wrong, and will endure Leo’s smugness for an unheard of two entire business days before initiating retaliation. 

No version of Donatello would put that mark on anything unless he really cared about it. 

And Gio wouldn’t lift the rail from Donnie’s hands, and touch his thumb to that stylized “D” as if to prove to himself that it was real, an expression of painful wistful longing on his face, unless he really cared, too. 

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Hey can you do cullens x reader when its readers first time sleeping over at there house and the reader kicks and sleep talks in there sleep? x

Pairing: Jasper Hale x human!reader

A/n: I don't do requests as much anymore, but since I'm in the hospital, waiting for surgery, unable to sleep 😅 anyway, it's not some masterpiece, but enjoy

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

"Does she always do that?" Emmett raised his eyebrows, a horrified look in his eyes.

"I've never stuck around long enough to notice", Edward notes with a slight frown, looking to Carlisle. "Their thoughts are too...graphic for my taste. And her dream makes her thoughts seem... saintly."

Chuckling, Jasper appears before them. "Are you badmouthing my mate?"

"She's moaning your name", Emmett grimaces. "I'm scarred for eternity."

Jasper smirks. "Imagine what sounds she makes when I'm actually touching her."

"If this is your tactic to chase us out of the house so you can get your dirty hands on Y/N....it's working." Edward admits before disappearing from sight.

"Carlisle, tell him to stop letting mortal women sleep over." Emmett insists, his eyebrows furrowing as he hears Y/N mumble about Jasper's lips.

"I won't forbid his mate from staying here....but we might soundproof his room."

"You know what's the worst part?" Rosalie storms in. "They have barely kissed and we are all listening to her nasty little fantasies."

"Rosalie", Carlisle warns as he sees Jasper's lips press in a thin line.

"I'm that good of a kisser", Jasper boasts proudly. "And if you don't want to listen to her fantasies come to life, you might wanna get out of earshot really, really fast."

"Someone has to stick around in case you decide her blood is sweeter than her moans", Rosalie remarks begrudgingly.

Jasper's smile is replaced with a scowl. "I'd never!" He swallows thickly, "I would rather die than harm a single hair on her head."

"Edward said that and now we have Bella."

Rosalie is right, Jasper realizes. Despite what he believes and wishes, he might never be able to bring Y/N's fantasies to life without him risking her life. And as long as she's not asking to become a vampire, he wouldn't dare. For his sanity, as well as everyone else's.

His human mate is too fragile for all the ways he wants to love her. Every move he makes around her has to be carefully thought out, even the slightest mistake could leave him devastated.

So, when he returns to her side, he lets out a gentle sigh. It's surprising how many human mannerisms he's adopted since she waltzed into his life, every bit of her mirrored in him.

Laying beside her, she kicks his chest and yelps. Waking up, hair disheveled, her eyes meet his golden hues and her lips spread in a warm smile.

"You're here", she mumbles, still half asleep.

"I promised, didn't I?" Jasper pulls her closer. "I'll be here until you say otherwise. Always."

Nuzzling her face in his neck, she relaxes and her breathing evens out.

Pressing a cool kiss to her forehead, Jasper closes his eyes. He might be unable to sleep, but he can still fantasize of a day where he will be able to do more than just peck her lips.

[throatgoat4u]

hold me again

previous parts: part one | part two

word count: 1.3 k

summary: in a desperate attempt to see you again, matt succumbs to something so pathetic, and foolish. returning to the park every single day.

warnings: angst, mentions of cheating, obsessive behavior, unhealthy relationships, mental heath issues (kinda).

a/n: this may feel like really really repetitive but that the point! it’s supposed to be repetitive to make it sadder. like the whole thing is just one big repetition for a reason. i hope you like it. this part is the one that makes me cry so i hope it does the same to you!

matt was sick to his stomach after the encounter he had with you. it made him overthink every single bit of his relationship with victoria. did he really want to be with her or was he just trying to fill the void that you had left in him. either way, he was overthinking.

one thing matt was positive about was that he needed to see you again—to talk to you again. so, that led him to return to that very park bench, every single day.

everyday—whether it was after filming a car video, or doing absolutely nothing—he’d go to the park, sit at that same bench, and wait.

all day, his thoughts were plagued by you. the park, that day, you walking away, it replayed over, and over in his head. the regret of letting you go a second time weighed heavily on him. he was desperate to see you again. he knew you’d be mad if he showed up at the restaurant where you worked as a waitress, or at your apartment. so the bench was the next best thing he could manage.

at this point, going to the park was second nature; it was in his routine. on a busy day, he’d wake up, do all his work, and then immediately rush to the park and sit at the bench for the remainder of the day. on a not-so-busy day, the moment he finished his morning routine, he’d head to the park. matt was usually the type to wake up at around 1pm. but now? now he woke up at 8:30 every morning so he could get whatever it was that he had to do done so that he could spend the rest of the day there.

he’d go, sit on the same bench, and pray. he’d pray, and pray, and pray that you would show up. he didn’t know if you would—he was more than sure you wouldn’t—but he always kept hope in his heart that you would. the thought of you never returning, the thought of never being able to see you again, drove him insane. so instead, he’d sit there, and the whole time, to distract himself from reality, he’d make up scenarios in his head. some scenarios were about what would happen when you’d come back. he’d imagine you in that same white dress, running up to him with that beautiful smile on your face and giving him a big kiss, telling him you missed him. other times, he’d imagine the life you two could’ve had if he had never done what he did. he missed you. all this time, he missed you. but he could never admit it to anyone. he could never tell a soul how much he wanted to see you again.

the entire time, he was filled with hope. he’d always come to the park, ready, and hopeful—beaming with excitement as he sat down, and waited. though, the results were always the same. complete and utter disappointment.

but matt—being matt— was stubborn. the constant disappointment was not going to deter him. if anything, it fueled his resolve. every time he came home, he told himself tomorrow was going to be the day. tomorrow you’d show, and it would all be worth it. he held onto that thought like it was a lifeline, even as the days turned into weeks. 

his friends began to notice his absence from their usual outings, and victoria… well, she was beginning to piece things together. she confronted him quite a few times, asking why he was always gone, and why he seemed so distant lately. his answer was always the same, he was working. it wasn’t all a lie, he reasoned. waiting for you was work. grueling, heart-wrenching, and entirely self-imposed, but work nonetheless.

this continued for a while. him coming home late, victoria confronting him, him using the same excuse, and then them getting into an argument. victoria couldn’t take it anymore, she was sure he was cheating. so she packed all her stuff into bags, wrote him a letter, leaving it on the table, and left.

when matt came home that night, he saw the letter on the table. all he needed to read was the first sentence before he stopped caring. over the few weeks he spent at the park bench, his love for her had slowly started to fade as he realized it was you he loved. it always has been you, it always will be you.

soon enough, the weeks were turning into months. where were you? there’s no way you haven’t once been to the park. the thought gnawed at him day and night. maybe he had missed you. maybe he had gone for a coffee run at the wrong time, or had left a minute too early. nonetheless, those thoughts were eating him alive. the possibility of him missing you haunted him, and he started to grow paranoid. so—like any logical human being—he started to stay longer, arriving earlier, leaving later, completely cutting his coffee runs out of the schedule. even then, he never saw you—you never showed.

matt was slowly going insane. he started to analyze the faces of passersby, just incase one of them was you in disguise. it sounded ridiculous, but at this point, matt wasn’t necessarily running on logic anymore. he was running on the need to see you, hug you, hold you. he knew he was driving himself to insanity, but he found himself caring less and less about his own personal being. 

december was slowly approaching but that didn’t stop him. he started wearing more and more layers. base layers, two long sleeve t shirts, a hoodie, a jacket, and then a coat on top. he wasn’t going to give up. he couldn’t… he couldn’t.

the park was dusted with snow. it was cold, and dark, but matt still sat there, not budging even if he was still shivering through all his layers. there was no way you’d show. why would you be at a park in this freezing weather? but his paranoia—the small voice in his head—kept him there. he was fearful that the second he’d get up, and leave, you’d magically appear at the bench. so he waited. he waited for you to magically appear.

his teeth had began to chatter, his nose turned red, and his lips blue. he could barely feel any part of his body, especially not his ass. he shoved his gloved hands into the pockets of his coat and pulled the hood up over his beanie, but it did little to warm him up. he was going to get hypothermia at this rate. 

he really should’ve gone by now, he knew he should’ve been gone hours ago. but, he couldn’t bring himself to get up, he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving right before you came. so he remained seated. his leg bouncing up and down, trying to get some movement in that would hopefully warm up his body.

the world around him seemed to slow as the biting cold settled deeper into his bones. matt’s breath puffed out in visible clouds of smoke, the only sign of him still being alive and stubbornly clinging to hope. he tried to distract himself, playing back his memories of you—your laugh, the way your eyes lit up when you were excited about something, the way you’d sound saying his name. it wasn’t enough to keep the cold away, but it was enough to keep him there.

