#its too bad i know so little about how most of physics works. maybe i couldve been a nuclear physicist if id had my shit together at 18

[with-my-calamitous-love]

burnt toast, sunday / i wanna teach you how forever feels

katsuki bakugou x reader

the morning after a fight with katsuki. for the yail series ❄️

inspired by all of the girls you loved before

bakugou sat up, groaning a bit as his back ached. he looks around, hit with his surroundings. he slept on the couch, in the midst of the living room torn apart from arguing.

he knew you were probably still pissed at him. worst of all, he couldn't even fully recall why you two had been arguing the night before. he only remembered that it was really, really bad, and you had ended up locking him out of the bedroom. just the thought of not sleeping next to you hurt blonde’s chest.

he lets out a sigh as he got up from the couch and headed to the kitchen to make coffee. when he sits up, he sees you walk in.

he cringes slightly, seeing your puffy red eyes. you had been crying all night, probably.

“…hey.” you say, softly.

he grunts in response, his words unable to reach his throat.

its a sunday, a quiet morning to contrast a loud, abrasive saturday night. the two of you resolve to make coffee silently, only speaking when you need a spoon he’s standing next to or when he needs you to move so he can grab the sugar.

the silence felt incredibly awkward. the two of you just stood there, quietly making your own cups of coffee. the only noise in the room was the sound of the coffeemaker brewing. bakugou’s thoughts were a mess. he couldn’t believe the two of you had gotten in such a big fight, and he wasn't even entirely sure why it happened. but he knew he was probably at fault, he was the one with the explosive personality after all.

he curses at himself quietly when he realizes he grabbed two pieces of bread. he does that normally- one for you, and one for him. but right now, you’re pissed at each other. he’s a little worried that making two pieces of toast will be seen as a violent act of aggression.

he moves to grab plates, too absent minded to notice that the toast is now burning. you take it out for him. thats when he noticed you’re still wearing his shirt, even though you’re mad.

he picks up his phone and scrolls, trying to distract himself. thats when he remembers what the fight was about.

whoever it was that got ahold of katsuki bakugou’s dating history was really obsessed or really, really bored, maybe both. for whatever reason, his fans were now talking about all his previous partners, the good and the bad. and, because you’re dating a celebrity, they just have to question your worthiness to be dating the handsome and strong dynamight.

he feels his anger flare up as he doom-scrolls some more. it pisses him off, thinking about how people would so mindlessly say things. it pisses him off more that its getting to you. don’t you know that he loves you?

he has yet to do anything about it, to address his dating life and who he’s with now. truthfully, katsuki doesn’t feel like he should have to. his pr team already works overtime for his asshole-self, anyway.

he’s so distracted by his own thoughts, he fails to notice the way his elbow knocks over your mug, sending it shattering on the floor. maybe its the silence, but you honestly jump a little when it happens.

both you simply stand there at first, blinking. did he do that on purpose? no, he wouldn’t break his own mugs.

maybe he just wanted your attention.

nonetheless, you wave it off with a soft “its okay” before kneeling down and carefully cleaning up the shards. he’s silent as he gets down in front of you, helping you clean the mess he made.

he wants to tell you its okay, and that he’ll take care of it. he wants to tell you that he’s sorry and that he loves you. but this is the closest he’s physically been to you since the argument, and he wants to relish in it for a moment.

“are you still mad at me?”

he almost flinches when he hears your meek voice. why would he be mad at you?

“..what are you talking about, babe?” he sighs, his voice gruff.

he is mad, but not at you. mostly at himself for not seeing how the recent speculations about him had been bothering you.

“i don’t wanna repeat myself. i just… i don’t know. i know you don’t want me to care about what everyone else is saying, but, i do.” you admit, still on the floor in front of him. at this point, you’ve both forgotten about the coffee and the shards.

he can see how upset you are, and it makes his chest tighten. “yeah, well… i don’t want those shitty extras getting to you. even if what they’re saying is the farthest thing from the damn truth.”

he so desperately wants you to know that he loves you. that when he’s with you, he doesn’t think of all the times he woke up to someone else, feeling alone. he doesn’t think of late night arguments that left him feel empty. when he looks into your eyes, he’s reminded of everything he wants to protect.

but you don’t see that as clearly as he does. “i guess i just… wonder if you agree with them. you never say anything to address those rumours, about your exes. and its not your fault, i get you don’t want to get involved, but, still…”

bakugou’s heart twinges as you bring up those accusations. he hates that you wonder such things, that you wonder if he agrees with those rumours or not. he wants to reassure you that you are the one he loves, the only one he loves. but he knows you wouldn't believe him right now, especially since he's been acting so shitty towards you lately.

“damn it, dumbass, i just want you to know that i love you. not any of those other bitches.”

“i don’t like when you call them that, katsuki.” you correct him. he nods, though both of you should be used to his sailor tongue by now.

“they’re people you’ve loved before… and thats okay. sometimes i just wonder if you love me more. i know its stupid.” you sigh.

he finally gets the courage to hold your hand, his calluses gentle against your skin. “..i feel i shouldn’t have to say it, i guess. in my head, you’re the only damn person in the world who matters.”

“maybe i’m just insecure.” you chuckle, self deprecatingly. you’re both tired of the arguing, now. “you’re #1, you’re gorgeous… and i’m me.”

he looks at you like you’re a complete idiot for that.

he hated hearing you say those things about yourself like it was a bad thing, that you were just you.

“just you? you really think it’s a bad thing to be you, dumbass?”

he pulls you in tighter, wanting you to really hear what he says.

“you’re amazing, you're incredible. there’s no one else I want to be with. I don't want anyone else, just you. you’re way too good for me, [y/n], in more ways i can count.”

“…you really mean that?”

he scoffs, a beautiful smile on his face. “yeah, i mean it. i love you.”

you give him that smile he loves, the one that made him fall so deeply in love with you all those years ago. “thats all you had to say, kats.”

your past and his are parallel lines. he isn’t sure how he got so lucky. how, by some cosmic miracle, the starts aligned so he could intertwine with you. you’re all he needs.

he hugs you deep, burying his face into your neck. he loves how you smell, how smooth your skin is. theres bot much proof, but he sees enough in you. he feels enough when he holds you, his entire world in his arms.

“i’m sorry.” he says, quietly for only you to hear. “you’re everything to me. i’m in love with you.”

your heart swells, ignoring the burnt toast and spilled coffee. you’re wearing his shirt, and he’s keeping his word. thats enough to make you melt, hugging him back, arms thrown around his muscular back. “i’m sorry too. i shouldn’t have doubted you. i love you too.”

he pulls back slightly to kiss you, making sure you’re in front of him and that this is real. for once, he let’s go of all of his fears and his ghosts. you’re his best friend, the love of his life and every beautiful thing he loves. he hears it in the silence, on his way home, and in your voice.

“if anything, i think i’m grateful for everyone you’ve loved before.” you chuckle, face close to his. his blonde eyebrows knit in confusion. “what do you mean, babe?”

“because the people you love make who you are, even if you’ve only loved them for a moment.” you say, squeezing his hand. “all those dead-end streets led you to me.”

he pauses, strange look on his face when he realizes you’re right. all that fake love, the teenage heartbreak and pains he’s been through- it’s made him the man you love. all those breakups, those unsaid goodbyes, they’ve led him hear.

he huffs, and then smiles, pressing his forehead to yours.

“i wouldn’t change a damn thing, then.” he says. “it all led me to you, dumbass.”

you stroke his cheek affectionately, pressing a kiss to his temple. his eyes close when you do that, relaxing into your touch. everyone that he knew brought him hear. and now, he gets to know what forever feels like.

“and in the end, it doesn’t matter who loved you before.” you conclude. “cause i love you more.”

he almost laughs at how cliché it is, resigning to press kisses all over your face. “i love you more, i’m not arguing on that.” he says, holding you in his lap. he’s tough, and explosive, and “too good for all that clingy couple bullshit”. at least, thats what he lets the world believe.

you’re his, and he’s yours. he’s so god damn thankful for everyone you’ve loved before. ‘cause now he gets to love you 10x more.

[christianbalesblueadidas]

I have a prompt 🙋‍♀️👀 (a rlly long one). reader thinking noticing how Bruce always disappears/makes an excuse to leave at night (like on dates, events, or maybe while getting freaky (👀) he suddenly just gets up and goes like “oh sorry smth came up”) and he can never give a convincing enough excuse so she starts getting distant and cold coz she thinks he’s not rlly serious in the relationship and Bruce notices this and feels rlly bad but the reader only finds out why after she had to get rescued by him……. So yeah there’s my prompt yay!!!

I'm Sorry, Sweetheart

bruce wayne x f!reader

your boyfriend seems to hate being around you. it's time to give him a taste of his own medicine.

warnings: NSFW, minors DNI (18+), some smut in the middle, kidnapping, graphic language

word count: 3.4k

a/n: thank you for the request! i hope i did your idea justice.

Bruce Wayne is singlehandedly the most infuriating man you’ve ever dated.

Every week, you know him a bit more. Little by little, you get to know him — soul, mind, and body — more and more every time you meet. And it’s not the cute “let’s take this slow” type of getting to know each other. It’s the irritating kind, where you get to know more about him and his world and he suddenly takes it away from your hands.

Your first date goes smoothly enough, setting an expectation he can never reach since. Despite it being the bare minimum, you are happy he is there the entire time, physically and mentally. He never once looked at his cellular phone or his watch or a random clock in the room. It is just you and him and the company you share together.

On the second date, he starts off completely interested and later into the night, he inexplicably turns distracted — and almost anxious. He picks up his phone and says he has a call to make, he disappears into the corner of the room, then comes back to your table and tells you he has somewhere to go. Wayne Enterprises business. Ignoring your barely hidden disappointment and offense, you nod with a smile and tell him, “It’s alright, Bruce.”

Of course, he notices your hurt expression when he leaves. Even if you manage to hide your emotions well, Bruce is trained to notice it. To make up for that mistake, he invites you to a fundraising party. Frankly, it’s out of your league, but you can never pass up an opportunity to be with Bruce and to finally experience a fancy party.

Contrary to your expectations, it’s the most boring party you’ve ever been in, full of snooty millionaires and social climbers. You don’t know how Bruce endures this. You’ve read about and saw the models he brings — multiple at a time too — to his parties and you’re guessing that’s how. You push away the thought, not sure whether to be insecure that you can’t measure up to his models and actresses or whether to be proud that he chose you and only you to be his date tonight.

You stand in the far corner of the large ballroom at the top of his penthouse, subtly avoiding Bruce’s “friends” and thinking about him. And speaking of the devil, his arm snakes its way around your waist from behind. Despite him being so close and having his arm around your middle, his hand is flat and open, careful not to hold you in a way you won’t like.

“What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?” Bruce whispers to your ear and you can hear the smile in his voice.

You roll your eyes in amusement and turn your head to face his. Your breath hitches — a bit too obviously and embarrassingly so — as you realize that you’re so close to him. However, you quickly recover and reply, “Isn’t that line a bit too overdone for you, Bruce?”

He shrugs a shoulder playfully, his full glass of champagne sloshing in the flute.

“It always works,” he says. “If it isn’t broke, don’t fix it. But how about I try another line?”

With a charming smile that makes you weak in the knees, his open palm grips your hip, just right above the curve of your backside. His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes and his grip hesitant, almost like he isn’t very sure of himself or of something else. Nevertheless, you’ll fall for his charm anytime.

“You wanna get out of here?”

That single question brings you to his bedroom, which is almost the entire floor if it weren’t for the foyer to give him privacy from the elevator. You’ve never seen a bedroom quite like it. Floor-to-ceiling windows that display a view of Gotham, frosted glass panes around his bed for some semblance of privacy, and a sitting area beside it that looks over the city. It’s an apartment without a kitchen, which you’d be more astonished about if your breath weren’t taken away by Bruce’s slow kisses on your lips and your neck.

He has you on your back on the bed, silky taupe sheets like clouds under you. He hovers over you, his entire figure taking over your vision, his muscles hidden by a black Giorgio Armani suit and gray tie. His lips and tongue move languidly against yours like he has all the time in the world. He holds himself up by a hand beside your head and the other presses your thigh against his hip. His hand idly runs up and down under your dress, but never quite reaches anywhere near where you need him the most.

“Bruce, plea—“

You’re interrupted by his phone on the nightstand. Your head whips to the side, glaring at the screeching machine. Who the hell is calling during this time of night? Well, perhaps that’s what you get for dating a billionaire. Rich people are always eccentric.

He suddenly stiffens up and gets off you. A pang of hurt in your heart rings as you notice how quickly he gets up like he got burnt. Your brows furrow, confused and a bit offended.

“Who is that?” you ask and you can’t help the way you sound so jealous. You’re aware of the fact that you shouldn’t be — not yet — but the fact that you’re in his bed is making you more sensitive about your feelings for him.

“Uh,” he reaches for his phone. He looks at the screen. “It’s Lucius Fox.” Lie. “I have to take this. I’m sorry.”

He disappears into the bathroom to apparently take his call. In fact, it is just an alarm set with a ringtone to sound like a phone call. He feels especially bad about using you as an alibi, but his usual strategy to get out of parties that stretch on too late involve his dates.

Due to his playboy image, nobody questions when he leaves too early. He rarely sleeps with the women he invites to parties, and if he doesn’t, they never tell anyway because it hurts their pride to say that Bruce Wayne didn’t sleep with them. It never hurt him either. You, however, are different. He wishes he doesn’t have to use you.

He emerges out the bathroom with a regretful look on his face. You don’t know how much it also hurts for him to make you leave.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’ll have Alfred drive you home.”

“What is it?”

“Oh, it’s just work. But it’s urgent,” he replies and he almost winces at how uncharacteristically bad he is at lying to you.

“Oh, of course. It’s alright, Bruce.”

This time, you don’t hide your disappointment.

He tries his best to not abandon you every time you see each other. He scoots your meetups an hour or so earlier because Batman can’t adjust, not even for you. Then, he texts and calls you whenever he’s free and awake, giving you random updates that he doesn’t know make your day. His efforts reassure you eventually, and you’re no longer mad at his odd tendency to leave you so suddenly in the middle of the night or when it nears twelve. Now that you’re both content with how often you see each other and how often your nights don’t get interrupted, you’re both happy.

One day, you surprise him at his penthouse after work. It’s a random visit, to be frank, and you just wanted to watch television or do anything boring with him after you eat the dinner you have brought. What you don’t expect is that you’ll be on your back on his couch, stuffed full of his cock as the TV plays in the background, neither of you interested to watch it. No dinner yet either, but he's enough to make you full and wanting more.

Airy moans leave your lips as he thrusts into you, holding onto his broad shoulders by bunching up the fabric of his expensive shirt in clenched fists. It has never occurred to you that you’ve never seen him without his shirt off even during sex. You’ve always been too distracted to care.

Too distracted like right now. The stretch of him in your cunt is delicious, satiating your appetite in ways that no food or other pleasure could. His pelvis rubs against your clit and you cry out every time his tip hits that spot in you while your bundle of nerves grind against his firm body. With every grind of hips, you reach new heights on your way to orgasm.

Bruce is a sight to behold. His eyes half-lidded mouth parted, moans spill from his wet lips. His chocolate brown hair a mess on his head, a product of your hands mussing them up earlier while making out. His muscled chest heaves, pressing against your softer one when he inhales. When your eyes aren't rolling back, you love staring at him above you.

“I— 'm close,” you manage to mumble out despite being so cock drunk.

"Me too, sweetheart," he growls out, a lower register that sounds unfamiliar and familiar at the same time, considering that you've only heard this tone from him during intimacy.

Bruce has one ear for you and the other for the TV, even when he's already nearing climax. The television is now apparently showing the news. The reporter says something about a bank robbery organized by the Joker and—

His hips thrust roughly into yours out of instinct, shocking you and making you moan even louder. He doesn't go faster, knowing it doesn't quicken the job. He takes your legs by the crook of your knees and presses your thighs to your torso, essentially folding you into a position you never knew you can do. You let go of his shirt and tangle your hands into his already-messy hair. With this new angle, his cock reaches deeper inside of you.

"Bruce," you moan out, your eyes rolling back. "Oh, fuck."

You don't know that he's trying very hard to make this good for you while letting him have time to take care of the bank robbery. He doesn't want to leave you in the dust again, mostly because it'll be an asshole move and because you're both on the verge of orgasm and a hard-on isn't something to bring to a fight.

More importantly for him, he doesn't want to leave you hanging. He can't express his thoughts and feelings very well other than through gifts and sex, so he wants to show you how much he adores you, especially that he's leaving you again. He knows it isn't enough, but it's all he can do for now.

He leans his head down to kiss you, sloppy and all tongues. While you're distracted by his mouth and his cock, he reaches a hand down and rubs circles on your clit while he thrusts in and out of you.

He proudly watches as you unravel underneath him, masterfully played by him like an instrument made only for him. Your toes curl in the air as you stiffen up and relax. He swallows your moans with his kisses, eagerly drinking in your pretty noises. He helps you ride it out like the gentleman he is, still moving in and out of your pussy.

He follows suit, coming deep inside you and painting your walls white. A deep groan rumbles through his chest, eyes squeezed shut and jaw slack.

He internally curses when he realizes he didn't have a condom on and he's only lucky that you told him before you take birth control — and that you even allowed him to come in you. But still, he curses at his lapse of sensibility.

You come down from your high. Bruce is counting down the seconds and the minutes. He needs to be out of here as soon as possible to deal with the Joker. He slowly pulls out of you, come dripping down your flesh mixed with your wetness. But you can't even bask in the afterglow because of his urgent task.

"You alright, darling?" he asks breathlessly. He looks you up and down, surveying you.

You can only nod and hum in affirmation. Eyes half-lidded and gaze trained on him in a daze.

"You don't mind if I have to go now? Something came up."

Oh, how you hate that. Why does something always come up when you're in the middle of something?

"It's alright, Bruce."

That evening, Batman is too late to catch the Joker. When he gets there, he was already in his getaway car. He pursues him, leading to a high-speed chase around the city. However, the Joker has traps ready on the way. He should've known that he'd anticipate his presence.

Bruce comes home to you weary and frustrated. He takes it out on you, inexplicably being rougher than usual for your round two. You take it, enjoying it anyway. But still, something lingers in the back of your mind, a thought rearing its ugly head since the time he left — maybe even since a few months ago.

Is he not taking your relationship seriously? You should've guessed he wouldn't, you think, considering he does have a reputation. But you're optimistic enough to have thought that perhaps his reputation is mostly the work of the media. Even then, you can't deny the photos and videos you've seen of him. Perhaps it's true. He doesn't value you as much as you value him.

You don't talk to him since that day. You don't outright avoid him but when he doesn't reach out, you don't either.

He notices you distancing yourself from him. He figures that maybe you need some space, which is one of the worst decisions he can ever do when it comes to this situation. He has never been good with relationships.

It further upsets you. In your mind, he doesn't even care when you stop approaching him. He doesn't care that you're not seeing each other or even talking to each other much. He's only there if you want him first.

To Bruce, it's fine that you need space. It's fine that he doesn't get to see you as much as he wants to — at least, that's what he tells himself. Batman feels differently. His punches hit harder, the bruises he leaves much darker. Even though no one else knows about you and him, Gotham knows there's something upsetting the Bat more than usual.

He thinks about telling you his secret but that involves putting you in possible danger. No one else can know he is Batman. Not even you, not even if he cares for you so much. He'd rather distance form between you than tell you. He's got eyes on you, anyway.

You don't know how to go about this. It seems too presumptuous to barge into his penthouse. You're obviously not on that level of relationship to do so. A call is too impersonal. So, you don't go about it at all. You have never been good at communication.

You spend days constantly on the verge of tears, bottling up every drop of frustration you've felt ever since Bruce started acting suspicious around you. When you're at work, you stifle the urge to cry. When you're at home, you hold yourself back from calling him — and then cry. It's a vicious cycle and it hurts even more than when he leaves you.

Sighing, you insert the key into your car, more than ready to drive home after work. Suddenly, strong hands grab you into a beat-up black SUV parked nearby. You scream and flail, but nobody is around to help, or maybe they're too unbothered and selfish to care. This is Gotham after all; these things happen every day.

You can't see or speak, blindfolded and a duct tape covering your mouth. You can only hear what the kidnappers are talking about as they drive you to an unknown location. It's an isolatory experience and how you wish you were actually alone instead of tied up and blindfolded. Tears wet the bandana tied around your head as you quietly cry.

"Wayne would pay so much money to get that back."

"Would he? He has a new bitch every week."

"Lucky fucker."

"Hope not too lucky. I wanna get at least a mill from this bitch."

A loud bang from the roof of the car startles all of you. The driver slams the brakes, flinging you to the back of the front seat, a cry of pain ripping from your throat.

"Shit! It's Batman!"

"Fuck! I told you we shouldn't mess with Wayne! He has him in his payroll!"

The doors of the SUV open and the kidnappers hit you on the way as they rush out. You hear scuffling and punching and metal banging on metal and bones breaking. A sob escapes you despite you trying to keep your resolve.

"Don't let me see you again," a voice growls out. Then, what seems to be a body slams onto the side of the car.

Wait, that voice sounds familiar...

A rough material brushes your skin as — you assume — Batman rips off the tape on your mouth. A gasp leaves you, heaving in a deep breath. You hear metal ripping fabric and you can see again. You blink through your tears, adjusting to the light, which isn't much as you're in a lonely road in the middle of the night. Eventually, your limbs are free too, but you're still too weak to stand or walk.

Black surrounds his eyes due to his cowl and, with his armor and cape, he is completely shrouded in darkness. But you'd know those eyes anywhere. You'd know those lips anywhere. He can't hide even in darkness, his own domain.

"Bruce," you breathe out in relief.

Surprising him, you wrap your arms around his armored neck, pulling him close to you in an embrace. It's not the warmest nor most comfortable hug in the world, but the fact that it is him is what matters.

His eyes widen. How did you guess it was him so easily? Nevertheless, without missing a beat, his arms wrap around you protectively. His muscular form and dark cape warm you up and shield you from the world. He is relieved that his tracker works and alerted him at the right time. You're safe in his arms now.

"I'm sorry," you whisper, holding back another sob. You bury your face into the crook of his neck, the armor pressing onto your cheek.

Now, you understand. You understand all his sudden leaving, the odd hours he replies to your texts, his persistent drowsiness, and the random bruises. You feel like an ass for being cold towards him when he's risking his life every night for the city. Not to say that you like the idea of your boyfriend running around beating up criminals during the night, but the fact that he is so selfless while you aren't makes you feel terrible.

"No... I should be the one who's sorry," he says and there's a sense of hesitancy in it, like he has never said those words before in that order. Still, you detect his sincerity and accept it.

In a moment of impulse, you pull away from the hug only to rest your hands on his covered cheeks and to press your lips against his. You tilt your head, the hard nose of his cowl pressing against your cheek. The pain goes unnoticed, your mind more preoccupied with how much you've missed his lips on yours.

As his tongue runs through the seam of your lips, coaxing it open, he pulls away as though he remembers where you are. Almost to placate you for the loss of contact, he runs a hand down your hair, petting you like a doll, a faint smile on his lips. It's a peculiar sight seeing the Batman with an expression other than stony emotionlessness or rage. The fact that you're the reason why makes the butterflies in your belly flutter even quicker. It makes you feel special.

"I'm bringing you home. I'll be there when the sun rises."

For the first time, you're not dejected nor disappointed unlike the other times you've uttered those words as you reply with a small grin tugging at your lips.

"Alright, Bruce."

[six-eyed-samurai]

SUMMARY: A letter from Urokondaki has Giyuu flying back - not knowing he'd wind up back to you who he loves and rejected. A/N: This is possibly the most cliche thing I've written about but enjoy the twist WARNINGS: Reader is female and has a sister because I said so. TAGLIST: (lemme know if you wanna be removed or added): @abadonkori @therabbitthatpostthings MASTERLIST/PREVIOUS FICS

What were you both, exactly? This one Giyuu couldn't answer, because as cliché as it sounded he didn't know.

What were you? This was something Giyuu could answer, although he'd never tell you…or anyone. It was cliché, but you were an absolute goddess he was head over heels with and if he could worship you day in day out, he would. It was cliché, but he wanted to be the one you first set those bright doe eyes on every day, the first you head to when you were hurting emotionally or physically - your first love and he fantasized about being your last.

(A lot more than he should be, Giyuu realized, when Kocho caught him staring off into space and smiling a little too “lovesick-y”, she claimed, and asked who was he so down bad for.)

How you both met sounded like something out of a romance novel too. A romance novel in an ugly world of death and demons, true, but just as romantic and cliché as any story. He had been sent to go help a group of slayers faced with an adversary far beyond their level and when he had arrived it was an utter disaster of blood left, right and center.

Giyuu had made quick work of the demon and turned to check on the exhausted, collapsed slayers. He had been told there were six, so why were there only five?

“Tomioka-san! (y/l/n) ran off to go fight the other demon, where is she?” Other demon? Giyuu whipped around to go after-

And then you arrived, like some goddess of the hunt, leaping from the air and decapitating the lunging demon's head right before its talons could touch him. His eyes widened.

How did you still smile so brightly, like you were genuinely delighted he was here, despite being splattered in blood and bruises? Maybe that was one of the things that made him fall from the start. “Oh, hey, Tomioka-san! You're finally here!”

That should've been that. Giyuu would've been content with that mental snapshot of you in all your heroic glory forever.

But out of the blue you once again showed up suddenly, abruptly, at his Estate with a bento box and persistent knocking at his door.

“Tomioka-san! Are you home? I really wanted to thank you for saving us that day, so I brought you some food. I hope you like it!”

You had saved him, why were you thanking him? Giyuu was too stunned to do anything but let you in and just gape, completely unaware this wouldn't be the first time you would barge in and liven up his pathetic lonely life.

He had assumed you would leave the moment he collected the bento, but…no? You just sat there and chatted away about anything and everything that came to your mind: a recent book you read, the bout of rain lately, demon activity, training, your family. You pushed him to talk about himself too and he found himself opening up subconsciously, heavily infected by your energy - his favourite meal so you could make it next time, something he'd like to do in the future, any hobbies? Giyuu thought you probably knew a lot more about him than the rest of the Hashira after just that one meal.

“Well, it's been nice eating with you - oh no, is your haori torn?”

“…yes. It was from the fight but I hadn't had time to fix it yet.”

“Ehhhh, no worries about that! I'm not too bad at sewing and I'm sure you're very busy, so I could do it for you if you'd like.”

Then it went on for months, a push and pull from the both of you coming up with various excuses to see each other beyond brief lunches. Mostly you suggesting them, true, but he'd be lying if he said he hadn't jumped on them as eagerly as a puppy, embarrassingly. You returned with his repaired haori and to thank you he bought the next meal, then you asked for some slaying tips and he awkwardly realized the only way he could explain properly was through practical work, then you brought him salmon daikon for the extra training. So on and so forth.

Even if he had tried to push you away, you were too stupidly stubborn and kept coming like some train of friendliness; something he fell a little more for, other than your care for even the most useless of slayers, your determination to keep training no matter what, your quiet reassurance when grief still clouded his days…no amount of paper in the world could cover all the things he loved about you.

It went on for so long that Giyuu could call you the highlight of his days - his friend. His only friend, not counting Kocho (she doesn't count).

But he suddenly knew when he wanted to be more than that when he apologized for not being as talkative. You blinked, then laughed. “Don’t be! I like challenging myself to get a reaction out of you!”

The corner of his lip half turned up. “What reaction?”

“Y��know, when you smile like that. It’s cute to watch.”

“I’m not smiling.” His face heated up and he busied himself with slurping up the rest of his soba.

“Or when you blush like that,” you added. Giyuu nearly fell into the soup as you laughed.

Luckily he didn’t, but he fell for you even harder.

It was just as cliche then, when it was abruptly at some point Giyuu realized he had no idea whatever it was the two of you were. “Friends” sounded a little too dishonest - did friends turn up in the middle of the night because they couldn’t sleep and decide to stargaze together? Did friends somehow wind up holding hands and falling asleep against each other during said night?

Did friends rush to say goodbye to other before missions and fret so worriedly about their safety? Did friends get flustered so much around each other? Did friends get teased by Kocho, giggled at by Kanroji, be asked when the two of them had started dating by Kamado?

No. Giyuu didn’t have much experience in this but he knew that every day it was getting harder for him not to simply blurt out those eight letters to you.

The problem wasn’t that he thought he was going to get rejected - Giyuu wasn’t as obliviously blind as everyone thought, he’d seen the way you glanced at him to see if he found the joke funny, the extra effort you threw in for his bento when cooking for everyone. He held back because he was afraid. Terrified the moment he’d ask to be yours the gods who had tormented him for so long would awaken and strike you down. He was cursed, jinxed, hexed to never have anyone he cherished, not when the list was so extensive - Sabito, Tsutako. If he were to ever allow you to get close to him he’d just have another grave to cry over.

Giyuu knew he’d have to break it to you one day but he’d never thought it’d be so soon.

“Hey…Giyuu.” You tugged at your hair nervously, something he found endearing. He nodded in acknowledgement. “I…this is so silly and cliched, really, saying something like this under -” you breathed an anxious laugh “-a sakura tree under the moon, but…I think I really like you. Beyond just friends. I’ve never looked at anyone like I do at you before and some days I think I’m going to have to go to Kocho because my heart’s beating at an unhealthily fast rate around you. I - you don’t have to feel the same, but I hope you’ll accept my confession. It’s cliche, like I said, but there’s no one else I want to spend my life with, however short in the Corps.”

“(y/n)…”

You looked at him hopefully and he looked at you blankly. You weren’t to know how hard he was going to cry over this later on.

“I apologize, but I don’t feel the same.”

If he couldn’t push you away, he’d pull away, with distance and the silent treatment. Giyuu never realized how different the both of your worlds were until he made the effort to avoid you at all costs. They spun on different axis, and if you didn’t seek him out or he didn’t go to find you, you both would never run into each other at all.

For the best, right? For your own good.

***

It was hopeless.

You tried and tried to go on being friends but Giyuu didn’t make it easy for you at all. He trained all day to use it as an excuse for being too busy and reject all your invitations. He politely informed you you could stop cooking for him as to not trouble yourself. You were going to break yourself into a million, emotionally shattered pieces if you continued to chase after someone who didn’t want you, you knew, but it was Giyuu, for god’s sakes. You both had poured so much into your friendship, how could you just leave it be?

A small voice still nagged that you were just hung up on him and that he was the one being mature about this whole affair, which led you to finally decide to take a break away from everything for a while and head back to your hometown - your sister had been begging you for a visit for some time. But you still wanted to make the effort, so you wrote to Giyuu that you’d be away from the Corps for maybe a fortnight.

He made a curt reply barely lasting a paragraph and that was that. You balled it up and threw it into the trash, restraining the tears that were going to spill, then resumed packing.

Heading home was the break you had needed after all. Meeting your old village friends and catching up on the times, recounting childhood memories with the people you used to know. After spending so long running around from village to town to slay demons it was just…relieving to set your bags down in your old home and finally have a place to return to again. Your mother and great uncle were beyond delighted you had returned home and needless to say you were coddled and spoiled and stuffed with homecooked meals. Even the chores that once seemed exhausting were nothing to the brutal training you had gone through - absolute bliss, really.

They took your mind off your recent rejection.

Yet somehow your younger sister Yumiko wormed it out of you anyway as you both sat under the giant tree you both used to spend countless days frolicking under when you were kids, watching her grow even more flustered the more you teasingly pushed her about her love life.

“Come on, I’m your big sis, I need to know who’s caught your eye!”

“No, we’re nothing official - he - hey! Sto - oh - op tickling me! Fi - fine, I”ll - heh - tell!”

You sat back, satisfied. “Well?”

“His name’s Sanekhiro…” Yumiko got a little dreamy-eyed. “He’s really clumsy and forgetful, but really sweet! He got me this hairpin the other day; he said it reminded him of me and had been saving up money to buy it.”

Your hand unconsciously reached up to finger your own hairpin - the one Giyuu had gotten you not too long ago. He’d been so funny about gifting it to you, nudging it closer and closer to your soba bowl until you noticed it and asked. Maybe he panicked, maybe he was trying to be cool, but he blanked for a moment before saying “Oh, isn’t this yours?”

The corner of your mouth twitched. It was a very cute memory…although all he did now was walk past you like you were a ghost he couldn’t see.

(If only you knew how Giyuu feared you really would become one.)

“- and then we…nee-san? Are you even listening?” Yumiko pushed her head closer to yours, snapping you out of your daydream. She grinned mischievously. “Who are you thinking of?”

“Eh, no one!”

“Where’d you get that hairpin, then?”

Damn Yumiko and her observant nature. But even she couldn’t have foresaw you suddenly bursting into tears, the heartbreak and hurt you’ve been suffering silently through the past few weeks building up like pressure until it exploded and you were left a sobbing, miserable mess curled up on your sister’s lap while she stroked your hair comfortingly and waited for you to calm down and tell her who’s “head I’m going to cut off - he must be a demon to make you cry like this”.

So you told her everything, ending it with a “He doesn’t even want to be my friend anymore! Giyuu won’t even acknowledge me now.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t hate you, nee-san, don’t think that!”

You cried anyway.