“hey are you alright?” a familiar voice from behind him called out.

he froze in an instant. that voice… no… no, it couldn’t be. could it? could it really be you?

he turned his head around, looking at the face that matched the voice. it was her. it was his girl, his doll. it was the girl he had spent almost a year and a half at a bench for. it was the girl he longed for every second of the day. 

his chest tightened, and for a moment, he thought he might actually stop breathing. you were standing there, looking just as he remembered—maybe even better, if that was even possible. the cold had painted a faint blush over your cheeks, snowflakes speckled in your hair, sparkling like tiny stars under the dim light.

 it was you. it was really you.

a/n: i know the breakup with matt and veronica isn't long, i just needed her out of the way and could not be bothered with writing a long ass breakup.

toodles sluts :)

[dreamingofep]

Hi!! I was wondering if I could put in a request of an Elvis x reader imagine, where elvis meets the reader at a diner and she recognizes him (because reader loves his songs), and it goes further, and the next day he goes back to the diner to ask her out on a date and she accepts and it's just really cute and wholesome? Sorry if it's a lot but thank you!

Hi Anon!!! This is the sweetest idea! I just had to write this tonight! Hope you enjoy this cuteness!!

Elvis x reader

Word count: 1.1k

Tw: Elvis being so damn cute

✨

April 1960

It was a dreary Friday evening. Rain was trickling on the window of this old diner. It’s been here longer than your grandmother had been alive but it was a Memphis staple. Everyone knew about it and it was the best spot in town.

You sat in the back booth waiting patiently. You had a date tonight but he was late. Extremely late. Three hours late to be exact. You were getting ticked off and the cup of tea that you were sipping on was disgustingly cold. You hated that you sat here so long hoping and praying this boy would show up. Your girlfriend set you up on this date and you had high hopes it would go well. She spoke so highly of him and said he was ‘perfect for you.’

You didn’t have an appetite and knew you needed to give up this booth sooner rather than later for someone else to have. Your waitress was gracious and didn’t make you feel bad for sitting all alone. You were sure she picked up on the vibe that you were waiting for a date. You picked a pretty yellow dress to wear and everything with little white lace gloves to complete the look.

Now you just felt like an idiot looking like this waiting for him to waltz in like a knight in shining armor. You dig through your purse and try to find so cash to leave your waitress.

“Hello darlin’,” a deep southern voice says next to you.

Your head quickly turns to see who this man is and you instantly freeze.

Oh my god. It was Elvis Presley.

You hold your breath as you look at him. God he was more beautiful in person and those eyes were electric. You didn’t know someone could have such captivating eyes. His hair was slicked back and yet still fluffy. You couldn’t form any words as you continued to look at him.

He was somehow better looking in person which blew your mind. You knew every single song of his and now that he’s back from the Army, you were so excited for what he would come out with next.

“Hi, I’m Elvis,” he says reaching out his hand for yours.

You nod your head slowly, “I know- I mean… it’s nice to meet you, Elvis,” you say embarrassed, feeling your cheeky turn red. “I’m a big fan of yours.”

“It’s nice to meet you too. What’s a pretty thing like yourself sitting here all alone?” He asks, taking your hand and kissing the back of it.

You felt like passing out. There was no way this was happening. What turned out to be a horrible date just turned into something amazing. You’re talking to Elvis Presley. You could think of a dozen girls who would die to be in your position.

“Oh well I was waiting for a friend but it doesn’t look like they’re able to make it.”

You can tell he sees right through your lie. He takes a seat across from you and doesn’t let go of your hand.

“I’m sorry about that darlin’, they’re an idiot for not showing up. How do you like my booth though?”

You shoot him a confused look, not sure what he means.

“Your booth?”

“Yeah, I sit here every Friday night for a quick snack before we head off to the movies,” he explains.

You feel bad for taking so much of his time and let go of his hand.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I’ll get out of your hair,” you say sliding out of the booth.

His hand stops you again though, lightly squeezing it.

“Oh no you don’t have to go, I didn’t mean anything by that.” He says a bit flustered.

You would love to stay longer, you’ve dreamed about a moment like this with Elvis but you don’t want to overstay your welcome.

“I better go, Elvis, it’s getting late. It was so nice to meet you. Thank you for letting me sit in your booth,” you say cheekily.

You quickly leave out the back door and feel so embarrassed. You hoped he wasn’t too upset about you being there. This whole night was just a whirlwind and you were looking forward to laying down.

You’re halfway down the block when you hear a voice behind you calling out for you.

“Darlin’ wait!” Elvis yells after you.

You turn around to face him, surprised to see him running after you.

“Yes?” You ask shyly.

“Uhh.. your date came back and is really sorry for making you wait. He would like you to come back tomorrow night, same time.” He explains.

You were honestly surprised by the admission. You got a bit of excited butterflies in your stomach thinking about it. Maybe it wasn’t a complete disaster after all.

“Oh, thank you for telling me Elvis. It was so lovely to meet you,” you say sweetly. You wanted to hug him or kiss him on the cheek for being so sweet to you but you didn’t want to cross those boundaries. You turn away from him, wishing you’d have more courage to do just that.

“I never got your name darlin’,” he says quietly.

“Y/n, good night Elvis.”

*

The next evening, you get ready and put on another cute blue dress with matching gloves. You were excited for this date. You’d try not to dwell on him making you wait so long yesterday but you’d give him a chance.

You open the diner doors and look around and see Elvis in the back booth, looking better tonight than the last. He stands up when he sees you standing there. He has a smile on his face and you walk toward him.

You feel giddy and love struck, not expecting to see Elvis twice in two days.

“Hi Elvis, what are you doing here?” You say in a giddy fashion.

His face lights up when he hears how excited you were to see him.

“I just had to see you again darlin’. You were the most gorgeous girl I have ever laid my eyes on. I was hopin’ you’d have a date with me tonight,” he says bashfully.

Your cheeks feel on fire and you can’t help the huge smile that spreads across your face.

“I would love nothing more,” you tell him. He pulls you into his arms for a hug when he hears your response and kisses your cheek.

“Oh you just made my whole night. Please sit down,” he says leading you to the booth.

“And after we were going to watch movies at the theater, I’d love it if you came too. I’d love to share with you some of my favorite movies,” he says cutely. He had this boyish wonder to him and you couldn’t help but fall for it.

You can hear how excited he was to have you here with him and hoped this night would never end.

“I’d love that Elvis, I couldn’t imagine a better night.”

*

*

*

Tagging:

@loving-elvis @neptuneismysister@velvetelvis @ccab @theresalwaysep

@sillybookmarks @dkayfixates

@ellie-24 @rktismylife-blog.

@myradiaz @tacozebra051

@18lkpeters @flwrs4aust @emma181873

@austinswhitewolf@eliseinmemphis

@everythingelvispresley@chasingwildflowers @idontwanttoputanything. @ohjustpeachy-

@elvisalltheway101 @austinsmutler @kingdomforapony.

@generoustreemystic @claire-elvisgirl

@ashtag6887 @burnthheparaphilia @richardslady121

@jaqueline19997

@returntopresley. @iloveelvis @rimartin11@that-hotdog @louisejoy86 @misspresley@cattcb@annapresley8

@arrolyn1114 @raginginkedslut @epthedream69

@mh777ep1938

@50sexyshadestashionista

@oldhOllywOod @hooked-on-elvis @livelovedilfs

@sloppiest-of-jos@thisis-theway @gatheraheart

@aphroditebabygirl @faeolwen

[nightsandrewrites]

Banter with the Bat Boys

Pairing: Reader x Bat Boys

Summary: Cassian doesn't think you know a single good pick up line, but maybe you've got something up your sleeve?

Word count: 923

Warnings: None, Flirting

a/n: Just a little blurb, we love seeing the bat boys get a little flustered.

------------------------------------------------------------------- The fire pops in the hearth as it adjusts to the fresh logs that Cassian threw in. The drawing room grows cozier and as he moves back to his armchair a swirl of warmth meets you. This room is your sanctuary tonight as a strong blizzard billows through Velaris. You’d come to dinner at the High Lord’s home to provide an update on your latest findings on a cursed object that had found its way onto the marketplace. You were joined of course by Azriel and Cassian. Azriel was eager to hear of your results given he was the one to undercover the artifact and Cassian, well he just had a strong case of fear of missing out.