***

Giyuu had been taking on a lot of missions lately - he barely spent a day of rest in between, Shinobu had confided in Mitsuri as they both watched the stoic Water Pillar limp out of the Butterfly Mansion from afar, no doubt off to go ask Oyakata-sama for another.

Something had happened, Shinobu had concluded, citing that Giyuu had been even more sour-faced and gloomy lately - “Well, even more than he used to be. I wonder if he failed to save someone on a mission? That might be it. I would ask his friend but I haven’t seen her around.”

Mitsuri immediately lit up. “What friend?”

“He used to eat with a female slayer every day until recently; I don’t know her name or who she is though. Tomioka somehow managed to make a friend even with that wet cat personality of his, but as I haven’t seen her around much.” Shinobu chuckled to herself. “He probably drove her away with that despondent attitude.”

“Hmm…” Mitsuri considered it, then clapped her hands together excitedly. “He must like her, Shinobu! Oooh, that’s so sweet, I never thought Tomioka would ever fall in love!”

“Him? In love?” Shinobu scoffed. “If he is then I am an insect.”

“Maybe he’s just sad she had to go on a mission or something,” Mitsuri suggested. “Oh, I know! I’ll invite him out to lunch with me and Obanai. That should cheer him up, and I want to know all the tea about his love life!”

Shinobu hid her laugh and turned around to leave. “I wish you the best of luck, Mitsuri.”

“I’ll let you know how it goes!”

With that Mitsuri sprang off to go hunt for the elusive Water Pillar, determined to kidnap him to lunch if it came down to it. Obanai would surely approve of her plan, he probably wouldn’t mind someone extra tagging along if she apologized.

It turned out she didn’t quite have to kidnap him, but it would be stretching the truth to say Giyuu had given a response to her question, having just stared blankly with wide eyes. But he didn’t object when she grabbed his hand and pulled him along, so it must be alright!

(Obliviously the both of them didn’t notice the purple, shadowy waves of indignation and jealousy rolling off the Snake Pillar, but he managed to bottle it up pretty well in front of Mitsuri.)

“So, Giyuu, I heard from Shinobu you’ve been hanging out with a slayer these days! Is it true?”

“Uh…yes…” Yes, a slayer who I fell in love with and promptly rejected when she said she reciprocated, Giyuu finished in his head. Obanai glowered.

“KYAAAH! That’s so cute! What’s her name? What’s she like? How long has she been a slayer? When did you both meet? Do you like her?” Mitsuri leaned forward, practically quivering from anticipation. Next to her a certain snake brightened up not so subtly; Tomioka wasn’t going to steal Kanroji after all! …not that he believed someone like Tomioka would, nope.

Giyuu’s mind was stuck on the last question.

Do you like her?

Cliche, but he didn’t like her. He loved her. Which was why he let her go, right?

But Giyuu was tired. Tired of never being able to be happy, always mourning Sabito and Tsutako. You made him like he might one day see the world in vibrant colors once more, but he was so afraid of never seeing again he’d rather never see it all. You liked him despite his bland, hard personality. Of course he was a sucker for you, absolutely down bad, whipped, whatever it was that Tanjiro had used to describe the blond nuisance’s behavior towards Nezuko.

But on these past missions…all those couples he had seen wandering the streets together hand in hand. You both used to do that - well, almost, if hands brushing hands counted (on idle days he tried to clasp his own and imagine what your touch would feel like). He wanted to be that couple with you. He wanted to be that family he had saved not too long ago, comforting each other despite the demon attack. He wanted to be that elderly duo at the table next to them, still together even after who knew how many years.

Iguro and Kanroji had only added on to it. Giyuu knew Iguro disliked him intensely and in turn he had not much love for him but watching his actions around Kanroji made him miss you terribly - he had that same look Giyuu was pretty sure he had on his face whenever he spoke to her…if only because you had pointed it out to him once. And when Kanroji started gushing about how happy she always felt whenever she received a letter from Iguro…how long had it been since you sent that short letter informing him of your vacation to your hometown (and subsequent abandonment of him? …he did deserve it, he’d admit, but it stung anyway).

Can’t he be allowed to be happy for once? Be in love once? He wouldn’t be able to take it if you died…yet Giyuu couldn’t take it either if you weren’t here. What a conundrum…

“Tomioka?” ”What’s so great about being in love?” He blurted. He had to be sure. Obanai snorted but Mitsuri, though taken aback, eagerly replied, just not what he’d thought she’d reply with.

“That’s something you’ll have to find out yourself, I suppose! Maybe you’re afraid of pursuing it - her - for now, Tomioka, but you should be more afraid of not finding out no matter what happens. Go ahead, shoot your shot!”

“I need to go.” Giyuu stood up abruptly and ran off.

“-eh?” Mitsuri stared after him, startled, then slumped a little. “Aw, guess he didn’t want to have lunch with us.”

Obanai would rather have Kaburamaru strangle him then defend Giyuu, but if it was to cheer Mitsuri up…”I think you just spurred him to go confess to the poor sod he’s besotted with. Maybe he’ll be less sloppy on missions now.”

“You really think that? I’m happy my advice came in handy then, heh!” Mitsuri beamed at him.

“Mmm,” Obanai hummed, averting his eyes. “Do you want another bowl? I’ll pay.”

***

Giyuu had a plan. A really good one, if he could say so himself. He’d go find you and explain, apologize for how horribly he’d been treating you and pray to whatever gods left on his side that you’d find it in you to forgive him and give him a chance to love you like he didn’t before.

A plan that evaporated the moment he got back to his Estate and realized not once had you mentioned where your hometown was.

Giyuu sat on the engawa for nearly the whole evening, trying to recall if you’d ever said anything about your childhood home. He knew you had a sister and your father had died a few years ago, but that was about it. Crap. Thwarted by the crime of not knowing you as well as he had thought.

(He assuaged the nagging little voice saying how could he even hope to be your lover if he didn’t know such a simple thing by promising to get to know everything about you when he found you, right down to what you ate for breakfast.)

As a desperate last resort he sent his old crow Kanzaburo to go scout villages up north, where your letter had come from - not expecting him to return the next morning squawking himself hoarse.

“UROKONDAKI INJURED! GO TO ASAGIRI NOW! UROKONDAKI INJURED!”

Double crap. His search for you would have to wait then; Giyuu would be there in a heartbeat at his old mentor’s side if he could, but as he couldn’t he took off running at once.

Although…strange his crow went to Urokondaki instead of you.

***

Yumiko glanced back at where you lay, silent but inhaling through your teeth painfully. She and your great-uncle had done all they could to alleviate the pain in your broken ankle. The rain from a few days ago hadn’t completely dried up and left the mountain a slippery mud mountain, causing you to accidentally lose your balance and roll down. You were lucky nothing else had happened.

And the mountain wasn’t done causing trouble yet. Your mother had long gone out to go fetch a doctor but with the trails slick and blocked it would take a long, roundabout route for two elderlies. You were handling it well, but with every minute that passed Yumiko verged on a panic attack.

Then that stupid crow had shown up, screeching and cawing at the window. Yumiko narrowed her eyes and approached it, intending to chase it away with a piece of her mind for disturbing you until - oh god, it could talk.

“Tomioka looking for (y/l/n)! Tomioka looking for (y/l/n)!”

Tomioka? Wasn’t that the name of the man you had cried yourself over, the one that had broken your heart so bitterly? What right did he have to come looking for you now? Yumiko scowled. She was going to give him something to look for alright.

Then you groaned and it gave her pause. You had talked about the insane skills of a Hashira before - this good-for-nothing Tomioka would be able to arrive far faster and navigate the dangerous paths easily. Surely Hashira would have some basic first aid knowledge too? He could bring you down to the village, if nothing else. Fine.

“Yumiko! What are you doing?” Your great-uncle appeared behind her, voice laced with worry.

“This crow belongs to a Hashira, a friend of (y/n) or something - we could get him to come here and help bring nee-san to the village. Even if the doctor got here they’d never be able to bring her down!”

His face betrayed nothing, but he nodded and turned to the preening bird. “Kanzaburo, tell Giyuu to come to Mount Asagiri now. A message from Sakonji Urokondaki.”

***

Giyuu made it up the mountain in record time.

He rushed to the old house where he had spent his childhood training with Sabito, opening the doors in a hurry. Of course, if Urokondaki had gotten injured outside, he should go look-

“You!” The both of your mouths dropped open and uttered the same word in the same shock.

“I - (y/n)? What are you - what are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here?” You countered. Giyuu’s eyes were wide as saucers and you had no doubt yours was the same.

“My crow told me Urokondaki was injured -” Wait, but you were clearly the one injured here: pale face and horrible bruising on your foot. And his crow was old, not unknown for getting messages mixed up. But if so, that meant - “You never told me you were an Urokondaki.”

“He’s my great-uncle. You’re the one he trained?” How did your brain never make the connection before between Giyuu and the boy from your great uncle’s training back then? For that matter how did you both somehow never mention it?

“And you’re only here to get nee-san down to the village to get treated!” Yumiko darted into the room, hostile and clearly mistrustful. “She broke her ankle and we can’t get her down, so if you want to make up for making her cry over you every day you’ll do something about it!”

Your face burned at your sister’s words but Giyuu felt like somebody had stabbed a katana into his heart. Had you really? He felt like a horrible person. An actual demon. He should probably commit seppuku right now for making an angel like you weep - one thing at a time, he had to help you now.

Without a word Giyuu suddenly scooped you up in his arms, pressing you close to him and carefully adjusting his hold so that it was both tight and comfortable before making his speedy (and hopefully safe) way down the mountain. There would be a time to confess what he’d been holding back all along another time.

Yumiko watched from the doorway skeptically. “Is this really who nee-san fell for? He already broke her heart once. What’s to say he won’t do it again?”

Urokondaki stepped out from the shadows, observing the retreating form of his former student. He laid a hand on Yumiko’s shoulder. “I’m sure Giyuu won’t.”

***

“Why’d you come back?”

“…maybe we should talk when you’re not in pain.”

“Giyuu, I’ve got enough painkiller potions and herbs and things inside of me to subdue Muzan himself. Just - if you’re not going to tell me, don’t - don’t give me false hope.” You rolled onto your side, away from him, so he couldn’t see your expression.

“Do - do you want real hope then?” Giyuu said weakly.

“What?” You twisted your head around slightly.

“I -” Giyuu half smiled, half winced awkwardly. “I think I fell for you from the start. I just didn’t know it until later. I don’t have a lot of friends and I thought after that lunch we had together you’d be driven off too, but you kept coming back. Again and again. You just - invaded my brain and I couldn’t do a thing without you on my mind.”

At least you turned around fully now, even sitting up. “Go on.”

“But…you know what happened to Sabito, my sister. I was so afraid - so afraid the one bright thing in my life would get taken away because…I know I don’t deserve you. Or even worthy of you. I was even more afraid that you’d die because I wasn’t there, or I wasn’t strong enough.”

“Giyuu-”

“Then you told me you liked me and - maybe we both could’ve been happy, but I couldn’t…I couldn’t bear it if you died. You were too close. I’m not supposed to be happy. I’m so, so sorry I pushed you away like that so cruelly, but I didn’t know how else.”

“What made you change your mind, then?” Giyuu had never spoken so much before. Your fingers crept closer and laid on his.

“…I’m not sure, honestly. Kanroji, probably. I just saw everyone and I wanted…I wanted to hold your hand and go walking. I want to get married with you and…whatever married people do. And then if we don’t get killed by demons I want to grow old with you - no, no! Wait, don’t cry!”

Giyuu leaned forward, hastily wiping roughly at your cheeks. You hiccupped but giggled. “Don’t worry, I’m just - you always surprise me and I think I’m so happy I could actually explode.”

“Please don’t.”

“That’s not the end of your big speech is it?” Your hand closed around the one cupping your face.

“No,” Giyuu admitted. “One more.”

“And…?”

“Cliche, but I think I love you.”

“Let me make it more cliche.”

You grabbed his face and kissed him.

***

BONUS:

“And your dad and I lived happily ever after!”

“Waaaah! That’s so rom - rom -ah -tic!” Your younger daughter, Sumire clapped her hands and giggled, snuggling closer into Giyuu. “I wanna be like that when I grow up!”

“Ew. You kissed after saying that?” Koji rolled his eyes, throwing the pillow he had been hugging down. You snorted and yanked at his black hair playfully.

“Why, don’t like that?”

“Maybe he thinks girls still have cooties,” Giyuu offered, poking Sumire’s chubby cheeks.

“Do not! I just meant - argh! Dad, why didn’t you kiss Mom? That’s not manly at all!”

You broke into a peal of laughter at both Koji’s words and Giyuu’s face. Sumire joined you but stopped when she noticed her dad hiding his pink face. “Who taught you what was manly?”

“Uncle Nemi!”

Giyuu looked at you beseechingly. “I told you we shouldn’t have visited Shinazugawa.”

[multiverse-menagerie]

I've had this buzzing around in my head since Neil posted something about Asrarion liking kids and hhhhhhhhhhhh may I please request your headcanons for the bg3 guys as dads, I am begging you

gnawing on this actually thank u

Astarion

his child/ren are his entire world. his partner is still like no.2 but the kid/s will always be no.1

its an Ordeal for vampire spawn to have children, so i think that'd make Astarion even more likely to devote himself to being the best father he could be

is absolutely the type to be like "this is my partner and our child/ren, they're way to good to be talking to you but alas"

he's the soft parent too, Astarion finds it so hard to punish his child/ren. both from fear of going too far and due to how much he adores them

dress up with dad days. Astarion with small, messy pigtails.

Halsin

daddy Halsin for real -wiggles eyebrows- (im sorry)

the type to load everyone up and go camping for however long, teaching the kid/s how to live off the land or showing off his wildshapes to entertain them

unwavering support for his child/ren (and his partner) - he tries his best to instill a sense of justice in his kid/s and respects any decision they make, assuming they can offer him a good reason

Halsin and his kid/s would Absolutely play little "pranks" on his partner, but its very harmless, silly stuff to make them laugh

his kid/s often begs to sleep with "bear dad", and who would he be if he declined?

Wyll

i honestly think Wyll is meant to be a "girl dad" lmao but he'd adore any child

he'd grown up with a (mostly) good dad who'd taught him swordplay and other practical skills and I think Wyll would want to do the same for his child/ren

he is So. Patient. willing to hear his child out about why they broke the rules, why they're acting out. He knows that sometimes there's a good reason for what looks like a bad decision

Wyll is the bedtime parent; he tells stories the best, according to the kid/s. sometimes Wyll will drag his partner into helping him out fun scenes

makes sure to have dinner with his family everyday, regardless of what type of life he's leading. they're the Most important thing to him in the world

Gale

stay at home, soccer dad vibes

is (surprisingly?) content to let his partner go off and adventure or what have ye, while he stays home with the kid/s, sneaking in some reading or experiments once they're asleep

is All In for his kid/s extracurriculars. of course he'd be happier for more ~magical~ endeavors but even if the kid is learning sword-work or some other physical thing, he'll be there to cheer them on

maybe pushes his kid/s a little too hard in regards to studying/school. Gale works hard to reign in his expectations - he knew how hard it was on himself, why do that to his kids?

the way his kid/s will have the most ostentatious vocabulary. but they also think its funny to mimic him in an even more over-the-top way bc it makes Gale's partner laugh

[gatorbites-imagines]

Immortal with an immortal S/o pls(maybe where the s/o isn't a hero)

The Immortal x Immortal male reader

Headcanons

Im going off my personal headcanon that Immortals name is Abraham or Abe, just cuz its easier to write. A shorty but a goody. I was listening to old people music, cuz I kept imagining them acting like an old married couple.

Having an immortal partner would be something that helps Abes mental state quite a lot, since one of the reasons he struggles mentally is the fact that the people he loves keeps dying from one thing or another.

How you are immortal doesn’t really matter, even if it strong effects your physical appearance. As long as you can come back like immortal can, or somehow can’t die at all.

Maybe you stood by his side back during the beginning of his hero acts, back before it was called being a hero and it was just Abe wanting the best for the world and its people. But you quickly realize being a hero like that isn’t for you.

You do your own thing when Abe goes out to be a hero. You guys have both been alive for so long that neither of you really get jealous or worry too much if you don’t see each other for months. It’s nice to keep in touch though, and you guys make sure to meet up as much as you can.

Maybe you are more focused on something like the arts, performing, writing, and so on. Or you might even be more active in helping the little guy, like food banks and the likes.

Maybe you live in a cabin far away from the cities, up in the mountains where even the GDA leaves you alone. So, its somewhere Abe can come and just relax and be himself. Cue him coming back from a stressful meeting with the guardians, and he immediately relaxes when he hears the music playing from wherever you are.

You are both very old, which means your tastes are kinda dated. With you not being so busy being a hero, you can be a bit more modern, but there’s still lots of old things that make you nostalgic, and stuff you two like to do together.

I could imagine that Abe quite likes to do domestic things together the old way. Like cooking with the old tools, no modern machines or crazy inventions. Just you two, your hands, and whatever tools you guys have had since the 50s.

You guys would also dress quite old at times, even if it was on accident. People end up thinking you guys are some of those people who dress up and act out old times. It gets a little funny when you guys meet other people who do that, who all gush at how great your outfits are, unaware that it’s so good because its actually your clothes from back then.

Abe is also old school romantic. You bet he brings you flowers. You bet he still acts like he’s courting you like some kind of knight. And you bet he gets scandalized and flustered being too affectionate in public. You find it adorable though.

It’s a very common occurrence for you two to dance together. Be it in your kitchen or living room with oldies playing. Or at those clubs that are for the people dressing up and acting like it’s the 50s for fun.

You guys have most likely also been married for many many years. Way before it became illegal for two men to be married, and maybe even before marriage is as we know it now. But Abe would be so flustered thinking about marrying you again.

You can tell what he’s fumbling about since you’ve known him for so long, but its so endearing that you just let him work up the guts to propose again, probably for the 10th time in your guys long lives.

All in all, you help center Abe much more than he is in canon, since he doesn’t have to worry about you growing old and dying, or just you dying in general. He still worries of course, I don’t think he ever doesn’t worry, but its not as bad.

[middlingmay]

Birthday sex? Its Austin's birthday tomorrow so perfect occasion

Anon! I'm sorry this took me so long.

A while ago I asked for ideas for sexy scenes so I could practice writing them. Two of them helped me with an idea I've been kicking around for a while, and well. Here it is.

Bucky wears stockings, and Buck knows exactly how to feel about it.

It follows on several months after my Gale Cleven Never Learned to Flirt fic.

7K words of the spiciest thing I think I've ever written. Enjoy (if you're over 18).

-

It was March. The nip in the air had lost most of its bite, but it still nibbled at the tips of your fingers and ears and nose. It shot a draft up any nook and cranny it could if you didn’t wrap up tight enough. It was rarely a problem for John. The military get up was top heavy. Always had been. After the Stalag it was one of the few things that kept his feet on the ground, so to speak, when the winter came around.

But the bottom half of a fella? Protected only by wool slacks and some socks and whatever underwear you were able to fit under it? There was a reason the boys on base stamped their legs when they came in from the cold. John knew his own legs had borne the brunt of the bad weather more than once.

But today John felt pretty toasty down there. It was a delightfully unintended side affect of this whole endeavour.

He’d wanted to do this sooner. Ever since last summer when Gale had let it slip. But the logistics were surprisingly difficult, and in the end he’d had to resort to some identity theft and prayed his older sister didn’t ever come to town and need to use that particular store.

Besides, they had something special to celebrate in March, so it all worked out.

Why he’d worn them to work, John still couldn’t quite explain to himself. He’d wanted to try them on, and they had looked so seamless under the bulk of his uniform that he just…hadn’t taken them off.

He wore them as he was hailed and saluted by the junior ranks when he arrived on base. He wore them when he and the other COs had their morning briefing and shared some smokes over their morning coffee. He wore them when arguing with Vickers about the game. He wore them when he reamed out a cadet for trying to take a plane on a joyride—the very same thing he and Buck had done when they were reckless kids.

And it had…done something for him. Maybe it was just because it was taboo, and it always tickled John to push at boundaries and see what he could get away with. Maybe he liked having a secret when everyone called him an open book (he wasn’t; not since coming back state side, not to anyone but Buck). Maybe he liked the duplicity of it. On one hand, the Lieutenant Colonel. On the other, the degenerate.

Or maybe it was none of that psychological bullshit at all. John had never worn silk before today, with the exception of a tie or a handkerchief or a parachute. But fuck if it didn’t feel nice against his skin. Against all of his skin.

He’d requested an early finish today to he could beat Buck home, and it was a good thing, too. The closer it came to finishing time, the harder it was for John to keep his composure.

He and Gale had come a long way since they made that final step in their physical relationship. John had been so frightened of pushing. He had assumed that Gale needed time to acclimatise to wanting a man like that, wanting John like that. But he’d been terrifically, blessedly wrong, and Gale had been wanting for longer than John had ever realised. They never balked at asking each other to try something new, but Gale had never revisited what he’d mentioned that day he mounted John in the living room, taking what he wanted.

But John would give Gale anything. Including this. His Buck might be a little unsure, might be a little hesitant to go for it, shy about his desires, but John would get him there. John would guide Gale’s hands to his thighs so his fingers could tickle at the hems. He’d show Gale how to grip his waist without risking the clasps coming undone. He’d walk him through just how tight he could pull the straps without them breaking. He’d show him how to be gentle so he didn’t rip the silk.

He’d show him everything.

But first, dinner.

Gale was the cook in their household. Through sheer determination John had started to take up baking. He’d only just managed to make barely passable cookies, and that was because he threw a frankly scandalous amount of sugar in there and loaded them up with chunky chocolate chips that hid a multitude of sins. But when it came to making actual meals, he was hopeless. He could boil water, heat soup, peel vegetables and fry bacon in the pan. But anything more complicated than that was Gale’s far more patient, focused, and diligent domain.

But not tonight. Tonight John had the jump on him.

He pulled up outside Jenny’s. They kept in touch with Macon (and Jefferson, though he was more Gale’s pen pal than John’s, pair of know-it-all's), and it turned out he had a friend who’s wife had a restaurant out here. Her husband hadn’t made it back, but before he left he’d promised her that after the war they were going to start the restaurant they’d always dreamed of. So she’d gone and done it for both of them, and she served some of the best food John had ever eaten. It was Gale’s number one choice every time he got to pick where they went out for dinner.

He’d called ahead and placed his order, and Jenny had it waiting for him as he slipped through the door and tried to weave his way through the crush of bodies.

A server waved him down. “Got your food Mr Egan. It’s hot—Jenny just sent it through.”

Louis. A good kid. Sharp kid. John handed him a couple of dollars tip. “I don’t know how she does it, Louis. Woman’s magic.”

“Don’t I know it.”

John beat a hasty retreat and buckled the bag of food into the passenger seat. It was precious cargo, and their night was not going to go the way John wanted if he let anything happen to dinner from Jenny’s.

He got home with fifteen minutes to spare. Plenty of time to change into fresh clothes and plate up.

He was just pouring himself some wine and Gale some cordial when the man himself walked in the door. His satchel looked heavy over his shoulder and his cheeks were pink from the evening chill. John was already smiling like a goddamn idiot just looking at him.

When Gale saw him standing next to a fully laid table complete with one solitary candle and smelled that tell tale aroma, he shucked his coat and his bag with a rarely seen haste.

“Did you get dinner? From Jenny’s?”

“Mhm,” John trilled sing-song and smug. “Your favourite.”

Gale inhaled a lungful and moaned like he could already taste it from the smell alone. His hands floated to John’s waist as he looked longingly at the food, and John managed to quickly set his hands further up his ribs without him noticing the redirection.

“What’s the special occassion?” Gale pulled him close and pressed their foreheads together. “S’nice.”

John grinned wide and toothy. “Happy birthday.”

Gale pulled back, brows furrowed and tick of a smile playing at his lips. “My birthday was in December.”

Didn’t he know it. It had been miserable this year. A couple days before Christmas and right as a cold snap had hit them. It was the coldest the year had been so far, and they’d barely had it in them to celebrate. Instead they’d cooked as much food as they could, piled the fire high and burrowed themselves under blankets and pillows and each other. They’re refused to allow a single pang of hunger or chill of the cold get anywhere near them.

“Gale Cleven’s birthday was in December,” John corrected him. “Buck’s is in March.”

Realisation dawned with eyes sparkling like the sea in broad daylight from the cockpit of a B-17.

“We met in March 19—”

“1940. Happy seventh birthday, Buck.”

Gale wrapped his arms around John’s neck and kissed him slow and sweet. Warm like the glow of the fire they enjoyed in winter evenings. There was the barest, slightest hint of a pull, like Gale had to stop himself from drawing John’s lips into his mouth, into the waiting nip of his teeth.

He pulled back and set his forehead against John’s, his own smile a goofy match. “You’re a sap, John Egan.”

“Your sap.”

John got one more kiss before Gale was pulling away eagerly sitting down to their meal. To this day, watching Gale eat hale and hearty filled John with a joy he couldn’t quite describe.

Their meal passed with pleasant chatter, mostly led by Gale between bites as John tried to keep his focus on the good food and better company. But in his excitement, and a little nervousness, his leg was bouncing. And he could feel the slip of silk against his skin again.

“You haven’t paid attention to a word I said, have you?”

John’s eyes snapped back to Gale’s, who was trying not to laugh at him.

“Am I boring you?”

John licked his lip. “Far from it.”

Draining the last of his drink, Gale got up and stepped around the table to stand before John. John’s legs opened to let Gale slip between them. He tilted his head back as far as it could go as Gale stepped as close as he could get.

“Something else on your mind?” Gale’s voice was low and coy. Playful. John liked him playful.

“I got something else for you.” John tipped forward and kissed the flat of Gale’s stomach through his shirt, softer on account of their meal. “But it’s not for out here.”

That pricked at Gale’s curiosity. John wasn't one of those folks who thought sex was between them, the bedroom, and the Lord. They’d made it in every room in the house. So, for him to confine it to the bedroom tonight. Well, Gale wanted to know. Needed to know.

“Alright then. Take me upstairs.”

John obeyed the one and only command he expected Gale to be able utter tonight. They had an equal amount of give and take when it came to sex. They both liked being in charge and giving it up depending on their mood. But John knew this was going to be so far outside of Gale’s experience that he’d be the one leading tonight. And he liked the thought. Loved it, even, of being the steady hand behind Gale’s pleasure.

Inside their room, John flipped the lock and Gale’s brows kissed his hairline. But before Gale could ask the questions John could see brewing in that big ol’ noggin, he leaned against the door, hands clasped behind his back and pushed his hips out. A summons Gale had never been able to refuse.

And he didn’t now.

Gale's long, supple hands gripped his hips with a strength that always sent John into a tail spin. People saw Gale’s pretty face and often jumped to the wrong conclusions. He was wicked, sharp, fast, and strong, and more than capable of putting John down when he had to. It was a heady thrill to have that type of strength panting for you, whimpering for you. And that was John’s goal by the end of the night.

Gale swept his hands round to cup and grab at John’s ass, but John laced their fingers together before he could get there. “You missed something,” he said, drawing Gale’s hands up towards his waist.

Gale's pout was cute, and John wanted to pull at it with his teeth. But he wouldn't do anything to miss this moment. He didn’t even blink as Gale touched and traced and explored his body until he caught it. There. A deepening crease between his eyes as Gale felt something covering the thick, meaty softness of John’s waist. He watched Gale’s eyes close as he concentrated, following the line as he figured out it went all the way around. He watched Gale look down as he tried to gauge the thickness of it.

Then he watched that gorgeous fuckin’ mouth drop open and heard the sharp hitch of breath as Gale realised what he was touching.

“You didn’t think I forgot, did you?”

Gale’s fingers dug in. A couple of them slipped under the top of the garter belt, taking fingerfulls of John’s shirt with it. Quick puffs of air fell against John’s lips and Gale’s eyes were wide and unfocused as he stared at John’s waist.

“Hey, it’s okay.” John stroked up Gale’s arms until he could cup Gale’s neck and squeezed it in a soothing beat. “I know it’s new. But we don't have to do anything you’re uncomfortable with. And I’ll talk you throu—”

“John.” It was said with a bolt of steel that straightened John’s spine. He hadn’t heard that voice come out of Gale since they’d last disciplined replacements together in England. It had his cock hard and throbbing behind the delicate little panties so quick he near felt dizzy.

“You’ll talk when you’re spoken to. Do you understand?”

The door clacked as John slumped back against it. He felt a fine tremor start to warm and thrum in the muscles of his thighs. He wondered if Gale could see it? The way his eyes were focused on John like Gale was some great prowling beast and John the tasty morsel made him feel like Gale could see right through John's clothes, to the treat that awaited him.

Gale dragged his fingers, still just easing past the eaves of the garter belt, over the fabric on John’s shirt, around to the divots of his waist. He grabbed a better handful and tugged, testing the tautness, the tension, and the pull. Then John was yanked forward by his waist, the belt biting into his skin and straining under the strength of Gale’s hands. The pinch of the fabric had him gasping against Gale’s mouth as he smirked at John.

“I said, do you understand. Doll?”

John’s mouth fell open and a groan fell out. He let it roll out on his tongue as he tried to slip it against the petal-like softness of Gale’s lips. But Gale saw it coming and pulled back, and John tried not to whine like a dog.

Because he didn’t understand. He didn’t understand at all. He was supposed to help Gale fulfill one of his fantasies. He was supposed to lead and guide Gale through the experience and help him discover new realms of pleasure. He was going to watch Gale fall apart because of him.

But that wasn’t the Gale staring down at him now as he leaned into John’s space and had his back arching against the door. This Gale was in charge, in control, and ready to order his subordinate at his will.

How many women had John called doll in his lifetime? How many times had he said it to Gale and watched his cheeks pinken and eyes darken?

But oh, he got it now.

John nodded so hard his head smacked against the door, and Gale chuckled low and syrupy.

“Easy, sweetheart. Need you clear headed for this. For now.”

That’ll be a fuckin’ miracle, John thought.

Gale stepped back and John went to follow until a sharp click in Gale’s throat stopped him dead. Gale retreated backwards to the bed, eyes fixed on John, thumbing open the buttons of his shirt collar until the back of his knees touched the bed.

Slowly, he sank down with his legs spread wide, almost obscene like the way young men do when they have something to prove. But Gale didn’t have to prove a damn thing. He just wanted John’s attention, and he had it. John eyed the endless stretch of Gale’s legs, perfect for wrapping around his waist, or hooking over his shoulder, or driving John were Gale wanted him as he flexed his thighs. John knew their valleys intimately, from the delicate knob of his ankle to the mouth-watering bulge of his cock.

But John didn’t see that bulge now. He stamped down the little flash of disappointment that sparked up. He’d just have to work a little harder. Gale hadn’t seen anything yet, after all.

“You said you got a treat for me?” Gale’s voice was that deep and trembling bass he got that tightened John’s skin and made his insides quiver.

“Yeah,” he barely managed to whisper.

“Show me.”

John had never been one for following orders. But he’d never balk at Gale’s. That particular command gave him some of his Egan charm and bravado rushing back. A natural born showman, he was. And his man wanted a performance.

If he knew tonight was going to go in this direction, he would have found a good station on the radio, or put the record player on loud enough to filter up to the bedroom. But as it was, the only music he had was the warm creak of well-worn, trodden-soft floorboards; the soft shushing slip of his clothes as he ran his fingers down the length of his chest, into the v of his hips, into the flesh of his thighs. His only rhythm was the hammering of his heart, the breaths that hitched and gasped no matter how hard he tried to control them, and Gale’s minute shifts on the bed that sounded deafening tucked away secret in their room.

John traced his fingers back up from his knees to his hips, and he caught Gale’s finger stroking the bedsheets as he watched. John snagged the edges of his shirt and, using the flat of his palm just like he did doing yard work on a hot day, rucked the bottom of his shirt up to show Gale a flash of skin he loved so well. There was barely a day that went by that John didn't have some form of love bite fading on the skin of his belly.

But he showed Gale much more than that. After his rough handling earlier, one side of the garter belt had risen and settle higher on his hip, and now it peeked above the band of John’s slacks. John hadn't liked the belts that looked like a bolt of stretched, shiny fabric. Instead, he’d gotten one with semi-transparent windows against his flesh that let the pale skin peek through the opaque blackness. Stiff, geometric lines ran parallel, and pierced and broke up those glimpses. Gale was going to love it.

Gale’s hands clutched the covers underneath him in bunches as he glimpsed the little peek of the belt jutting over his hip, before John let his shirt fall back.

Gale’s eyes snapped to him and John caught the briefest flash of not-quite-anger, but heat. It was John’s favourite thing: testing that famous Cleven patience until it broke. Because Gale broke good.

“I said show me, John. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

John’s cock had been straining against the lake and silk on his panties for a while now. But the edge in Gale’s voice, the demand tinged with a hint of desperation? It jerked near painfully against its delicate confines, and John felt the sticky drops of his precum leak between flesh and silk, melding them together.

Fuck, he wanted to make Gale repeat himself.

His fingers trembled as he undid his shirt, button by button. He made sure to touch and pet each inch of skin as he slowly peeled his shirt open down the middle. He toyed on the last button a little, fingered the curve of it, rubbed it against his belly, until Gale leaned forward and opened his mouth to tell John off. But John didn’t let him get there. With a flick he undid the last button, but caught the edges of his shirt before they could fall away and it stole up Gale’s breath just like it snatched away what the younger man really wanted.