When the meal wrapped no one was too eager to get out into the chill so your small party quickly moved on to evening drinks.

“So, you had no better offers tonight Cassian?” Rhysand questioned leaning back in his armchair and bringing his drink to his lips.

“Oh plenty of offers, I just like to do some charity work you know. What would guys do without me?” Cassian’s face pulled into a wide grin.

“Yes, I can’t imagine how we’d get along?” Rhysand rolled his eyes.

“Please there were no offers, you had no where else to be.” Azriel chimed in. He tipped his glass in Cassians direction before taking a deep drink.

“And how would you know?” Cassian lent forward, elbows resting on the corners of his armchair.

“Spymaster.” Azriel simply pointed at himself.

You couldn’t help the giggles that bubbled up at their interaction. They truly acted as brothers and your heart felt so light seeing them be so content on evenings such as these.

“What are you giggling at over there? Did you have any better offers tonight?” Cassian challenged from across your little circle of chairs.

“No she didn’t.” Azriel quickly said before sipping his drink again.

“Hey!” You whipped out a hand from your blanket and slapped it playfully across Azriel’s arm. He grinned at you apologetically. “I happened to have business here tonight and I could have plans if I wanted to.”

“Oh really, cause I don’t recall the last time I saw you with a male?” Cassian’s wings fluffed behind him as he settled back in his chair.

“Some of us don’t feel the need to advertise our every conquest.” You wave your hand in his direction.

“Now, now, you two. There’s no competition.” Rhysand places his drink down on the low table between you all.

“Oh we know that already, I don’t think Y/N has a single good pick up line.” He smirks at you.

“I have plenty of good pickup lines thank you.” You take a small sip from your glass.

“Well do share.” Cassian gestures to the room.

“I don’t need to waste them on you.” You retort and resist the urge to stick your tongue out like a child.

“Well tell Azriel, his ravishing good looks mean he’s heard every pickup line from here to Spring.” He nods like it's settled. “He will judge.”

Your eyes dart across the faces in the room looking for a way out but both Azriel and Rhysand are watching you expectantly. Bastards. Of course they would side with Cassian.

“Fine.” You place your glass down a little harder than necessary as you swing your legs off your chair where they had been curled.

You stand and move towards Azriel, he watches you carefully as you step around his armchair. Rhysand picks up his glass again like he’s ready for a show and when you glance over to Cassian he only raises an eyebrow at you expectantly. His cockiness only fuels you and you know what you need to do.

You lay a hand across the back of Azriel’s chair and lean forward so that your lips almost brush the hollow of his ear. Behind a cupped hand you keep your voice low so that the others won't hear.

“I can’t decide whether I want to scream your name” You whisper to him “or feel you down the back of my throat.”

You straighten with a small smile. Rhysand seems shocked and Cassian now has both his eyebrows raised. When you glance down at Azriel a soft pink dusts the top of his cheeks.

“Ye- uh-, I mean, um she’s got it covered Cassian.” Azriel throws his head back and downs the remainder of his drink.

“Oh now I have to know what you just said.” Cassian is grinning again “I haven’t seen anyone have that effect on Azriel in a long time.”

“Rhysand” Azriel’s growl rumbles through the room “Don’t try and get in my head.”

“Hey just thought I’d see if you’d like to share that’s all.” Rhysand raises his hands in innocence.

“Well it’s been fun boys, but it looks like the weathers clearing and I should get home.” You turn and grab your long coat from the back of your chair triumphantly.

“I’ll take you, it’s still snowing and you can avoid the cold if we winnow.” Azriel quickly stands.

“Thank you, I appreciate it.” You give him a warm smile in reply. You bid the others goodnight and make your way to the door.

“It’s still snowing.” You hear Cassian mimic as he brings his glass up to finish his drink. As you make it to the hall you just catch sight of one of Azriel’s shadows tipping Cassian’s glass forward and its contents emptying into his lap.

[loves-alibi]

changes

or: you married a butcher, not a martyr.

MDNI simon "ghost" riley x f!reader word count: 2.7k warnings: mentions of sex, mentions of torture, reader is hashtag depressed, mentions of death (assumed death), simon is a weirdo at the end <3

*****

He’s a butcher, an apprentice actually. Every Monday through Saturday, regulars flock to the shop, where Simon, the gentle giant behind the counter, takes their order with a smile. Kids love him, always excited to see the man who tells droll jokes when their mothers, who are more interested in the way he winks at them after throwing in an extra quarter of a pound of meat, aren’t listening.

Simon is the talk of the block. Every nosy soul wants to know his deal. It’s not like he came out of nowhere. Simon was born and raised on the streets of Manchester, but there’s an intrigue about the young man that was never tapped into until he took up working at that shop, chopping and slicing up people’s dinners while asking 'how's the family?’. So it’s no surprise when one day an old lady, a regular at the establishment, asks Simon, elbow-deep in raw lamb, if he’s single.

After breaking the news that he wouldn’t like to make a habit of dating customers, she explains that her granddaughter (“She’s about your age and– you’ll see –she’s the prettiest girl in all of England.”) is in town.

Before he even thinks, the woman scribbles on her receipt for three lamb chops an address and 8pm.

Eight hours later he stands outside of her house, a bouquet of flowers in hand and the receipt folded neatly in his back pocket. Before he has the chance to ring the bell, the door flies open, bombarding Simon with the scent of roasting meat and floral perfume. Standing barely at his chest height is the woman from the shop. She calls a name, and round the corner comes her granddaughter.

Simon almost drops the bouquet in his hands. Your grandmother really didn’t lie about how lovely you are. Even as you abscond her (“You didn’t tell me he was actually coming tonight!”) Simon can’t stop staring at you.

Dinner goes by as awkwardly as you could have expected. Your grandmother sits at the head of the table, you and Simon at opposite sides, kicking each other awkwardly each time either of you crossed or uncrossed your legs. She prompts you two with conversation starters.

Darling, tell him about your job.

Simon, I hear you have a brother.

It’s like pulling teeth. The whole night Simon is kicking himself for not meeting you elsewhere, where he could make a real and good impression without watching eyes. It’s over, he thinks when you finally pull the plug on the evening, dismissing Simon with the excuse that you have to work early the next morning. It’s a shame, he really thought that, despite everything, you two had a connection. There were enough fleeting glances and shy smiles from you for Simon to really believe.

You at least have the decency to walk him to the door, thanking him for entertaining your grandmother and for being such polite company. And, with a glance over your shoulder confirming that the coast is clear, you pull Simon in by the lapels for a kiss, it’s chaste and quick, but has Simon’s chest heaving up and down.

“There’s a pub down the street, you know it?” You ask. Simon nods his head dumbly, his lips still tingling. “She goes to sleep early. Meet me there in an hour, yeah?”

He practically skips to the pub. He orders two pints and waits and why did he order you a pint? It'll be warm by the time you get here and he doesn’t even know if you like beer. This was such a bad idea, you’re probably not even going to–

Fifty-two minutes later you walk through the door, chest heaving and hair tousled. You ran. You really ran to see him.

As you down your pint, he sends a silent thank you to whoever answered his prayers because– wow –you’re here and even more beautiful than he could imagine, with a bead of beer slipping out of the corner of your mouth and dripping down your neck.

The next morning, you two wake up naked in Simon’s bed with headaches and a ring on your finger– his nan’s ring to be precise, the one she explicitly told him to give only to the girl. There’s a voice in the back of his head that says he should be mad to have given it away in a drunken stupor to some girl he just met. But then you laugh, saying, “I’m engaged.” And he laughs with you, a sinking feeling telling him that drunk Simon may have gotten it right.

Simon watches you observe the ring glitter in the morning sun. “Do you want to be?”

You scrunch your nose at the question. “Depends,” you say, dragging out the final ‘s’. Simon blanches. “What’s your last name?” You ask, scrutinizing him.

Simon loses his breath as he stares into your eyes. You’re laying naked, halfway on top of him, and yet it’s the way you look at him that makes his world tilt. He barely manages to stutter out, “R–Riley. Simon Riley.”

“Riley… Mrs. Riley.” Your features soften. “Yeah, I think I want to be.”

In three months, you’re married. It’s a real, proper wedding with both sides of the family there. Simon washes the sinew and blood from his hands and gets all dressed up. He’d pick his bloody apron over a suit any day, but the smile on your face when you see him down the aisle is enough to make getting all dolled up worth it.

Your grandmother dies a happy woman shortly after your wedding. She leaves you the house and well wishes for your future (and with the request to name her future great-grandchildren after her).