Holding the bottom corners of his shirt in one hand, John teasingly drew them down his torso and dipped them into the top of his slacks. He held his hand there a second, and pulled the shirt down tighter, stretching the fabric against the width of his shoulders and the expanse of his chest which he knew Gale loved. But the temptation was too much. He’d been achingly hard since Gale got the drop on him and it was right there. John pushed his hand down further before Gale could tell him to stop and almost sobbed as he pressed into the coil of his cock stuffed into too-small panties.

“Stop, John.”

John’s laugh was breathy and high. No fuckin’ way was he going to stop at the barest hint of relief. If he didn’t give himself something, he was going to blow untouched like some green kid.

But Gale wasn’t playing, and his next words were laden heavy with warning. “I said. Stop.”

John did, but didn’t remove his hand. Gale’s eyes were dark and hard and glinting with a side he didn’t trust anyone but John with. But God, John was desperate. It was no secret that he loved attention, but being under Gale’s scrutiny like this was almost too much. Almost.

“Please, Buck,” he sighed, shameless in his need. “I can’t… I just need a little…” He trailed off into a groan as his hand cupped and caressed his cock again.

He managed to open his eyes and Gale was half way to him from the bed. He was glowering, disappointed in John, and his jaw was tight.

Christ. He was in trouble, now.

Without a word, without looking away from John’s eyes, Gale pulled on John’s wrist and yanked his hand out of his pants. The fabric of his slacks roughed up John’s hand a little and he hummed at the pleasant burn. He went to rub it gently with his other, but Gale snatched that one up too and held them tight and unforgiving.

He gently knocked his forehead into John’s and let the tips of their noses brush.

“I know you can listen better than that, John. You wanna be good for me, don’t you?”

John grit his teeth. He did. He did want to be good. He always wanted to make it good for his Buck. But he wasn’t sure he could, he was so worked up. It had been building all day, bubbling and simmering and ready to boil over with just the slightest crank in the heat.

And Gale hadn’t even kissed him yet. Not since they came into the bedroom. Had barely touched him. John dared to pant into Gale’s mouth, but no further.

“Please, Buck.”

Gale tutted, the clack of his tongue like lead shot in his belly. “Poor baby. You just need a little help, right sugar?”

God, yes. He just needed Gale to touch him, just enough. Just until his head stopped swimming and he could do for Gale what he’d been planning all day.

Gently, like he might if John were a woman, Gale kissed him. Short, sweet, feather light kisses at first. And when John pushed harder, he allowed it. He pushed John’s hands behind his back and squeezed his wrists; a silent command to keep them there. But he would. He could be good now Gale was giving him something.

Gale let the very tips of their tongues touch in the barest hint of a caress before he gentled the kiss again. John keened but drank up every taste of Gale’s lips he could get, all sweet with cordial. Gale’s hands slid up his chest and over his shoulders and dragged John’s shirt down and down. John sighed into Gale’s mouth with relief. He’d foregone an undershirt when he changed after coming home from work, and was grateful for it now. The air of the room was cool against his heated skin, and he felt it tighten with goosebumps and shivered pleasantly.

Gale kissed his way from the corner of John’s mouth along the square jut of his jaw and down the thick column of his neck. John bared it all until he felt the skin stretch across the base of his throat with a tightness that told you that was enough. Gale suckled and nibbled on John’s skin just, just, below where his shirt collars sat. He tugged and tugged and John’s shirt, and John wriggled and helped him get it down to his wrists.

And he felt the pearly hardness of Gale’s teeth against his neck as he grinned.

“Atta boy, Johnny.”

Gale grabbed John’s shirt tight and yanked and pulled and twisted. John couldn’t see what he was doing, but when he was finished, wearing a pleased, satisfied smile as he took John’s face in his hands and kissed him sweet and full, John went to draw up his own hands so he could touched the beautiful planes of Gale’s face. But they were stuck fast.

Gale pulled back and his smirk was a small and wicked thing.

“You needed help,” he said and John tugged fruitlessly at the bond Gale had made of his shirt around his wrists. “That should help you behave.”

The groan that kicked out of John’s chest was bestial. He bit down hard on his lip and slumped into Gale, who laughed at him and petted his hair.

“It’s not too tight,” he asked, kissing the shell of John’s ear.

John shook his head dumbly against Gale’s shoulder.

“Mm. Good.”

John’s stomach swooped, that pleasant, almost arousing way it did on your first flight, as Gale ducked suddenly and John was left swaying there, trying to keep himself steady. But seeing Gale Cleven on his knees in front of you, smiling like the devil incarnate with fingertips plucking at the teeth and tongue of your belt, was as far from steady as a man could get.

Gale made mercifully short work of John’s belt. His button was yanked open so hard John thought it might pop, and his zipper was thurst harshly down. Gale shoved John’s slacks over his hips, and—

And stopped.

Gale could see the garter belt now. He traced those pretty black geometric lines with his fingers. He scratched along where it met the skin of John’s torso. He thumbed the opaque segments like he was testing to see if he could really feel John’s skin through them.

Then he unwrapped John like he was the birthday present he’d been waiting for all day. Gale carefully tugged John’s slacks down so he could see the ties properly. Strips of silk with tiny delicate bows stitched on. Gale tumbled forward on his knees like he was drunk, and nosed the line they ran from the garter belt down into spaces still hidden by John’s clothing. Gale nuzzled so close that the ties pressed into his skin.

John felt his panting breaths in the crook where his belly met his groin. He felt wet heat pulse from his cock and thanked God his hands were tied, because otherwise he may have grabbed a handful of Gale’s hair and put him to work.

“S’pretty, John,” Gale whispered, reverent and adoring. John felt it like the zap of a live wire. His whole body flushed, and there was very little left on him to hide it. He’d never been called pretty a day in his life.

Gale eased John’s slacks over the sizeable curve of his ass and down his thighs, until finally John’s panties were revealed and the very tips of the stockings. And that seemed all Gale could take. He fell face first onto John’s silk covered cock with a pained, eager sound. His hands scrabbled to pull John’s trousers off the rest of the way, shoving them down to John’s ankles and cursing when he had to pull away to tear Bucky’s socks off, too.

Until finally, John stood before a worshipful Gale, garter belt tight around his waist, ties good and tight, panties straining and wet, and stockings encasing his thick thighs and strong, long legs.

Suddenly, Gale’s eyes were large and wide and shiny wet. His lips pouty and half open. Like he might cry. “I don’t…” He shook his head as he gazed at John. “I don’t know how to deserve you, John Egan. I don’t know how…”

Gale’s hands grasped desperately at John’s legs, stroking and slipping all over the silk stockings. He was untethered, unmoored, and John had the passing thought that it was good neither of the joined the navy since they both needed anchoring so bad.

John gave Gale a slow crooked smile. “Just breathe, baby. That’s all.”

Gale closed his eyes and something wild tore out of John when Gale bit at the edge of his panties and pulled at them with his teeth until they snapped back into place with a sting.

Then John was in the air. Gale grabbed John’s thighs and bolted upright, hauling John over his shoulder. John yelped at the display of strength, positive Gale could feel the way his cock throbbed against his shoulder. He felt Gale’s hands worry at the panty line on his ass and land a hard, solid smack on the exposed flesh around the triangle of silk that hardly covered his ass. Then his world was tilting and Gale threw him on the bed. When John looked up at him, bouncing on the mattress, arms still behind his back, Gale’s eyes were raw and wild.

“Just breathe,” he repeated John’s words back at him as he petted the top of the stockings. “You best remember that.”

He slipped his hands underneath John’s arms and sat him up. A few rearrangements later and John was being pushed against a soft wall of pillows so he could look comfortably down to where Gale sat between his sprawling legs.

“Comfy?”

John tugged at his bindings. They were tight but not painful. And he had enough movement that his shoulders and elbows didn’t bear the strain.

“Like a kitten on a cloud.”

Gale gave him his favourite smile, apple-cheeked and from under lowered lashes. It made John want to grab and squeeze and bite him. But he couldn’t do any of that right now and had to lie there under Gale’s weighty, considering gaze and take whatever he was about to be given.

Gale's hands smoothed over John’s chest. His fingers traced under the ridge of his collar bones. The heel of his hands pressed into the bud of John’s nipples, dragging against them in their exploration and John arched his back and pushed into it. Gale dragged his nails down John’s ribs and it made him squirm and wiggle, but with the way Gale had him boxed in and trapped on the bed he had no where to go. So he had to writhe and tremble and take it, the slight scratch of pain the only thing keeping him from losing his mind.

Gale's hands finally came to rest at John’s hips, and his thumbs rubbed soothing circles into his hipbones. And John knew what came next. If he knew anything, he knew what came next.

Gale swooped down and mouthed over soft, giving skin of John’s stomach. John moaned his relief loud and unrepentant, gratified there was at least one thing he’d been able to predict about tonight.

The bite of Gale’s teeth rained down with his mouthing kisses. A shiny, slick trail dotted Gale’s path around the proof of their recovery over the past couple of years. He sucked in mouthfuls of John’s flesh until the skin tingled and throbbed and red and purpling patches staked his claim.

“You know," Gale murmured between tastes. "Some of the guys at college brag about how tight their girls can cinch their waists. I couldn’t help but find that strange.” He wrapped his long hands around John’s waist, something pleasant rumbling in his chest when they came nowhere close to touching. “Why would you brag about your girl going hungry? Hm? Wanna keep you full, John. Want my girl’s waist nice and thick and strong. So I know I’m sating her good.”

In more ways than one, John hoped. “Please,” he hissed and Gale’s hand’s dug tighter into his waist. “You do. You do. So good, Buck. Take such good care of me. Please—”

Gale cut him off with a kiss, a good and real kiss, and John felt the wet roll of moisture falling from the corner of his eyes that he hadn’t realised had been building. He wanted to wrap his arms around Gale, to bury his fingers in his hair and trace the sharpness of his jaw, but his hands were still tied uselessly behind him. So he could only sit there as Gale tilted his head back and pressed him as far into the pillows as he could get and kissed him deeper. The tip of his tongue dragged all the way down to the crest of John’s, right at that ridge that took the plunge down into John’s throat. Gale licked the underside of his tongue on his way back, sucking it into his mouth, then nipping on John’s lips, before plundering him all over again.

John could scarce breathe. He didn’t want to, if this was how he was going to go. It wasn’t until one of Gale’s hands pushed hard down on John’s hips that he realised he’d been rutting like an animal, fruitlessly trying to get some friction against Gale but meeting air.

Gale pulled back with one last tug on John's lip and said, “I think I’d like my present now.”

John fell back with a flump. His eyes followed Gale’s hands. They moved up first to tug and yank on the garter belt a little and see how far he could lift John with it. The muscles in Gale’s forearm flexed as he tested it, and finally dropped John back down with a satisfied smile. Then his hands smoothed over the dotted mess he’d made of John’s belly. And just when John thought Gale was finally going to touch him, was finally going to bring him some kind of relief he needed so badly, Gale swerved his hands around the triangle of John’s panties to scrape down his thighs instead.

John swore and lifted his leg to kick at Gale, but he caught him easy.

“Be nice,” he drawled and pressed his thumb into the arch of John’s foot.

“You be nice! I’m dying, here.” Gale looked down to where John’s cock had made a valiant effort to escape his underwear. The flushed, red head peeked out from the bottom, pressed between his thigh, the silk, and John’s balls which had drawn tight, below.

“I can see that. But this was for me, wasn’t it?”

John bit his tongue and groaned harsh and grumbling.

“Wasn’t it?”

John sulked. “Yes.”

“Yes what?”

Another splatter of moisture fell from him and dropped onto the hairs on his thigh. “Yes, sir.”

Gale grinned sharp and toothy, and raised the leg he still held to his shoulder.

Heedless of John’s predicament, Gale turned his face, now lax and blissful, to rub his cheek against John’s ankle. Gently he kissed the bone and mouthed the silk of the stockings, catching that little piece of extra fabric that stretched between the peak of the ankle bone and the flat of his leg between the blunt edges of his front teeth. Just a bite then he let it go, before chasing it with his tongue, swirling around the bony mound and feeling the texture of the stockings.

John had never noticed before with how Gale was so appreciative of every part of him. But he was starting to get the suspicion that his fella might, might, be a leg man.

Gale’s fingers traced down the line of the seam, humming in approval at the military precision of its straightness. Resting John’s leg on his shoulder, he thumbed at the crook of John’s knee with one hand, and with the other kneaded the tense, hard muscles of John’s calf.

The noise John let out was wounded and obscene. “Holy—fuck, Buck. Oh…God that’s good.”

Gale continued to take John apart, teasing the tension out of his muscles and pushing mercilessly down on any knots he found. John was dragging air in through his teeth, whimpering and yelling when Gale locked on a particularly tender knot. And the whole time a constant trickle of viscous, warm pre dropped from his cock and collected in valley of his panties. It had built to the point that every time he shifted, he felt the sticky, squidgy mess against his balls and his taint. He was wet like a woman and Gale hadn’t even touched him there yet.

Gale pressed those lush, plump lips of his in an adoring trail up the inside of John’s leg. He licked and bit, careful not to snag the stockings. When he reached the hem, where black silk gave away to the creamy paleness of John’s thigh dotted with glossy black coils of hair, Gale moaned low in his throat and pushed his face into the crook between thigh and groin. John desperately snatched Gale up in the vice of his thighs and tried to drag him closer to his cock. And for one glorious moment, Gale allowed it. He tipped open-mouthed onto John’s satin covered cock until he could feel the lapping of Gale's tongue against the panties.

“Fuck, Gale, please. That’s it—right there.”

Gale moaned against him and the vibrations kicked John's belly to quivering and his thighs starting shaking, too. God he was going to embarrass himself but it’s be worth it. So fuckin’ worth it—

Gale tore his face away, breathing heavy and climbed back up the length of John's body. No mean feat as John, furious and choking on his own arousal, tried to drag him back down with the power of his legs alone.

But the kiss Gale gave him soothed him some, filthy and wet and slick, and with none of the finesse they’d learned over the years.

“John,” he rumbled into the underside of his jaw. “God, the things you do to me.” He rolled his hips hard against John’s, and his belly dropped so sharp he was sure he was about to come.

“Gale. I—I—”

A piercing sting nipped at the lobe of John’s ear then Gale’s voice was murmuring against him, sending tremors down his body. “You’re right there, aren’t you, John? Right fucking there. Me too, baby. Know how good you look? Fuck, me too.”

But just as John teetered on that precipice, as his eyes blurred with tears of pleasure, Gale stopped and pulled away, and John let out an embarrassing squeal.

“No! No, no, Gale, I was—I was—”

“Shh, shh, shh,” Gale soothed him, petting hair damp with sweat. “I know.” He rained kisses along his forehead. “Just a little longer, yeah. Wanna get a good look at you.”

He dropped a final kiss to John's nose and leaned back, kneeling between John’s thighs high on his waist, thumbing the sides of the panties.

“I’ll be sorry to lose, ‘em.” Gale eyed the thick band at the top of John’s stockings, lingering on where the clips bit into the fabric and pulled at them, keeping them up. They’d performed a valiant service this evening, but their time had come. “But I think you’ve been patient enough.”

With a fierce yank, the render of ripping fabric pierced the room as Gale yanked the clips out of the stockings, ripping the delicate silk. It tore another groan out of John and seemed to finally unseat Gale’s patience. He shoved the garter belt higher up John’s waist, and tore his stockings down, deepening the rips. The way Gale’s hands tightened over the split fabric, John came to the heady realisation that Gale had done it on purpose.

And then finally, finally, Gale tucked his fingers into John’s panties and pulled them down.

The air hitting his cock had John gasping and thrusting into nothing. He heard Gale choke on his own breath before he pushed John’s hips down with his palm, soothing him like he would an animal.

When John could focus enough to look at him, Gale was gazing at him with nothing short of wonder.

“Shit, look at you John.” Gale marvelled over the mess he’d made of himself. “You look like you’ve come already.” God, he might have. This whole time leaking in a steady stream of unbearable heat, maybe he’d been coming the whole time.

“Gale for God—fuckin’ please. I can’t take this. I can’t take this anymore. I’m begging ya. I’ll do anything.”

And Gale, eyes wide and brimming with something heady, something he kept banked and rarely let blaze out like this, and looking fucking ruined for it, shoved the blunt of his knee up into John’s crotch. The perfect mixture of blinding pressure and the tiniest pinch of skin, and John was writhing and thrashing, getting every ounce of friction he could take. He didn't even know what sounds were coming out of his mouth—babbling, whining, shrieking, it didn’t matter so long as Gale didn’t stop.

And thank God this time he wasn’t going to. Gale’s own crotch was mercy to John’s frantic, frenzied movement. He trembled down the length of his spine and the slender curve of his legs. His arms shook where he held himself over John. He felt his lips quiver as the heat bubbling in his gut frothed and spat and he felt the tingling at the base of his spine that told him his end was coming. But God, he’d see John there first. He would.

He weaved a hand into John’s hair and yanked his ear up to his mouth. “You’re so goddamn beautiful baby. My woman, getting all pretty for me? I nearly came at the damn sight of you. While all the fellas at college are complaining about their girls, I get to tell them how mine fed my favourite meal and served it in silk.”

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Buck.”

He felt the solid lines of John’s body start to lock. His back arched in a deep valley. All tell tale signs Gale knew like a bedtime story.

“That’s it, sweetheart. That’s it, sugar. Y’look so pretty when you come. Lemme see. Let me—”

For all John’s loudness, Gale had worked him past words. His mouth opened in a silent scream, his lungs ceased to draw in air, and his eyes rolled up past thick lashes as he finally came. Hot spurts of seed lashed over his belly, and Gale drooled at the thought of cleaning him up, a line of spit pooling down into the mess. As Gale kept rocking and pressing into him, John kept coming. When finally dragged in ragged gasping breaths, there wasn’t a bit of him that wasn’t shaking. Gale didn’t want to miss a bit of it, but he was barely able to undo John's bonds with one hand, so he could feel John's touch on him, before his own orgasm hit him. It felt as violent as being torn from a plane. His vision whitened and he used John's body, his jerking, twitching, vulnerable spent body to ride out and milk every last drop from himself, until he mewling, pathetic and sensitive.

John was petting his hair and whispering in his ear when he came back to himself.

“It’s okay. That’s it. I’ve got you. You did so good, Buck. That’s it. You back with me?”

Gale nodded into the crook of John's neck and snuggled closer. He powered through the flinch that rocked both of them as the sensitive skin of their cocks brushed. But nothing could pull him away from John at this moment.

John kissed Gale’s hair and without even looking, Gale could feel the grin against his scalp.

“Happy birthday, Buck.”

“Mm.” Gale felt the loose, hazy drag of sleep put weight in his limbs and on his eyelids. He let them droop shut, but before he let sleep and the warm cradle of John's arms take him, he managed: “John?”

“Mhm?”

“We’re going to need more stockings.”

[popcornforone]

Handy

A Dave York Fic

Day 17 of Pedrotober (Arm Sling Prompt)

Masterlist

You wait half of Pedrotober for a Dave Fic & you get 2 in 4 days. Thank you all for the love of the first one by the way. Every time I’ve picked up my phone it’s said someone has liked & reblogged it. It really means the world. Also Dave the only one other than Ezra who we might find in an arm sling.

Synopsis:- Daves most recent injury from a mission isn’t one you can resolve, without going to hospital.

Word count:- 1250

Warnings over & above:- oral sex (female receiving) fingering, rule breaking, injury detail, meds, swearing & as always DAVE YORK COMES WITH HIS OWN WARNING! Cos he’s a menace & controlling

Thanks as always for the read peoples. Hope you are loving this & thats @norththelemon & @alyssamariag for the prompts.

You’re sat in the emergency room waiting for ages. He hates it when you force him to do this. He’s usually certain you can resolve any medical issue he has. But when his shoulder wouldn’t pop back into its socket at all, you had to get some trained medical help for him. It was easy to explain that he “fell through the fence”, it would match the scars on that side of the fence that you’d badly sorted out as he sat there groaning about his shoulder. Looked like you’d done your wife duty for your husband patching him up. But the shoulder wouldn’t go. So now Dave is getting the best care available. At least it’s not a bullet that you have to explain. No longer are you squeamish, blood & stiches are now at least a monthly occurrence.

Out he step 5 hours later, your bad stitching redone, his arm in a dark blue sling. A few more bruises have come through but other than that, he’s still your menacingly handsome Dave York.

“Tadah” He states & try’s to stretch but winces, clearly still in some pain. “Good as new”

“Well next time baby if you pop your shoulder out we’re coming straight here.” He raises an eyebrow at you & you quickly cover your tracks. “He plays lots of sports, is very active, usually we can pop dislocations back in.” Dave rolls his eyes, clearly you’ve said too much & a doctor tells you both how many meds he should take for the pain & signs him off work for a week. You can see from the look in Daves eyes that he has no intention in taking them & that he will be back in the office tomorrow, maybe not on a mission but planning the next one. You both know you have stronger medication at home, not that Dave will even take that.

As you unlock the front door about an hour later, Dave pushes you inside quickly & shuts the door behind the two of you, pinning you against the wall. Even with his arm in a sling he’s still so powerful. You’ve never complained about being man handled by him, you like the rough.

“I’m a sports guy huh?” He says with a grin. “I play hard… & rough… I’m active?” You gulp, you know the mood he’s in. Your eyes dilated.

“Yes sir” you whimper, your thighs part slightly. “I only pick the best boys on the team to be mine.”

“Thought you wanted a man?” He kicks your legs apart. “A man who still has needs”

“Well good luck with that, doctor said no physical excursion for 10 days minimum” you chuckle & boop his nose, he knows you are right but he still has wickedness in his eyes.

“There are other ways I can get my desire” he said. His crazy possessive eyes never leaving yours, he takes a deep breath & then his lips meet yours. The tongue went in on the first date & sex happened date three. You were married in a year & cutting out his 5th bullet in 18 months. The man’s always been crazy about you, not one to be held back & the way his tongue takes in every cavity as you panties dampening. You’ve always been crazy about Dave too.

“Fuck Dave” you moan as you catch your breath as he starts leaving little love bits on your neck. You spend more time doing make up on your neck that your face, he just loves that little crook to much. He grabs your arm & pulls you into the lounge with the hand that works. He then sighs as he pushes you away before he drops to his knees.

“I need a reward”

“For being brave”

“No for going to hospital” he growls tugging at your jeans. For a man with only one hand he’s still very good at using just that.

“Doctor said no over doing it Dave…”

“Sit on my face!” It’s a firm command as your jeans reach your ankles. He kisses up both of your legs. Your thighs always tremble. He then shuffles back the perches up in the sofa behind him. “That’s not a request sweetheart” he snarls licking his lips. “I want you to walk towards me in just your panties & then stand on the sofa & let me do my magic” you look excitedly back at Dave. It’s rare he lets you receive oral first. You tug on your red panties as he gets comfortable.

“Yes sir, anything for my big brave broad husband”. You do as he requested naked except for the panties. He rubs his thighs as you walk towards him, seeing his erection get ever bigger. You stand on the sofa & he whimpers.

“I can smell how ready you are, for me baby” he says eyes dilated he’s trying not to droll. “Lower baby” you do as he asks & he slips your red panties to the side. His large nose already nuzzling against your clit. You grip the top of the sofa. “Gonna need your body to do some work baby” he says. You know exactly how you want this to feel so you start to rub your clit against his nose & you moan as your entrance feels every couple of moves his flat tongue against him.

“Fuck Dave”

“Yea baby like that, enjoying it” you moan & gasp. “Take that as a yes.” He’s freed his hand from his sling & you go to protest but as he grabs both your thighs & brings you fully down on his face your whine.

“Oooh fuckerty fuck”

“Yea baby” in his tongue slips. It’s not as far as his cock or even his fingers, but you’re fluttering & tense in all of those sensitive places. You love it when he eats you out.

“Dave oh god Dave yes yes yes more” you then wince. Two fingers slip it side you & his tongue is now souly attending your clit. Your hips rocking, the grip on the back of the sofa turning your knuckles white. The rhythm increasing, your moans getting louder. It’s a good thing you dropped the kids off at your parents before taking Dave to hospital.

“Dave im close fuck I’m gonna cum, oh god oh god yes yes yesss fuckkkkk” you can’t hold on when he adds a final finger. Sloppy noises from his thrusting fill the air & you become a quivering wreck as you cum. Dave sighs. He withdraws his sodden fingers & returns his mouth to your sex. His bad arms your carefully take as that had been the one pleasuring you & you suck his fingers cleans. You know that always makes him happy when you clean up the mess.

“Fuck baby” he says as you slowly lower yourself off him & readjust your underwear & sit on the sofa next to him. “Why do you always taste of heaven down there”

“Cos you are the devil & need a taste of sweetness” you cackle before kissing him.

“Who says we are done tonight?” He replies. “Maybe this Angel needs a taste of hell”

“Well let me at least get you into bed first, then I will suck your cock til you can’t cum anymore”

“Is that a challenge?” He raises an eyebrow.

“Well let’s see if your up for it Dave”

[theidiotwhowritesthings]

Howdy, so I don't know if you have seen The Last of Us, but if you have, you know the scene where Joel saves Ellie from the hospital and he just ploughs through everyone and its like wow -///-

I just think it would be a really cool like drabble if this was a Din x reader fic? Only if you wanted to write it though!! Also I'm so happy that I'm on your taglist for inevitable because I jump to read it every time that I see that I've been tagged, it has me in a chokehold and the way that you write the reader is so damn good.

Your writing is something that brings comfort to me every week, and the way you interact and talk to your followers is so sweet. I love coming back from a stressful day to sit down somewhere comfortable to enjoy your work.

Anyways thanks for reading this ramble of an ask and I hope that you're doing well :)

[a/n]: combining some stuff here! this is for the anon who asked for this scene AND for @cockscombkingdom who asked for a fic in Din's POV where he takes care of reader and keeps her safe. I started with the plan to make this very sweet and fluffy and I'm not gonna lie a little darkness seeped into it. my bad.

also in case it isn't abundantly clear i am a joel miller apologist thx

Din Djarin x Female!Reader

Warnings: Violence, death, injuries, mild dark!din (if you squint and/or have a problem with murder)

Word Count: 1,440

Summary: You were selfless. You gave and you gave and you gave. The universe planned to only take more, but Din Djarin would be damned if he let it.

LOOK FOR THE LIGHT

.

"you'd just come after her." -Joel Miller (TLOU)

.

Din was worried about you. He was always worried about you because you were always on his mind. It couldn’t be helped. Somebody had to because it seemed like you were perpetually too worried about everyone else. Din admired that about you. He always had. You went out of your way to help anyone and everyone who approached. You had a heart that was always willing to give, and it left you too little to use for yourself.

When the two of you first began traveling together, he noticed that about you. Sometimes you’d get so preoccupied watching Grogu you’d forget to eat. Peli had once put you to work, organizing her tools as part of the payment to fix the Razor Crest, and you had been so focused on getting the work done well that you had taken no breaks and ended up dehydrated and weak under Tatooine’s hot suns. It’s why the mission he was delivering you to made such simple sense to him. You were special, is what you told him. Din knew you were special, felt it, but it was for very different reasons. According to you, there was something in your blood, some type of cell, that could cure a lot of people of some terrible, terrible disease spreading through a world in the Outer Rim.

Din tried to keep his distance from you. Tried to not get attached. But you were so selfless, that it naturally brought out his protective side. He couldn't help but care for you, but caring for you as a responsibility had quickly turned to loving you along the way. Din didn’t know a lot about love. Didn’t have much experience with it, lust was easier to grasp, and that left him confused most of the time. Din had no idea how to express what he felt for you, how to explain it in words, so he did the only thing he could do. Din took care of you. Kept you safe when he stopped to pick up quarries, made sure you remembered to eat and drink water, reminded you to go to bed and when you would eventually forget anyways he’d carry you there himself. Din didn't know what love was supposed to feel like, but what he did know was that being without you made his heart physically ache and protecting you brought him happiness. 

Maybe that’s all he needed to know.

‘It’ll be okay.’ You had promised him with a smile that made your features glow. ‘Shouldn’t take long.’

That had been hours ago. Din delivered you to the medical facility as he had been hired, but when you hadn’t come back out he sought after you. It’s why he now sat in a small room, Imperials flanking the door, as he simmered in disdain. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.

“Mandalorian.” A man stepped into the room. A doctor from the looks of it with thin, round rimmed glasses. The name ‘Pershing’ pinned to his lapel. Din stayed silent. “I was under the impression that you had been paid. Was there an issue?”

“No.” Din replied. “Where is she?”

Dr. Pershing paused and shook his head as if confused. Din tilted his head a bit, an obvious threat in body language, and the doctor was smart enough to realize this. He nervously cleared his throat. “She is being prepared for her operation.” Din narrowed his eyes in confusion. You told him they’d just need your blood. “There is no reason for you to stay.”

“I promised her a ride back.”

There was a tense silence that filled the room at his words. Din watched the doctor squirm where he stood and he needed no further clarification. He shoved up from the table, prepared for a fight, when the Imperials leveled their own weapons at him before he could reach his blaster.

Dr. Pershing held his hands up in a placating manner. “She will be a hero. After we drain her of all her blood, we can make a cure. There’s a 65% chance this will work and save the people of this world.” Din was fuming under his armor. Drain your blood? They were going to kill you. They were going to kill you for something that only had a 65% chance of even working. “She will not be in pain! She’s been put under! She will not feel a thing, and we did not scare her with the news.” Din staggered back as if he had been physically hit. Was this man saying… Dr. Pershing confirmed Din’s thoughts. “We did not tell her this would kill her. We spared her that misery. She went under anesthesia peacefully.”

The words echoed in Din’s head loudly. As if a bomb had gone off right beside him and left him deaf and blind. He walked on autopilot as the Imperials escorted him through the building toward the exit. They were going to kill you. They were going to kill you for a shot in the dark cure. Din was literally paces to the door when his boots stilled. The Imperials shoved him, tried to get him to move, threatened to shoot him, and then Din snapped.

With the practiced precision of a bounty hunter and Mandalorian who spent most of his life in a fight, Din spun and cut down the Imperials in one swift movement. The darksaber glowed angry in his hands, casting threatening shadows down the hall. Never before had the sword worked so well for him, but as Din marched through the facility it was practically an extension of himself. Blaster fire pinged off his beskar and he did not hesitate. If a person stepped into his path he eliminated them. Cold. Ruthless. A predator. Din stalked the medical facility searching for you, and he left a wake of death and destruction in his path.

When he finally caught sight of you, through a window into some kind of clean room. Din felt his heart flutter in his chest. The first twinge of emotion since starting this rampage. It was a reminder of why he was doing this. A reminder that his actions were necessary.

Din stormed into the room, his eyes not leaving your unconscious form as you laid on a table in a hospital gown. The staff in the room panicked in a flurry, and one of them⏤ maybe the doctor maybe a nurse, Din didn’t even register who the kriff it was⏤ rushed him in a poor attempt to stop this onslaught. Din cut them down without blinking. Without taking his eyes off of you. The second you were in his arms, Din felt marginally settled. He wasn’t going to lose you, couldn’t lose you. Din had sworn to himself that he’d take care of you, it was all he knew how to do, and he wasn’t going to stop for the sake of anyone.

Not even the sake of a world.

As Din carried you out of the building it occurred to him that he may be dooming an entire population of people. This world’s chances of survival were dropping from 65% to 0%. He knew that he should care. He knew that this information should bother him. That it should make his steps more hesitant and make his chest ache in indecision, but it didn’t. His choice had never been more clear to him. It was either this world or you. Din was choosing you. He’d always choose you.

When back on the ship, Din had only carried you a few steps when gasping could be heard. He turned around to see Dr. Pershing at the end of the ramp holding a blaster at him. The man was breathing hard, face red, as if he had sprinted all the way here to stop this from happening. Din had to admire his dedication. The man believed in this cause so much he was willing to go head to head with a Mandalorian who had just single handedly cleared out a medical facility. 

“I can’t let you do this.” Dr. Pershing snapped. “You’re dooming this world if you take her!”

A blaster fired. Dr. Pershing stumbled back, a hole in his chest, and Din held his blaster firm in his hand. Your legs draped over that arm had hidden his weapon well. A strangled gasp left the man’s lips and he collapsed into a motionless pile. Din shook his head, responding to a dead man’s words, “I don’t care.”

Din would protect you under any and all circumstances.

 Was that love?

[icarusredwings]

Just wondering since you mentioned something about it, but in your fic where charles is asexual, you said something about them doing telepathic stuff? I was interested to know how that might work? If it's the touching he doesn't like or just in general?

Hi, yes, so Charles is ace, but he's in between the spectrum of sex repusled and enjoys it. It's part of the touching, but he still likes to be touched in little ways. Does that make sense?

Cw: Talk of sex and related topics

Including cringy young lovers figuring stuff out

So Charles is here. That blue dot. On the line. He likes all the stuff leading up to sex (minus insertational foreplay and feels not good if stroked too) but he adores being scooped up, held, kissed, given hickeys, a little groping, a bit of dry grinding is okay but he gets uncomfortable very quickly if his partner isn't careful. In the fic, he is going to mention how he likes Erik because Erik won't guit trip him, complain, or accuse him of leading him on for just wanting kissed. And I don't mean just pecks, I mean full on tounge making out against a wall - he really likes that. But if you try to strip him more, then he's comfy with he'll shut it down instantly and might even tell you to leave if he feels you'll keep trying. He mentions how he's tried sex with different people, different ways, and even if he really really wants too (usually as an act of service rather then his own wants) he just... can't. It feels... bad. And sex is supposed to feel good, right? But it doesn't. And it's taken him a bit to accept that maybe he just wasn't cut out for that sort of thing. Or maybe it had something to do with his brain? Either way- He does not like to be touched.