Marriage suits Simon. He leaves you for work each morning before the sun is up. You wake hours later to a cold bed yet a warm cup of coffee in the kitchen. He comes home at five o’clock on the dot with a pound of meat cut and ready to cook, which he does. It fills some caveman-basal part of him– the ability to provide for his wife, melting away his worries every time you sigh in delight at the taste of the meal he oh so lovingly set out for you.

Three days after your first anniversary, Simon comes home with a pamphlet. Her Royal Majesty's Armed Service. You laugh, tell him there’s no way he wants to enlist. He almost believes you, sounding so sure in your words. Maybe he is being ridiculous, but then he turns on the news and sees the chaos of the world and realizes that chopping meat wasn’t all he was meant for.

He sits you down again. This time you don’t laugh.

“You will not make me a widow, you understand?”

“Of course not.”

“Promise?”

“I promise, love.”

He enlists, joins the infantry, and you wonder if you made a mistake marrying that man. Then 30 weeks later, he comes back and you almost forget the heartache until he’s standing right in front of you, this time without a pound of meat and the smell of blood clinging to his skin.

He fucks you. You fuck him. It’s only natural after so long. He’s missed you. You’ve missed him. And you have plenty of frustration to get out.

It’s when you’re laying in bed, fingers trailing his abs– yes, abs, born out of the weeks of grueling work– that it strikes you how much this means for you. You squeeze what used to be the loving layer of pudge that circled his waist.

“You like it?” he asks, his smirk pressing against your head.

But the energy to lie doesn’t exist in you. You tell him no, that you miss the Simon that walked out of your door thirty weeks ago, that– sure –abs are nice but you liked the Simon with a little fat, that you didn’t want him to do this, that you didn’t want to have to waste away, alone and worrying about him.

Yelling ensues. You cry. Simon cries. You sleep in the guest room. Simon sleeps on the couch.

He’s a good soldier, you learn. Not from him of course, Simon’s too humble to brag about his achievements like that (plus, he’s afraid that his growing accolades would just remind you how you never wanted to marry a decorated soldier, you wanted to marry him). You always come to base to pick him up from deployments. Soldiers give you respectful nods and tell you how good of a sergeant your husband is.

You and Simon had a distinct separation between work and life. As soon as your car is through the base gates, not a word is spoken of his deployments. It always gets you in too much of a fit. So it was agreed upon: you didn’t have to hear about it.

Until one day, work shows up to your front door step. Simon’s on a deployment, and you’re finally unwinding after a long day of your own. As you begin to pour a glass of wine, there’s a clinical knock on the door.

Two men in uniform are on your porch. They hold their hats in their hands, as with solemn voices they try to explain it all to you. It’s strange– you don’t cry. They ask if you need anything and you simply say no. After all, what could they give you– Simon? You have a chuckle at that after you finally send the soldiers off.

You continue your normal routine: finish that second glass of wine, tidy up the house, and cook dinner. You burn your thumb on the cast iron pot. With your finger in your mouth to soothe the burn, you think to dial your grandmother’s number. If anybody needs to know about Simon, it’s her. Except, when you dial her number all you get is a robotic voice explaining that the number you are trying to reach is not available.

Oh, you realize, that’s right– nan’s dead!

You lose it on the kitchen floor. Your sobs are so loud, the neighbors come to check on you. They find you right there on the kitchen floor, dinner burning on the stove, and paperwork from the army on the counter.

People treat you like a widow after that. You don’t consider yourself one. It just doesn’t feel right. He left without a goodbye, and now you’re supposed to accept that he’s gone?

You’re a celebrity around town– poor Simon’s widow. You quit your job, the widow’s pension being enough to get you by for now. Simon’s old boss starts giving you cuts for free– not even the shitty ones. You get filet mignons from him, aged wines from neighbors, extra pastries from the bakery, and pitying stares from strangers.

In three years you went from a complete stranger to Simon Riley’s widow. Three years and that man tore your life apart. The six month mark is approaching. It’s funny, really. That’s twice the time it took for you two to get hitched.

There isn’t even a body to bury, only a plain gravestone with his name and dates. You don’t visit it. There’s no point. What’s there to mourn? Instead you dig a hole in your back garden. It isn’t very deep, and the garden’s long dead. You don’t dare touch the shovel, it had been Simon’s– used when you needed a hole dug for flowers or bushes. Instead the hole is dug with your bare hands, like a dog searching for something.

In the pathetic pit in that dead garden, you put your ring– the one Simon gave you, that his nan gave him –wrapped in his apron.

The backyard burial doesn’t make you feel better. It just puts dirt under your nails that won’t wash away no matter how hard you scrub at it.

You consider selling the house. That leads to another breakdown. You were supposed to raise your kids there– Simon’s kids. Nan wanted you and Simon to have that house. Now nan’s gone. Simon’s gone. But for some reason you’re left to wander the ruins.

Six months finally comes. People stopped giving you free shit by month three. It’s not like you ever wanted their gifts. It’d come to you with a smile and some bullshit about how we get it or we’re here for you. You laugh at the notion when you wake up on the six month anniversary of your fucking husband’s death alone and…

It’s not the anniversary. Not the real one, at least. It’s only been six months since those men showed up at your door, like the grim reaper dressed up for Queen Elizabeth. He had to have died some time before then.

You don’t even know when your husband died.

It has to be on the paperwork they gave you. Six months after however many days since your husband’s death, you tear apart your house. Every drawer is pulled out, every cabinet yanked open in the hopes that you can find the paperwork that has Simon RIley’s death date.

Not on the pension form.

Not on the letter from the crown.

Not on the invitation to the fucking widow’s club.

When the hell did he die?

You fall asleep in the wee hours of the morning, surrounded by every piece of paperwork you could locate. It’s still dark when you wake up, mind clouded with exhaustion. You almost fall back asleep right there on the floor, but when you let your head fall back down on the hardwood, you feel rhythmic vibrations travel through the wood to your cheek. Footsteps.

“Love?”

Only one man has ever called you that.

It’s like you lose the ability to speak. Any thought you could have dies on your tongue as two familiar arms wrap themselves around your waist, pulling you into a lap. He holds you on the floor, lets you cry it out until the sun comes up.

The first words to come out of your mouth: “You said you wouldn’t make me a widow.”

He holds you tighter, “And I didn’t.”

Simon doesn’t tell you what happened. All you know is that he had been taken, tortured, and somehow rescued. 

He looks different. He’s gots lots of scars now. They bother him, he covers up in long shirts and pants more often than not, no matter how much you tell him he doesn’t need to. He says that he doesn’t want to worry you with them.

It’s not the scars that worry you. Simon’s different. Whatever happened to him back there had made him needy. He doesn’t let you out of his sight. At night, you’re adhered to his side by an impossibly strong grip. He whispers in his sleep, don’t leave me, as though you could possibly escape his iron grip. Maybe needy isn’t the right word. Obsessive, more like.

He digs the ring up just like you did– all bare hands and fury. You don’t know how he found it– you never told him. You just wake up one morning to him pawing furiously at the ground. He pulls it out and presents it to you like a cat with a dead mouse. He puts the ring on your finger before even rinsing the dirt off.

In bed he consumes you. Where once sex was fun and playful, it now is a ritual, like Simon is claiming you. It’s enjoyable, yes, but overwhelming. You don’t think he blinks anymore. It’s like he’s worried you’re going to be ripped away from him, like every time is the last time.

Two months after he comes home, papers arrive for him in the mail. He’s being deployed again. You’re worried. It’s too soon. You can’t lose him again, and you tell him as much.

Simon placates your worries with a kiss on the head. As he pulls you into a hug, he utters, “Love, I crawled out of the grave for you once. You best bet I’ll do it again.”

Somehow, you don’t think he’s lying.

[kyywritess]

CHAPTER 9: KNOW ITS FOR THE BETTER

pairing: aged up!katsuki bakugo x fem!reader

summary: After six intense years in Japan, YN LN has firmly established herself as a renowned gym owner. She's known by many pros for her charm, strength, and boxing abilities. She has a strong support system and amazing friends... her life in Japan was everything she dreamed it would be.

But everything changes one fateful night when a mysterious package appears on her doorstep. No note, no return address—just a plain box wrapped with a single pearly pink ribbon. As she unravels the contents of the box, she’s drawn into a dark, twisted mystery that seems to reach deep into her own past—a past she thought she had buried when she left her old life behind.

wc: 3.6k

warning: mild blood mention

an: no Bakugo mention this chapter :,(

---

FLASHBACK 

“Do you ever want kids?”

The question hung in the air, unexpected and intimate. Turning over in the bed, you met Anthony’s gaze. The golden sunlight streaming through the window bathed his face, making his sharp features even more striking and setting his green eyes aglow, brighter than you’d ever seen them.

You hummed, stalling, as you considered the question. It wasn’t the first time you’d thought about it. You could vividly imagine it: children with little pieces of you running through a sprawling backyard, their laughter echoing as your husband scooped them up, tossing them over his shoulder with ease. You’d envisioned it countless times—three children, to be exact. One, the spitting image of you. Another, a reflection of your husband. And the last, a perfect blend of you both.

Yes, you’d thought about having kids more often than you’d admit. But right now? In this moment, in this life? The thought of bringing children into the chaos you lived in felt wrong—repulsive, even.

“Maybe,” you finally said, your tone measured. “It depends if I meet the right person.”

“Hm.”

His response was low, almost dismissive. The hint of disappointment in his tone didn’t escape you, though. Could you blame him? You’d essentially told him he wasn’t the one you could see yourself building a life with.

And he wasn’t. Not Anthony Moretti. No matter how far you’d sunk into this investigation—or how dangerously close you felt to him—he wasn’t someone you could ever settle down with. Being with him was like standing on the edge of a cliff, thrilling but ultimately reckless.

“I have something to show you.”

“Oh?”

Reaching over to his nightstand, Anthony opened the drawer and pulled out a framed photo. He held it out to you, the movement uncharacteristically hesitant.

“This is Milly,” he said softly. “My daughter.”

The image stole your breath. The little girl in the photo was a mirror of Anthony. Her pale skin, vibrant green eyes, and unruly chocolate curls left no doubt. She was his.

You stared longer than you should have, processing the revelation. Anthony Moretti, the enigmatic and ruthless man you were investigating, had a daughter. And no one knew.

“Your daughter?” you echoed, your voice tinged with disbelief.

“Yeah.” His eyes softened as his fingers brushed over the glass, as though he could reach through the photo and touch her.

You studied his face carefully. Talking about her wasn’t easy for him; the weight of it was etched in every line of his expression.

“And where is Milly?”

“She lives with her grandmother, out of state,” he said, his voice low and restrained. “Her mother died in childbirth.”

The confession hit like a punch to the gut.

“You don’t visit her?”

“No,” he admitted, the frustration in his voice barely contained. “My rights were taken away a few months after she was born. But I swear, I’ll do everything in my power to get her back.”

There was an edge to his tone—sharp, unsettling. It wasn’t just determination; it was the kind of resolve that promised he’d tear through anyone who dared to stand in his way.

“I’m not trying to scare you off,” he added, his gaze meeting yours. “I just thought you should know about her.”

You reached out, your hand trailing up his bicep in a gesture of comfort. “Thank you for telling me,” you said, your voice softer now. But even to your own ears, it sounded forced—to deliberate for the intimacy of the bedroom.

Anthony was letting you in, piece by piece. 

“Do you have a picture of her that’s not in a frame?” you asked, your voice quieter now, almost hesitant.

His brows furrowed slightly, as though the question surprised him. He hesitated for a moment before reaching into the same drawer and pulling out a small, worn envelope. From inside, he retrieved a single photograph, its edges creased and faded from handling.

“This one’s my favorite,” he said, passing it to you.

The image was candid, clearly taken on a whim. Milly stood barefoot in the grass, holding a stuffed animal tightly to her chest. Her smile was wide and unfiltered, her eyes sparkling with joy.

“She looks so happy,” you murmured, your thumb brushing over the corner of the photo.

“She is,” Anthony said, his voice barely above a whisper. “At least, I hope she is. I haven’t seen her in over a year.”

The weight of his words settled heavily between you. For the first time since you’d met him, Anthony didn’t seem untouchable. He looked human—vulnerable, even.

“What happened?” you asked cautiously.

His jaw tightened, and he shifted slightly on the bed, like the memory physically pained him. “Milly’s mother… she wasn’t a good person. She lied about a lot of things, manipulated people. When she died, her family blamed me for everything. Said I wasn’t fit to raise a child.”

“Why didn’t you fight them?”

“I did.” His voice hardened, frustration seeping through. “But they had connections. The system doesn’t care about the truth when someone like me is up against people like them.”

You wanted to say something comforting, but nothing felt adequate. Instead, you reached out again, this time lacing your fingers through his. His hand was warm, his grip firm yet tentative.

“I believe you,” you said simply.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The silence was heavy, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It felt like an unspoken understanding had passed between you, a crack in the wall he’d built around himself.

“I’ll get her back,” he said finally, his voice steady and resolute.

You nodded. “I know you will.”

He studied you for a moment, as if trying to decide whether to trust you with the full weight of his thoughts. “You’re different,” he said softly.

“How so?”

“You don’t look at me like everyone else does. Like I’m a monster.”

You didn’t know how to respond to that. Because, truthfully, there were moments when you weren’t sure what to make of him either.

But here, in this moment, he wasn’t a monster. He was just a man who missed his daughter.

---

When you left Anthony’s home that night, the photograph weighed heavy in your pocket—a silent confession folded neatly into your plans. You’d waited until he wasn’t looking, his attention briefly diverted, and slipped the worn image of Milly from the envelope.

It wasn’t a decision you made lightly. You told yourself it was necessary, a calculated move in the larger game. Hard evidence that could be used to build a case against him, to ensure that someone like Anthony Moretti would never have the chance to raise a child.

Still, guilt gnawed at you as you walked down the dimly lit street, your steps echoing in the stillness of the night. He had trusted you, had let you see a part of himself no one else was privy to. And you had repaid that trust with betrayal.

You pulled the photo from your pocket and unfolded it under the glow of a streetlamp. Milly’s innocent smile stared back at you, her joy untainted by the chaos surrounding her father’s life.

“This is for the best,” you murmured to yourself, though the words felt hollow.

Anthony Moretti was a dangerous man. A manipulator. A criminal. And yet, for all his faults, the way he had spoken about Milly was different. It wasn’t the cold calculation you had expected; it was raw, heartfelt, and full of desperation.

But desperation could lead people to do terrible things. And you couldn’t let Milly’s future be another casualty of her father’s world.

As you tucked the photo back into your pocket, you made a promise to yourself: you’d do whatever it took to ensure Milly grew up far away from Anthony’s shadow.

The investigation wasn’t just about taking down Anthony Moretti anymore. It had become personal.

PRESENT

“We can't go straight to the hotel. It’s not safe.”

“We’re not,” You replied, your tone clipped. “But we have to make a stop first.”

Without another word, you grabbed James’ phone from the cup holder and entered an address you’d memorized a hundred times, hoping you’d never need to use it. But now, the time has come.

“Just take me here. It won’t take long,” you said, your voice firmer than you felt.

Reaching into the backseat, you pulled out a duffel bag and rummaged for a pair of hoodies and sweatpants. As you began unzipping your bloodstained hero costume, James shot you a sharp look.

“What are you doing?”

“Changing. I can’t show up looking like this,” you said, gesturing to the dried blood smeared across your suit.

“In the front seat? Are you insane?”

Rolling your eyes, you muttered, “Just keep your eyes on the road.”

James sighed, muttering something under his breath about your reckless behavior, but he focused back on driving. You slipped out of the costume as quickly and discreetly as you could, pulling on the oversized hoodie and sweatpants. Wearing a bloody hero costume to this particular doorstep wasn’t an option.

When you finally arrived at the destination, your heart was pounding harder than the drive warranted. “Wait here,” you instructed James, already unbuckling and stepping out of the car.

The house was quiet, save for the faint hum of a porch light. It was late—far too late for an unannounced visit—but there was no choice. This couldn’t wait.

The door creaked open after a hesitant knock, revealing a woman you hadn’t spoken with in years. Her hair was streaked with gray, her eyes widening in surprise at the sight of you.

“Y/N?” Her voice was soft but tinged with shock as she opened the door fully, stepping aside to let you in.

“Where’s Milly?” you asked, urgency in your tone.

“She’s asleep upstairs,” the woman replied, frowning. “What’s going on?”

You didn’t answer, instead brushing past her and heading up the familiar staircase. The woman—Patty—hurried after you, her questions trailing behind.

“Milly,” you whispered as you eased open the door to her room.

The tiny girl lay sprawled across her bed, her hair a mess of curls and her cheek pressed against the pillow. She stirred at your voice, her sleepy eyes blinking open.

“Miss Y/N?” she murmured, a bright smile breaking across her face as recognition set in.