Meanwhile, Erik is definitely sexual. He wants sex and he likes sex. He likes being touched, and he likes getting off, but he's not used to someone actually wanting to give him affection. He's spent so much time tracking down those who wronged him and trying to learn to trust his newly found friends that ehh he's not really thought about relationships much. Sure, he's fantasized about it. About settling down with a wife and a couple kids. A normal life. But later.

Because of this, he's nervous to try to touch charles mainly because he's worried he'll mess up. Even before charles tells him he'd careful, questioning his consent and is hesitant (mainly because Charles is three sheets to the wind and he doesn't want it to be regretful) but still.

So- How do they work then? Well-

Two ways, often mixed in. If Charles isn't feeling up to it he'll probably just help Erik through 'Astral' mind stuff and its great because in there it doesn't feel like hes touching him but they still have every other part that comes with the act of sex. Honestly, this is probably the only way Charles can pleasurably get off. He doesn't even really need to be held after this either and if anything wants left alone to fall asleep on his own. Talking and hand holding are alright, but holding feels weird to him after that.

This is semi an issue with Erik, who ends up with a body pillow, holding it like his life depends on it. He gets quite a bit of pleasure from the experience but really wishes he could touch him. Most times, he settles for holding his hand with their foreheads connected. (Charles likes this a lot because they can share dreams)

If charles DOES want physical stuff it most likely will involve a bunch of kissing, groping, nipping, giggling, a bit of grinding, and if he really wants too he'll let him hump him through his boxers or trousers. So it's not that he dosn't like being touched completely but the act itself dosn't feel nice either way, he's tried several times and each time he either ends up crying or leaving seconds into it. If Erik can get off through his jeans then Charles nuzzles him, praises him, thanks him for being understanding.

Hes been in that head plenty to know all the stuff Erik wished to do with him, and if Charles found one he was comfy with, they'll do it, but most of these ideas scare him.

This is probably the best outcome because then Erik can just cuddle him and not have to move but if he cant he has to go to the bathroom and come back to cuddle later.

"Mmmh.. feel better?"

"Yeh.."

".. sorry."

"For what?"

"I can't do what you want too.."

"I know. And that's okay... do you feel okay?"

Charles nods, sleepy by now.

"Well, then it's okay with me too."

Personally, I've been thinking about both, when time passes and they learn what works and what doesn't, so now they can do other stuff without fear. One thing being Erik really liking when Charles conducts him to do stuff? So here's Charles in his undies sitting on top of Erik, gripping a fistfull of his hair with the other hand on his chest bassically just using Erik how he pleases, puppeting him to buck up a certian way, his hands attached to his waist as Erik stares up at him so lovestruck as Charles dirty talks to him in his brain (YO this man has a potty mouth for real those secret little thought extanges could make a tomato blush), growling at him "Mine" while practically numbing it. Something about being controlled so that charles can take over him completely is a big kink for him, especially when he does finally get off and Charles immediately throws them into astral, rocking his hips softly, until he gets there too and he falls asleep on his chest while erik holds him.

ANYWAYS TLDR

They have sex similar to how Madelyn and Scott sometimes had sex in x men 97. Its implied that it was "Their thing" with Jean as well and thats why she was so upset with him.

Litsen fellas- telepathic cheating is still cheating.

Hope this made sense. Let me know what you think about it.

[sunnydayaoe]

Off Schedule

[CCCC FIC] Contains: Platonic Soul, Heart and Mind, Pet regression, [~4,000 words]

Stressed petre!Mind + Caregivers Soul & Heart! From the request "s.so. so puppy mind after a stressful day with heart and soul as caregivers,," Mind can't complete its normal nightly schedule, and gets super stressed because of that... Luckily, Soul and later Heart help him relax :]

Fic under cut! or on AO3

It was hard to understate how much of Mind's, and really all three of their, mental state was linked to their physicality. Sometimes, this worked in his favor. Indeed, today was one of those days, at least, he'd thought it was.

If it tried to ignore all the strife and focus entirely on getting things done, it could set aside... most of the annoyances. His body was more machine than flesh at this point, and any phantom pains could easily be ignored for the Whole. He didn't want to disappoint his Soul [or his Heart], after all.

It wasn't thinking today was a good day now, curled up in bed, an hour before it'd regularly turn in for the night. He had started lagging earlier in the day, but had decided against slowing down his usual schedule; if he was feeling bad, that just meant the whole was having more intensive thoughts and needed him more than ever. Rest was not an option.

This had gotten him only though most of his routine, but, annoyingly, he couldn't get done with his last step. Every night, he'd read for about an hour before bed. This usually helped him wind-down and get relaxed and into the proper headspace, but his head was too scattered. That really was the last nail in the coffin.

He could stand an increased workload, the impending dread that something was Wrong, but his schedule... God, he didn't even know why he was so stressed out. He'd finished everything actually important, had finished everything that would actually help the three of them. The only thing he couldn't get to was some frivolous wind-down time, truly pathetic that that was what had done him in.

To add to this horrible mess, he couldn't even get to sleep. There was a buzzing under his skin, a restlessness he couldn't shake. He wanted to move. He also very much Didn't want to move.

A knock at his door startled him out of his curled up ball on his bed. He grunted an acknowledgement, hoping they wouldn't come in. He was... not presentable. He knew he'd probably be mean and unsociable, and that would just get so tiresome when it made the other, whoever it was on the other side of the door, inevitably got annoyed with him.

Apparently that wasn't enough for them, [figures, he was never enough.] because the door creaked open. It was Soul.

"Mind...?"

He turned away with a growl, hoping Soul would get the message. It was not in the mood.

"You okay man?"

Clearly, it didn't. Figures, Soul could never mind his own business.

"Yes. I'm... Fine." The words were slow and stilted, like it was pulling teeth.

Even without looking, he could tell his host was narrowing its eyes at him. The bed dipped with extra weight; Soul had sat down at the bed's foot. He was just getting ready to tell him to fuck off when he felt a hand reach over and settle on his forehead. Oh. Soul was in a touchy mood today. [Those were always nice days.] Maybe it could... wait a little bit, before kicking him out. Just a few moments, of course.

"Not too warm or hot... I guess, if you're sure you're fine, I could leave." Soul had become a bit of a worrywart in concord, caught up in attempting to make sure everything was running smoothly. Still, it backed off if one of them started getting snappy. a good call, because usually, Mind found the mother-henning kind of annoying [it was, after all, the one supposed to be keeping things in order. Any more than the base worry started feeling suffocating.]

Today, however... the idea didn't seem too bad. It was selfish to consider, because it knew it was liable to lash out like this. That wouldn't be a good ending for any of them, for Mind to snap at Soul only trying to help. Still, the temptation.

"No."

"You want me to leave?"

"No." It growled, frustrated with its inability to talk clear and the fact Soul misunderstood. God this was already getting it angry; this was definitely a bad idea.

It rolled over until it was back to facing Soul, squinting a bit at how light it was; his dear host had left the door open, and the hallway light was on. Annoying. Worth it though, because he could push against Soul's side, making it very clear he didn't want him to leave.

"Okay, okay, I get the message." Soul giggled. His hand gently carded through Mind's hair, "Think you could tell me what's wrong? Sick, tired, stressed-"

Mind nodded at the last one, careful not to dislodge Soul's hand, before contemplating for a second and holding up two fingers for the second option: he was also pretty tired. Soul's eyes softened a bit at that, drooping in the corners [reminding it of the portraits of Him Soul hadn't covered up].

"Want some help relaxing?" the words were a tad hesitant, and they were paired with gentle hands sliding behind his ears [something it leaned into easily. Again, touchy days were Always the best.] It didn't sound like it knew if it should be offering and it took Mind a moment to realize, exactly, what it was suggesting; usually he was the one asking, albeit awkwardly, if Soul could look after him while regressed. Even then, Mind hadn't really done it much...

It nodded, after a few silent moments weighing the pros and cons. It didn't have to talk, or make any decisions, or do any work, and it could just have Soul dote over it... it figured it had done enough productive work to earn itself some pampering. Probably. Maybe. Anyway, Soul was offering; to not take the opportunity would be... illogical.

Seeming satisfied with the confirmation, Soul pulled away. Before Mind could get snippy and whiney about it, he quickly explained himself, "just getting your stuff... unless you want to do it without it?"

That was logical enough, still a bummer though. It just huffed, "Fine."

His host rolled its eyes at him, but made quick work of sorting through Mind's drawers and pulling out its collar, along with its dog themed socks and gloves. He made a quick detour to the door to close it as well. [Much to Mind's gratitude. The room was now lit by a slightly dimmed light: pleasant.]

Mind didn't really have much he did with regression, so new to it; Soul easily kept track of everything it did, usually the one with him during. He was back in moments. Still, the sun took each item from its host to put on itself; it had already submitted itself to enough vulnerability, it could put on its own socks.

Now finally ready, and already feeling the tiniest bit better, it felt all the antsy-ness and over-energy come back with force. The buzzing underneath its skin was getting hard to ignore. He hoped Soul would be fine with a more playful session than usual.

"Now who's my good puppy?" Soul cooed hands reaching out to cup its face, like, well, one would do with a puppy. It wasn't really a puppy just yet, but the sweet words usually let it fall into it more easily. While definitely a tad embarrassed, it relaxed almost instantly into him. It knew it would feel great once the first little bump was gotten over. Just needed to let go a little [a Lot].

"Good boy!"

It shifted a little further into him, letting itself fall almost into his lap, nodding. Talking always got a bit hard like this, and it was already having a difficult time beforehand. That was fine though, his Soul was definitely expecting it.

"Want to play, or nap, Apollo?"

Oh the nickname was definitely the last straw; he was wholly in puppy-space now. It wanted to play, and it let him know with a playful yip and pushing its full weight into him; wrestling was always its favorite.

Not expecting the switch to such loud enthusiasm, Soul staggered a bit and nearly fell over when Mind bowled into him. He chuckled a little, hands gently pushing at its shoulders to get it off of him.

"Sorry puppy, I'm not the most into contact sports," he summonsed a chew-toy, characterized like all his summoned objects by a solid red color, "Wanna tug-a-war instead?"

Well, it wanted to wrestle, but... whatever; tug-a-war could probably be just as fun. Grabbing onto the toy, it gave a harsh tug.

With that, the game was on; Soul made sure not to pull too hard, not wanting to hurt Mind's jaw or teeth, but Mind had no such reservations. It growled around the toy, teeth sinking in further than it probably should let them. It could let out way more of that nervous energy it had had throughout the day like that though.

Soul didn't seem that happy with its disregard for propper safety, "Hey! Drop it boy, drop it."

Normally it would heed the call, it always adored the way Soul would coo soft praises when it did as he asked, but today it needed to get out these feelings. Shaking his head like a dog, it gave another sharp jerk at the toy. Its teeth hurt for a moment, probably why Soul let go.

Later it would recognize letting go as not an unsound decision, [Mind's jaw Had hurt for just a moment before Soul released the pressure, and it definitely would have hurt more if Soul Hadn't let go.] but in the moment it just went flying backwards and off the bed, hitting the floor with a loud thump and whine. The fall was onto carpet, and didn't even hurt that much, but the betrayal certainly did.

He heard a muffled "shit" overhead, but that was quickly ignored in favor of whining as loudly and pathetically as possible. This sucked, its back Kind of hurt, and Soul had just been incredibly horribly mean to it. That was such a mean way to win tug-a-war, cruel and unusual! Everyone in a fifty-foot radius Needed to know that. Immediately.

Soul was on the floor with him in an instant, cooing soft words and shushing gently, like that would earn him forgiveness for what he'd done. [It Did forgave him, but Soul didn't need to know that!] Its tantrum was definitely stressing Soul out more than the fall hurt it, but that serves him right! Being mean to a puppy is crime punished ten-fold.

It seems it’s wailing had gained it more than just Soul’s frantic attention; loud footsteps echoed from the hallway. Heart, probably, but in the minuscule off chance it wasn’t, it shoved itself right into Soul’s unprepared lap. He could make up for being so mean to it by protecting it from any monsters that may or may not exist. [That was definitely why he went into its lap, and not because Soul was very comfortable.]

The door creaked open yet again, and Heart peaked in. “Everything okay in here? I heard a thud and ah, a lot of noise.”

Soul was quick to answer, “ah, yes. Everything is fine. Mind just took a bit of a tumble.”

As if to accentuate this Mind let out a little whimper, needing Heart to know he was having the worst time in the world [or well- it was actually having a rather nice time, but it was ignoring that]. The moon would have sympathy, wouldn't he?

Heart seemed to need a second to realize what that sound was, and when he did he let out a little giggle. “Do we have a puppy in here?”

They didn’t wait for Soul’s “yeah” before going on, closing the door behind them. With a few directions from their host, he settled down on the floor beside the two of them. “Mind if I join you two?” The question seemed mostly in jest, Heart had already sat down next to the two of them, but there was an underlining genuinity.

Mind heard none of this, and was warring between two decisions: one, stay in Soul’s lap [rather awkward, because it hadn’t been prepared for him to just crawl on,] or jump at Heart and see if he wanted to play wrestle. Soul was very warm, and past a bit of squiring, pretty comfortable, and had even started giving it pets, but Heart would probably take him up on the offer of wrestling…

The two had moved on in conversation while it considered its options. Soul was answering a question it didn’t catch: “I really don’t know why he’s being so loud… the fall was pretty short. Do you think it might have landed wrong?”

Heart was making considering noises, but Mind was fuming. The two having conversation overhead didn’t bother it at all [it rather liked that they didn’t expect or need it to contribute] but Soul didn’t even know why it was mad at him?

That was definitely the last straw, and it wriggled out of Soul’s gentle hold to run into Heart. He didn't bowl them over, but that was only because Heart was a brick wall compared to Mind. There was a giggle, and large arms wrapped around it in a hug. It squirmed for a moment in the hold before leaning up to lick a stripe over Heart's cheek.

This very heartfelt show of affection earned him nothing but a few snickers and getting pushed back a little. Nobody here appreciated him as much as they should. Still, he stopped whining; Heart wasn't the one who let it fall off the bed, after all.

"I think Mind was just mad at you..." Heart said, shoulders shaking with silent laughter now that they'd figured Mind wasn't actually in any pain. "Was Soul being mean to you, puppy?"

"uhuh!" Mind agreed, easily. He wouldn't really say Soul was being Mean, per se. but he wanted to be mean back anyway. It usually didn't like talking like this, but it was going to make a small exception, just for this."B-bad at... playing."

It shoved its face right into Heart's chest now that it had spoken its piece, that was enough of that for now! His Heart didn't immediately react besides shift Mind into his lap more comfortably, face tucked into his neck. After a moment of adjustment, he was immediately on Mind's side; the way everyone Should be.

"Soul did you really fuck up playing so bad you made him mad at you? When he's like this?"

"Don't swear in front of it!" Soul, sidestepping the question, interjected.

There was a moment of silence, with the exception of the rhythmic thump of Mind's tail, before Heart burst out laughing. "You, my Soul-" He couldn't finish, giggling and wheezing way too hard. He tried again, "You censor yourself in front of Mind?"

[Mind knew Soul Tried, he was just very very bad at it. If he had any of the want to count he's sure its pretty high in the double digits, and they've only started doing this for a couple weeks at this point.]

"Yes! I do!"

"He's- He's still Mind. I don't think censoring swears will get it more into character either..." They considered it for a moment, like a thought had just occurred to them, "Unless you censor yourself in front of pets normally...?"

More silence, followed by breathless giggles. The sound made Mind want to laugh too, contagious. Soul didn't answer, turning away with a huff.

"Mind's not some delicate little thing like this, Soul." Heart said, turning his attention back to Mind. "isn't that right buddy? You're a big dog aren't you?"

Mind nodded against Heart's chest, giddy at the praise. It liked where this was going, quite a lot.

"Wanna show him how to really play?" His Heart gently shoved him off their lap and grinned down at it, sharp teeth on display. "Know you like wrestling, Apollo."

It lets out a happy yip, wasting no time in engaging in the fun. The two are grappling around the floor in moments, Soul's surprised yelp background noise.

Heart was always fun, never missing the opportunity to stress out Soul or let Mind have some more rough playtime. Not to say they were it’s favorite… just that, sometimes, maybe Mind preferred their treatment to Soul’s.

Like now! Tumbling about the carpet hit the exact itch Soul couldn’t. There was action, loud and aggressive, and it could really get its adrenaline pumping. Best yet, Mind could just let itself sink into it all without having to worry about things going south. The others would never hurt I a puppy, after all.