“Hi, sweet girl.” You crouched down beside her. “Do you want to go on a little road trip?”

Her eyes lit up instantly. “Yes!” she squealed, tossing off her blanket and bouncing with excitement.

“Good. Pack a bag, okay? Just a few things you’ll need for a little while.” You brushed her hair back, smiling softly.

“Okieeee!” she chirped, already diving into her dresser.

As she busied herself, you stepped back into the hallway, where Patty stood waiting at the top of the stairs, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.

“What’s going on, YN?” she demanded.

“Anthony’s back,” you said grimly, meeting her gaze. “And he’s after me. He knows that wherever I am, Milly isn’t far.”

Patty’s face paled. “You told me we were safe here. Milly has school—her friends. We can’t just leave!”

Taking her hands in yours, you spoke with quiet urgency. “Patty, please. I’ll keep you both safe, I promise. But I need to get you somewhere secure until Moretti is gone for good.”

Her lips trembled. “And how long will that take?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted, hating how uncertain you sounded. “But you have to trust me.”

For a moment, Patty said nothing, her expression flickering between fear and resolve. Finally, she nodded, her shoulders sagging under the weight of the situation.

“Fine,” she said softly. “But this better not take long.”

“It won’t,” you promised, even as doubt gnawed at the edges of your resolve.

You turned back to the room, where Milly was proudly holding up an overstuffed backpack. She looked at you with unshakable trust, her innocent faith driving a fresh wave of determination through you.

“Let’s go, sweet girl,” you said, reaching for her hand.

You were running out of time, and Anthony Moretti wasn’t far behind.

---

James glanced at you through the rearview mirror as you helped Milly into the backseat, strapping her in securely. Her backpack sat on her lap, nearly as big as she was, and she clutched a small stuffed rabbit tightly in her arms.

“You care to explain what’s going on now?” James asked, his tone sharp but low enough to keep from alarming Milly.

“Not here,” you replied curtly, sliding into the passenger seat. “We need to get moving first.”

Patty sat in the back seat, her arms wrapped around herself, watching with an expression that was equal parts fear and helplessness. You gave her a reassuring nod through the rearview mirror, though the lump in your throat made it hard to believe your own confidence.

As James pulled away from the curb, you glanced back at Milly, her bright eyes fixed on the passing streetlights. She didn’t ask questions, trusting you completely, and that trust was heavier than anything you carried in your bag.

James finally broke the silence. “So, Anthony Moretti is back. Care to explain why we’re suddenly kidnapping a child and her stuffed rabbit in the middle of the night?”

“It’s not kidnapping,” you shot back, keeping your voice even for Milly’s sake. “I’m protecting her.”

“From Moretti?” he pressed, his knuckles tightening around the steering wheel.

“Yes.”

James sighed, his frustration palpable. “You can’t keep dancing around this. You’ve got to tell me the whole story, Y/N. What’s Milly to Moretti? What’s she to you?”

You hesitated, stealing another glance at Milly. She was still staring out the window, her little fingers tracing patterns on the foggy glass.

“She’s his daughter,” you said finally, the words heavy in the confined space of the car.

James’ reaction was immediate—a sharp inhale, his jaw tightening as he processed the revelation. “His daughter? And you’ve been hiding her all this time?”

“Not exactly,” you said, your voice quieter now. “I’ve been making sure she stays safe. Patty and I worked out a plan before I left for America. Milly doesn’t know who her father is, and it’s going to stay that way.”

James shook his head, his disbelief evident. “You really think you can outrun him? You think Moretti’s going to stop looking?”

“I don’t care what it takes,” you snapped, your tone firmer now but still quiet. “Milly is staying safe, and Moretti is staying as far away from her as possible.”

James glanced at you again, his skepticism clear, but he didn’t argue. He knew better than to try to change your mind when you were this determined.

“Where are we headed, then?” he asked, his tone resigned.

“There’s a safe house,” you said. “It’s a few hours out of the city. No one knows about it, not even Moretti.”

James nodded, adjusting his grip on the wheel. “Let’s hope you’re right.”

In the backseat, Milly yawned, her tiny voice breaking the tension. “How far is the road trip, Y/N?”

“Not too far, sweet girl,” you replied, forcing a smile. “You can take a nap if you want. I’ll wake you when we get there.”

“Okay,” she mumbled, snuggling into her seat with her stuffed rabbit.

The car settled into a tense silence as the city lights faded behind you, replaced by the dark stretch of highway. Milly’s soft snores were the only sound, her tiny frame relaxed in sleep.

“You really think this is going to stop him?” Patty asked after a while, her voice barely above a whisper.

“It’s a start,” you replied, staring out the window. “Moretti won’t stop until he finds me. But if he thinks I have Milly with me, I can keep him off your trail. I’ll make sure he never gets close to her.”

“And if he finds you?” she pressed, her voice cracking slightly.

“Then he deals with me,” you said simply, your tone colder than you intended.

Patty flinched slightly, but she didn’t argue. Instead, she turned her gaze to the road ahead, her hands twisting nervously in her lap.

The miles stretched on, the car filled with an unspoken tension. You reached out to adjust Milly’s blanket, your heart squeezing at the sight of her peaceful face.

Whatever it took, you would protect her. Anthony Moretti would have to go through you first.

---

The car pulled off the highway onto a narrow, winding road bordered by tall trees that swayed in the night breeze. The gravel crunched under the tires as James slowed to navigate the uneven path. Ahead, the silhouette of a modest cabin came into view, tucked deep within the woods and shrouded in darkness save for the faint glow of a single porch light.

“This is it?” James asked, cutting the engine and glancing at you.

“Yes,” you replied, your voice low. “It’s safe. No one knows about it.”

You turned to Patty, whose fingers were clenched tightly around her bag. Her unease was palpable, but she nodded silently, steeling herself.

“Let’s get inside,” you said, unbuckling your seatbelt and stepping out into the cool night air.

Milly stirred as you gently lifted her from the car. She blinked sleepily at you, her curls sticking to her damp forehead. “Are we there?”

“We’re here, sweet girl,” you said softly, brushing her hair back. “Let’s get you inside and back to bed.”

James carried Patty’s bag as you led the group up the porch steps. The wooden boards creaked under your weight, and you felt a brief surge of paranoia, your eyes scanning the trees for any sign of movement. But the woods were quiet, the only sounds were the rustling leaves and distant calls of night birds.

Fishing a key from your pocket, you unlocked the heavy door and ushered everyone inside. The air smelled faintly of cedar and dust, the cabin untouched for months.

“Make yourselves comfortable,” you said, flipping on the lights. The warm glow revealed a simple but cozy interior: a worn sofa, a small kitchen with a table for four, and a staircase leading to the second floor.

Patty set her bag down by the couch, looking around uncertainly. “It’s... small.”

“It’s safe,” you corrected, gently setting Milly down on the couch. She clung to her stuffed rabbit, her eyelids already drooping.

“You’ll both have the upstairs bedroom,” you added, turning to Patty. “It’s got a lock on the door and plenty of space for Milly to sleep comfortably.”

Patty nodded, her expression softening as she crouched down to stroke Milly’s cheek. “Come on, honey, let’s get you to bed.”

“Okay,” Milly mumbled, her voice thick with exhaustion. She reached for Patty, and together they ascended the stairs, disappearing into the room above.

James leaned against the kitchen counter, crossing his arms as he studied you. “What’s the plan now?”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “You’ll stay here with them for a few days, make sure everything is secure. I’ll go back and deal with Moretti myself.”

“You really think that’s going to work?” he asked, his skepticism clear.

“It has to,” you said firmly. “I can’t let him near her, James. You’ve seen what he’s capable of.”

James nodded slowly, though his expression remained troubled. “Alright. But if you’re going to face him, you’re going to need help. You can’t do this alone.”

“I’ll figure it out,” you said, though the weight of your words felt heavier than ever.

The cabin was quiet now, save for the occasional creak of the floorboards above. You leaned against the wall, staring out the window into the dark woods. Anthony Moretti was out there, and you knew it was only a matter of time before he made his move.

For now, though, Milly was safe. And that was all that mattered.

MORETTI'S POV

The night was alive with the sound of rain hitting the pavement as Anthony Moretti stood in the shadows of a dimly lit alley, his dark coat blending seamlessly into the night. The soft glow of his cigarette illuminated his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw and the intensity in his green eyes. He exhaled slowly, the smoke curling around him like a predator waiting to strike.

“She took her,” Anthony growled, his voice low but dripping with menace.

The man standing opposite him, a wiry figure with nervous eyes, nodded quickly. “Yes, boss. The girl and the grandmother both. They cleared out right before we got there. She must’ve had a backup plan.”

Anthony’s jaw clenched, his hand tightening around the cigarette until it crumbled in his fingers. He dropped the remnants to the ground, grinding them under his heel.

“Of course she did,” he muttered, his mind racing. “She’s too clever to leave anything to chance.”

“What do you want us to do?” the man asked cautiously.

“Find them,” Anthony said sharply, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I don’t care how far she runs or how well she’s hidden. I want every contact, every ally she has tracked down. If she thinks she can take my daughter from me, she’s got another thing coming.”

The man nodded again, already backing away, eager to escape Anthony’s wrath.

“Wait,” Anthony called, stopping him in his tracks.

“Yes, boss?”

Anthony stepped closer, his towering presence forcing the man to shrink back. “This isn’t just about finding them. It’s about sending a message. If anyone tries to help her, they’ll regret it. Do you understand?”

The man swallowed hard and nodded. “Understood.”

“Good,” Anthony said, his lips curling into a sinister smile. “Now get to work.”

As the man disappeared into the night, Anthony remained in the alley, his mind consumed with thoughts of you. He could still see your face, the defiance in your eyes as you stood your ground against him. It was infuriating—and intoxicating.

But this wasn’t about you. This was about Milly.

His daughter. And he would do everything in his power to find you both.

---

TAGLIST: @emmaafinchh @faetoraa @iissza @theasgardianmexican

[nameuserlee]

Sylus — Night of Secrecy 💋❤️

❤️- Screenshots -❤️

❤️ - Kindled scene below the cut + my thoughts/rambling -❤️

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Uhm. Wow. Just, wow. My sincere congratulations to Sylus and MC, the kiss card finally came and so did they, hallelujah.

I still can't believe this card is real, though. I'm genuinely dizzy, and I mean that in the best possible way. Because it’s sooo perfect. 10/10. No notes. Would swipe for again in a heartbeat.

I didn’t really know what I wanted their first kiss to look like. But I know that whatever I could’ve imagined wouldn’t have been nearly as good as this was. Now let me yap about this!

MC finally gets to bring Onychinus' leader to her place! After learning he needs a place to crash for 3 days before leaving for “business”, MC very generously offers her apartment as a safe house, both to keep him close and to figure out where he’ll be going since he won’t tell her (for her safety, of course).

And my god, these 3 days of them living together are the cutest, most domestic thing I’ve ever had the pleasure to read.

Shopping for groceries together, getting him his own pair of house slippers, him using (all of) her body wash. Sylus being in her space feels right, despite the smaller doorframes and treacherous bathroom cabinets.

(Grown ass man needs us to blow on his boo-boo. ADORABLE.)

But nevermind how cute this is, the situation is still unusual. Sylus and MC’s worlds kinda clash, despite how well they now get along and how much they care for each other. They are both aware of this, and no matter how fun this little play-pretend is, it’s going to have to end soon.

On their drive to the supermarket, Sylus prompts MC with a question: “When you’re in danger during a mission, do you think of anyone?” And the exchange that follows means a lot to me.

“But after my dirty work is done, I’ll wash my hands before going home.” I need this line tattooed across my forehead.

Sylus can’t leave his life back in the N109 zone, but he also doesn’t want to give up MC. And above all else, he wants to keep her safe. He tries to keep her away from his actual “business” as much as he can (which explains why he refuses to tell her where he’s going after their 3 days together).

If it weren’t for the N109 zone being risky for him to stay in right now and MC very conveniently proposing her place, he definitely would’ve found somewhere else to crash.

And so his best way to protect her while indulging their desire to see each other is to promise to “wash his hands before going home.” Whenever he gets to come back to her, he is not bringing his work to her. He will not allow himself to carelessly “taint” her life with his lifestyle. Very sweet, very thoughtful, very mindful (are we still saying mindful in 2025?) .

I’m gonna fast forward to their last night together/the kindled scene because I fear I could talk about every single line in this card.

Where to even begin.

BEST PROMPT IVE EVER SEEN ARE YOU KIDDING ME??

MC initating the kiss means everything to me. Thinking back to their first meeting, it’s him forcing her to resonate with her. Now, she’s pretty much the one who sets the pace in their relationship, which leads to this beautiful first kiss. It’s just too good.

“You really don’t want me to leave?” NO SIR SHE WANTS TO CLIMB YOU LIKE A TREE SHE WANTS YOU BAD and there’s no more denying it. She’s been worried sick throughout the whole card about him, trying to make the most out of their time together, and now that it’s down to the last hours, she wants it all.

And when things start to get heated, our consent king doesn’t only ask her once, but TWICE if she wants to do it.

And it’s soooo HOT!

In the kindled, he hopes MC hasn’t changed her mind, since she kinda nudges him away right after saying yes. He wants this to happen just as badly, but no matter what he’s always, always going to put her first, and so he checks in again with her.

Is this the bare minimum? Well yes! But I still think it’s worth noting. Especially if, again, we compare to how cold he was with her at the beginning of the relationship and how he was forcing her to go along with what he wanted.

Consent is sexy, asking for confirmation is hot as hell. 12/10 would smash again.

[duchessonfire]

Savior Carl!AU re-read Part 1 Chapter 2

Follow-up of my re-read of Part 1 Chapter 1. If you're not interested and don't want to have your dashboard spammed, you can block the tags Duchess reads and Savior Carl AU reread.

Commentary for Part 1, Ch 2 below the cut (spoilers for part 1 ahead):

Chapter 2 here we go. Let's count how many times Negan calls Carl 'mine' in this chapter, shall we?

“I gotta say, kid, I am impressed. You guys were like a two-man army down there.” His eyes settle on Carl’s arm, resting limp at his side. “Come on. We got a long road back before you can get looked at by the doc.” “I’m fine,” Carl hisses, irked at being treated like he’s helpless. Didn’t he just demonstrate that he knows how to handle himself, while all these assholes stood with their guns and watched? “It’s just dislocated. Shane can pop it back; he’s done it before.” Negan smiles, and there is nothing nice about it. “I’m sure he has, kid. And I’m sure I’d love to see you take it like a champ, all dry eyes and gritted teeth. But you belong to me, now. And I take care of what’s mine. So there will be no half-assed, amateur bone-setting job done in the middle of fucking nowhere. We’ll ride back and you’ll go to the doc. Period.”

And that's count 1 already!! I love this moment because this is Negan staking his claim over Carl from the get-go. Not only that, but you can also see through the subtext the subtle way in which Negan is already driving a wedge between Carl and Shane, by demeaning Shane's ability to care for Carl (Negan praised Shane's skills a moment before but now he's calling him an amateur and someone who does a half-assed job) while insisting that he's better at caring for Carl and his wellbeing than Shane is.

Carl looks at Negan defiantly, and the man holds his gaze with a knowing smirk, daring him to contradict him. He turns Lucille’s handle between his gloved fingers in a gesture that Carl can only define as eager. “Fine,” Carl mutters, lowering his eyes, and he knows instantly that it’s going to be like that from now on. No matter how much he tries to fight Negan, it’s always going to end like that: with Carl standing down, humiliated and ashamed. “Attaboy,” Negan murmurs, as he turns around, walking back toward the cars with a lazy sway of his hips. “Let’s get this show on the road! I’ve got a bed and a whole line of wives waiting for me.”

Wow, Negan. You've made things real sexual suddenly. I wonder why that is? Maybe because Carl just willingly submitted to you? Because you're maybe imagining *him* in your bed? In your harem with the rest of your wives? Hmm? Just a thought.

"He’s right, you know? That sister of yours is perfectly safe in Alexandria. I know you and I didn’t get off on the greatest of start, what with me beating the living fuck out of your friends in that clearing, but you can trust me on this. We have a code. We don’t rape and we don’t let anything happen to kids.” Carl scoffs and Negan turns his head toward him, eyes narrowed. “What? You’ve seen anything here to make you believe otherwise? Do you see anyone going hungry? Any kid being abused or terrorized? No. Because we don’t do that kind of shit here. And honestly, I wouldn’t want to live anywhere that let that sort of shit fly. We save people. We saved your dad, and we saved your town, and we saved your sister, and we saved you. As long as I’m standing, nothing’s gonna happen to her. I can promise you that.” He stays silent for a few moments, watching Carl pensively, letting his words sink in.

This chapter is very much about Negan explaining how the Sanctuary works to Carl, laying down the rules and trying to convince him that his system is sound. Negan is trying very hard to get Carl on board, to win him to his cause.

Negan’s lips stretch into a slow grin, like he’s been following every single one of Carl’s thoughts and he can see the exact moment Carl reaches the conclusion he's laid out for him. He bumps the head of his bat on top of Carl’s shoulder, right where Shane’s hand was a few moments ago, before walking away.

This may seem like nothing but this is such an important moment in the story. Negan is already trying to drive a wedge between Carl and Shane because he wants to replace Shane. There are several times throughout the story when Negan puts the bat right where Shane touched Carl, another way for Negan to stake a claim, to assert his territory over Carl, and this is one of them.

“I hear you haven’t been eating.” Carl frowns from where he’s been sitting on the metal steps of the parking lot, watching the morbid spectacle of walkers attached to the fences. He’s dreamed of his mother, and of Carol, of Maggie and Sophia, and spent all day in an exhausted daze, unable to fully shake himself awake. Now, in the quiet of the dusk, the evening breeze clearing away the scent of rotting walkers, he just wants to be by himself. When it becomes clear that Negan isn’t going anywhere, he knows he has to answer. “I eat,” he mumbles, staring resolutely ahead. He doesn’t want to give Negan the privilege of his attention. “Cut the bullshit. I’m not talking about all the canned crap in your room. I mean the good shit from the market. No one’s seen you there.”

This scene is so important in many aspects and yet Carl doesn't realize it. Negan has been watching him. Not just watching him the way a leader watches a former enemy that has now joined his rank, but actually watching out for his wellbeing. Negan has probably spies all over Sanctuary whose role is to watch Carl and report his every move to Negan. Everything from where he goes to what he eats. And when Negan finds Carl's eating habits lacking, he goes through the trouble of talking to Carl about it. There's a definite paternal side to Negan that really shows here, in his concern for Carl's health. Also, I like to think this might also be the educator in Negan, who maybe used to watch the kids under his care at school and make sure that they fit in, that they have friends and that they eat during lunch break.

“You mean the food that other people produce for you but can’t afford to eat themselves?” It was supposed to be a sly barb but Negan just scoffs like Carl’s stupider than he thought: “I’m sorry, kid, maybe you forgot how the world was back when you were still shitting in diapers, but that has literally always been how things work. Welcome to capitalism 101. Some people get a lot, some people get the scraps. Even when your mommy and daddy were taking you out for pancakes on Sunday, someone back in the kitchen was getting fucked in the ass by the minimum wage system. So don’t act like I’m the big bad guy here and just go eat something. You’re a Savior, you help keep this place safe. You’ve earned it. Now go take it.”

Like I said, this chapter is all about Negan explaining how Sanctuary works to Carl, and here he's defending the system he put in place. As unpopular an opinion as it might be, Negan is right. His system is no more unfair than the world before was, which is directly where Negan is taking his inspiration. Like he says to Gabriel in canon, "it's an economy" and a very capitalist one at that. It's not the utopia that Rick or Ezekiel are building, but it is a working system, one that apparently worked well enough for Negan to still have support even when he's in the cell after losing the war.

“I’m fine,” he grits. An all-too familiar weight settles on Carl’s shoulder and he instantly straightens from his slouched position. He starts to turn his head toward Negan but has to stop when his hair gets tangled in the barbed points of the bat. “Good, I have your attention. Now, I’m hungry so why don’t you got to the market and get me some stuff for a sandwich. I’m thinking ham, mustard and tomatoes on rye. Throw in a couple of pickles too. The good home-made shit from number 42’s stall.”

I cannot begin to tell you guys how much I love the sandwich scene. Now that I'm looking at it almost four years later, it is still such a perfect scene to me. It's the first time Negan and Carl really go toe to toe and the first intimate (conflictual as it is) moment between them. So far Negan has kept his distance but now he's going in.

“Holy shit, kid. You’re still alive?!” That’s not his dad’s voice, Carl realizes confusedly. Not Shane’s voice either. He needs to find Shane. Where is he? Did he leave? Did he take baby Lori and leave like he always threatened to? “No,” he tries to say, but it feels like his tongue weighs a hundred pound inside his mouth. Even keeping his eyes open is starting to be unbearable. There is a dull pain throbbing in the right side of his face, and a sense of panic keeps pulling at the corner of his mind, though he can’t remember what that’s about. “Shhh, kid,” says the voice above him. “Don’t talk. Jesus fucking Christ, I can’t believe you’re still fucking alive.” Then, the voice starts booming furiously: “What are you all doing with your dicks hanging out? Get that murderous bitch in a cell and tell the doc we’re coming right the fuck now!” As if through a dark red fog, Carl registers that he is being lifted into the air, and he is further reminded of Christmas Eves spent by the tree, waiting to catch Santa Claus before his dad would carry him to bed. Distantly, he hears the voice panting urgently above him. “Hang on, kid. We’re almost there, just hang on.”

The scene where Carl loses his eye is also a huge favorite of mine for so many reasons. First of all is the fact that this is a pivotal scene in Carl and Negan's relationship. Before that, their dynamic was one of strictly unequal leader/soldier type relationship. But now, suddenly, there's a link between them, an intimacy created by the fact that Carl saved Negan's life. I don't think a lot of people have saved Negan in the past. Lucille, when she shot the walker outside their house, as well as Laura's father when he fed Negan and gave him medicine in the "Here's Negan" episode. Those are probably the last people who saved Negan's life. Everything after that was ruthless survival on Negan's part, saving himself and others through sheer wit and force of will. And yet, here's Carl, an 18yo kid who just did what no one else would have: sacrificed himself to save Negan. This is the moment that changes everything and nothing will be the same after that.

“I gotta say, I knew you were special from the start. Kids your age, in a world like this, they are either scared shitless of their own shadows or they turn into full-blown sadistic ghouls, killing everything that moves just because they can. But not you. You, you know what’s at stakes. You’ve killed and you don’t shy away from it. You don’t enjoy it either, but you get the job done because you know that sometimes, in order to save people, you gotta kill people. And I respect the shit out of that.” He scratches his beard while looking at Carl pensively. “Your step-dad is lucky to have you, kid. This whole place is lucky to have you. ‘Cause you may think that I’m bad, but let me tell you: if I wasn’t here to run the show, you’d know what bad really is. This place is a fucking zoo and I’m the one keeping all the animals fed and locked up. The minute I stop being in charge, everything here falls apart and it goes back to being a goddamn free-for-all. And I mean it literally. People will be slaughtering each other in the blink of an eye without daddy here to keep the peace. So you didn’t just save my life, kid. You saved the life of every single person here as well. Remember that.”

This is another instance of Negan explaining the Sanctuary to Carl, though this time he explains his own role in it, how, by being at the top of the pyramid, he prevents chaos and violence from spreading below. This is also the first time that Negan talks to Carl as an equal instead of an underling, telling him that he can see Carl's potential, how he doesn't shy away from violence but also isn't enjoying it. This is the first time that Negan tells Carl he respects him and that he sees him as someone who could be more than a footsoldier but, possibly, one day, more of an equal, someone who shares Negan's vision and might rule by his side.

“Still, I now have four job openings. Five, if I count the time you’re gonna spend recovering. I’ll offer her to fill one out. Get her the same deal I gave you and Shane. She becomes one of us, all is forgiven.” “She’ll never go for it,” Carl warns. He knows how headstrong Rosita is, how devastated she was after what happened to Abraham. How much she loathes Negan and the Saviors. Negan shrugs as he walks toward the door. “Then she’ll die. Like I said, I don’t let people fuck with what’s mine.”

Second count of Negan calling Carl "mine" in just one chapter, and the story hasn't even turned shippy yet. Negan, your crush is so very obvious...

Conclusion; tldr: This chapter is all about Carl and Negan. It's about Negan watching Carl and Carl watching Negan in turn, the both of them assessing the other, testing the boundary of this new leader/soldier relationship. But more than that, it's also Negan reaching a hand out to Carl, showing him all he can offer (power, comfort, luxury) if Carl just submits to him. Negan is explaining to Carl how the Sanctuary works, defending the system he put in place to him so Carl will see Negan's vision and, hopefully, share in it. But when Rosita tries to kill Negan and Carl saves his life, it's also the beginning of a more personal relationship. Negan watches what Carl eats, watches him sleep in the infirmary, and is genuinely concerned about Carl's wellbeing. Negan has the biggest crush on the planet and he isn't even aware of it yet.

[jasper-juice98]

🚨NEW HUSBAND ALERT THIS IS NOT A FUCKING DRILL Y'ALL 🚨

I just finished the movie and OH MY GOD I LOVE HIM-

WHY CANT IT BE MEEEEEEE-

anyways guess who im not going to shut up about now