The thought brought on another wave of giddiness, and it threw its weight at Heart with rendered vigor, finally pinning him to the ground. Victory was his, at last!

Heart didn’t struggle much, a bit out of breath and mostly happy Mind seemed satisfied. At least, that's what it thought. “Ahh how terrible, to be bested by this awful beast…”

[Mind preened at that, for it Was an awe inspiring creature.]

His Hearts mouth turned into a sly little smile, before he was curling up with a lunge and grabbing Mind in a hug, warm and constricting, but not too tight. He laughed, big and loud and exaggeratedly evil, “or so you thought!”

It squeaked and squirmed and made a big show of Not wanting to be caught, but didn’t actually struggle too badly. Playtime had tired it out a little, and it was definitely not at 100% beforehand. Not a good mix for a puppy… Plus how awfully nice it was to be in Heart's arms? He didn't stand a chance.

Yawning, it let it’s chin hook over Heart’s shoulder, attempts to escape his arms short lived and abandoned. The moon was very very warm, one of the many things that made him such an appealing caretaker. How could it not adore someone so warm and snuggly.

There was a concerned noise behind it, and it could feel it’s ears perking up, trying to figure who it was. Soul, [obviously [there were only the three of them here, after all] but it liked having to puzzle it out. Smooth and angelic, with a hint of static, of course that was his Soul.] tinged with only a hint of worry, “was he too rough?” It asked him, before quickly changing gears to address Heart, “It looks tired.”

“It looked like it had too much energy when I got here, just tired it out enough for bed.” Heart’s easy response, self-assured. His grip tightened around Mind and he shifted it a little, like a man presenting a fish they’d caught, “worked like a charm!”

Mind only struggled a little bit at the handling, but rather liked it. There was just something so pleasant about being… a prize. Observed and adored and pampered like a treasure, but any contributions it offered were incidental to it, the machinations of another. Mind could just doze off in Heart’s arms and the soft cooing just came rolling in! It was living the dream.

Soul made a considering sound but didn’t fight him further. It tapped Mind’s shoulder to gain his attention. It to glanced back, eyes already half-lidded and tired from the adrenaline rush of its game ending so quickly.

“Mind…? Want to go to bed a puppy?” His hand was already hooked under its collar, ready to take it off. Usually the sessions weren’t so close to the time it turned in for the night [Mind liked having its before-sleep reading time], and it usually liked to get out of puppy-space an hour or two before bed. Soul probably assumed it wanted out before getting to sleep.

Mind growled, the sound at odds with its earlier good mood. What would have been a squeaky puppy growl on anyone else came out deep and crackling from the sun.

Soul pulled his hand back, palms free, “easy puppy! Was just a suggestion.” Heart was laughing at him.

Satisfied its point came across, it nodded. Going to bed actually did sound pretty nice right now…

Heart seemed to sense its thoughts, because he lifted it off the ground as he stood, gently setting it back on its bed. Like an evil creature that fed off of only suffering, however, he did Not crawl in bed with it.

Letting out a loud whine, it stared between Soul and Heart with a wide eye, glassy with what would be tears if it had any. It earned him a startled sound from Soul, “I thought you were enjoying cuddling with Heart…?” And Heart’s feigned resignation, “well… I guess I have too,”

It turned away from Heart with an annoyed huff. He should’ve been grateful and humble! Not resigned; Mind was a wonderful puppy, to cuddle with him was a gift, or a burden. Eyes drifting right over him to look at Soul instead, it gave a few paws at the air, tying to get him closer without Actually getting out of bed. He let out a laugh, a little indulgent, crawling in bed with it. "Fine, but only if you take off that collar. We don't want it poking you in your sleep, right?"

It huffed, annoyed at the fact Soul was right. Getting pricked in the neck by it's spiky, crown-shaped tag seemed like a recipe for discomfort though, so it presented its neck. Soul made quick work of removing the collar and it wasted no time in tucking itself into his side when he was done. Soul was still moving around a bit, putting the collar on the bedside table and getting comfortable in Mind's bed, but it was still nice.

"Am I still expected to join in?" Heart asked from behind, though he didn't sound too dejected anymore. "Or have I been rejected from the cuddle pile."

Mind considered shooing him away, but ultimately the idea of cuddling both its Heart and Soul sounded too nice. [And maybe.. it didn't like the idea of excluding its Heart from all the fun.] It made sure not to wriggle out of Soul's arms but it did wave him over with its free arm.

His Heart let out an amused sound, "Am I not even worth turning around for?" but crawled in bed beside it anyway, squishing it between themself and Soul. It arched its back a bit, so it could press against both its thirds, earning another amused noise and arms wrapping around it.

Its host didn't really cuddle back, but he did let it snuggle up against his side. His Heart, seeming to have discarded all his feigned reluctance, holding it close to his chest in a firm hug.

All in all, it was perfect. It almost forgot about what had stressed it out, tomorrow would probably be similarly difficult...It tucked itself closer, face shoved into the cook of Soul's neck.

This earned him a concerned coo from its host, "What's wrong buddy?"

Even after all that, it still wasn't in the mood for talking. It just shook its head, wanting to ignore the problem and focus on cuddling. Soul's hand lifted to its hair, lightly scratching its scalp. From behind, Heart cooed little comforts into its ear. The two working in tandem to distract it from its worry.

Soul could never leave well enough alone though, and asked anyway. "Was it what got you so stressed in the first place...?"

It nodded, hesitant. Soul probably wouldn't be dropping this unless it admitted that much, at least. His visible eye softened at that, "Don't worry about that. We can help you out with whatever it is tomorrow, okay?"

That actually sounded pretty nice... It didn't know how much help the two could actually be in the things it normally did, but even the knowledge that they would try was... appealing. Comforting. The thought of tomorrow didn't seem so stress inducing with the two of them around it.

It could feel itself relaxing back into their embrace, the stress lining its figure draining. Its eyes drooped further, the lack of worry and warm bodies around it making it difficult to stay awake. It tried to keep its eyes open though, it wanted to enjoy this. It wasn't common for the three of them to get together like this, warm and safe and without any argument.

One of them, and at this point it couldn't tell who, gently shushed it, "Go to sleep buddy, we'll be here tomorrow."

That was the last thing it heard before the world went dark, the need to rest winning out. Maybe... this wouldn't be the last time they did this.

[nhothicket]

is it too late for Halloween?

Some close ups and silly spare thoughts about this half-baked au below the cut ^v^

Some thoughts:

It's extremely important for this au that Etho is very enthusiastic about his clowning, okay? Nobody's forcing him to do this he is a PROUD CLOWN.

The setting is probably somewhere in the 80s-90s at an amusement park with a carnival vibe. I thought it might be fun to have all the Halloween hermits be canon, but I also see this being a world unaware of the more supernatural goings on, so I'm not sure if that could pan out. Maybe some sort of veil from the supernatural might be in play? Who knows.

Anyway! This is about Ethdubs not those other nerds.

> So, in this amusement part there's an oddities attraction of sorts. There resides Bdubs, he is a haunted heart preserved in a jar, not an actual attraction though just set dressing for the creepy shed vibe. As the story goes this jar has been passed around for decades, but its progressively gotten heavier despite being untampered with. The preservatives have gotten thick and changed colors over time. This is actually just Bdubs' spirit taking its sweet sweet time to manifest, as he slowly materializes around his heart, the preservatives turn to ectoplasm.

Most of the time he's sealed up in the jar, thanks to this mystical veil regular people usually can't hear him grouching about the tight space. The jar itself is part of his haunting, which means its technically part of him and he can't pass through it. So, until Etho realizes the disembodied voice he's been hearing come from the little building is not all in his head, Bdubs was stuck there.

> Bdubs' more human less goopy form is also a bit translucent in that form and he's not at all solid. If Etho were to poke him in the arm his finger would go through with some pressure. A firm hug would be fine at first, but he'd quickly start sinking into the ghost. It takes a lot of energy to be that physical, so Bdubs hardly does it. He's capable of leaving his heart in the jar and being a more traditional wispy ghost in that image, but... he feels left out when he can't touch things, so he'll usually choose being a bit gooey over being a beautiful beautiful man.

His heart is the only part of him that is completely physical. It is a real object in the world still, he's possessing it. It's what allows him to be more physical, so if someone were to reach into his chest and pluck it out he'd turn into a wisp. (He and Etho have both done so repeatedly to make bad jokes about heart stealing). How did Bdubs' heart get in a shady unmarked jar? Who knows. The people who ran the place probably don't even know its a real human heart anymore.

> Bdubs frequently lies about how old he was (recalling and inserting himself into historical events he wasn't even born for), Etho humors it.

> Bdubs died before Etho was born, this is the subject of mockery on both sides. (Etho would've been born maybe a decade or so after Bdubs died, he's in his 30s at present)

> Etho's gimmick is being comically good slight of hand and magic tricks. He's not supernatural, but he's like fantastical in his competence when it comes to looking magical. Etho invents (realistically jmpossible) contraptions to make his magic work.

> Horse drawn buggies would've been on their way out as Bdubs was growing up, so he could be nostalgic for that, I thought it might be cute if Etho took him out on one of those horse drawn tours as a surprise. Don't mind the clowny guy carrying around a jar with a heart in it.

> Another funny thought I had, Bdubs asking for a grand sarcophagus after getting jealous of the attention a new mummy is getting in the attraction. Etho doesn't buy him a sarcophagus, but he does get him a novelty canopic jar from the gift shop of a nearby museum.

Okay, that's all for now. ^v^;

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

A Balancing Act

There were so many wonderful prompts that I couldn't fit them all in here! Thank you so much to everyone who submitted one :)

Read on Ao3

Warnings: bruised ego, panic attacks, touch starvation

Pairings: none

Word Count: 6556

It starts, as do most things, in the Imagination.

Deep beneath the surface of the world, buried in layers of implication and mystery, lies a set of scales. Perfectly balanced? No, never, but always in a state of equilibrium. It operates on a set of rules far older than the theories of physics that govern the Waking World—that is, what most would refer to as Reality, outside the bounds of the Mindscape—for science is an intersection of math and literature and magic is a science based on a math most esoteric. Its golden rule is simply thus: whatever gives must be pulled, and whatever pulls must be given.

The scales must always hang. The scales must always be.

In the middle of the night, when no one will notice, Remus turns on his convincing loop of his own sleep noises—grunts, sloshing, the occasional rustle of bed covers—and sinks into Roman's room. Roman is awake, sitting on the edge of his bed, tying and untying the same knot in a length of rope as he stares into nothingness.

"Sorry," he mumbles as soon as Remus comes to sit next to him, "I'm…trying. I just can't seem to get anything…more."

"It's okay, Roro, I'm not mad or anything. I honestly thought it was kinda cool."

Roman huffs a laugh, only mostly filled with humor. "I figured you would. I mean, it's way more of a you idea, isn't it? Having the entire tower suddenly become as flexible as rubber and threaten to kill everyone inside?"

"I'm not gonna try and summon Janny at this point of the night, I'm definitely stealing it for my next video game dungeon idea."

"I'm glad at least one of us is getting some use out of it."

The humor dissipates quickly as Roman's fingers keep working unsteadily at the knot. Remus reaches over and rests his head on his shoulder, enjoying the warmth of Roman's breath ghosting over his temple as he wraps his arm around Roman's waist. "Are you doing okay otherwise?"

Another sigh. "I don't know, Remus. I don't—I haven't had the energy to know how I'm doing which I think is answer in and of itself, and every time I try to actually do something about it, the Imagination knows that I'm not—that I can't—"

Remus gives him a squeeze when his breathing starts to pick up a little. Roman winces and he sits up right away. "Are you bruised again?"

A suspiciously long pause. "It's nothing, Re—"

"Bullshit." Remus storms to the bathroom and returns with the first aid kit, tossing it on the bed. "Lemme see, Ro-bro, I'm not letting you get away with being bruised to hell and not letting anyone take care of you."

"Re," Roman almost whines, but he sets the rope aside and starts fiddling with the hem of his pajama shirt. "I'm—it's really fine, it's not even that bad this time."

"I'll be the judge of what's 'that bad,' thank you very much. You're not allowed to evaluate your own injuries after you hid broken ribs from me for almost a week."

"I was sort of proud of that, actually. Hey!" He yelps as Remus tugs on his hair. "Not the hair!"

"So lemme look at you. Come on."

"You're so demanding." But off comes the shirt and Remus has to begrudgingly admit that it's not actually that bad this time. A light smattering of yellow and a dusting of blue along Roman's side, probably just enough to make him wince if someone presses down on the right wrong spot. "See? It's fine. It'll probably fade by morning."

"You can't blame me for being suspicious, though."

"No," and Roman's voice gets all soft and gentle for a moment, "I don't. Thank you, Re. I…"

"No need to get too sappy, Roro, the night's still young."

"Yeah, maybe by your standards."

"I always go by my standards, because my standards are right," Remus remarks as he goes to return the first aid kit at a more reasonable pace, "how you should be treated better, how the others should know about some of this stuff—"

"No."

"But Ro—"

"No, Remus," Roman says, voice suddenly cold. He puts his shirt back on and hunches his shoulders. "We both know that them knowing isn't going to be a good idea."

"They care about you, Ro—"

"Evidently not!"

"But they don't know about it!"

"Yeah, because I've tried opening up to them in the past and all it's gotten me are insults, badly veiled pity, and the promise that it will be used against me at the first time it's convenient for them! I'm not going to give them an even more detailed guide of 'Press Here to Hurt the Prince!'"

Remus is quiet for a long moment and Roman sighs.

"You're thinking of how to make that into some sort of weird carnival game for your horror country fair, aren't you?"

"Only slightly—"

"I knew it."

"—but I'm also worried because you're my brother, Roman," Remus says quietly, coming over to sit next to Roman again, taking his hands and giving them a squeeze, "and I don't like seeing you hurting."

"But you know I'm right."

"…but I have a feeling that your instincts may be accurate."

Roman's brow quirks in amusement. "You've been spending more time with Logan, then?"

"Yeah. We, uh, we have an experiments lab in the mad scientist part of that big old spooky mansion you and I made when we were younger and it's…it's really fun, Ro, you should come hang out with us."

Roman chuckles, smoothing his thumb over Remus's scarred knuckles. "I don't think me and experiments would be very fun for all of us, but I'll happily partake in quests to gather the more obscure resources you might require. I'm sure you could convince Logan to take a small break for such an excursion in the future?"

"Ooh, a quest with an actual party! That might be fun. We'll have to think about that more tomorrow after we get some rest," he says pointedly when Roman looks eager enough to keep going now, only to chuckle at Roman's disappointed face, "hey, you're telling me—I'm being the reasonable one here and I'm exhausted already."

"Restoring balance to the universe, then." Roman leans forward to rest his forehead against Remus's. "Thanks for coming to check in on me."

"Hey, you're my brother. The entire world could be turned upside down and back to front and that'd still be true."

"Is that your way of saying you're always gonna be there for me?"

"Just like I know you will. And yes, before you ask, I'm enjoying imagining the others being surprised we're like this too."

"Just checking."

Remus ruffles Roman's hair. "Get some sleep, okay, Roro?"

"You too."

***

Roman wakes up cold.

Well, no. That's not quite right. He wakes up in agony that he can only bear to keep to himself because he's too cold to have the energy to move.

The first thing he registers is the pain. Deep, bone-weary agonizing pain that feels like he's been locked in a suit of armor that is being tightened, slowly, half-turn by half-turn of a screw. A noise threatens to escape his lips before he presses them tightly together, managing to roll onto his back.

He's on his side—or he was on his side. There's a soft rustle and a weight that indicates a covering of some kind. Blankets. He's in a bed. A bed he doesn't recognize in his state of delirium. The pain becomes enough of a dull roar that he can move his head, looking around at a blurred and darkened room. The barest sliver of light comes from a window just off to the side, behind his head, exposing the dark red of the covers slathered across his body. It stretches away into the darkness as though it were an ocean of blood, a tug of renewed pain reinforcing that as his neck cries out for release. Already exhausted, he lets his head flop back down onto the pillow—pillow, right, that's what it is.

He closes his eyes. It isn't often that he has nightmares as visceral and violent as this. To his—shame? Relief? He doesn't know anymore—it's been so long that he doesn't quite remember what he's supposed to do about it.

Behind his eyes flash aftershocks of his own screams of pain, his own bitten whimpers and whines as pain explodes along his body. He flinches away from the memories on instinct and the blood-red covers jostle with him. He remembers the darkness, the too-bright light, the pain, the waiting, and the voice.

The voice, taking observations and notes in a clinical, detached tone, ready to aim the next caustic remark to paint black and blue and purple across his fragile skin.

He knows it's probably a bad thing, to have nightmares about his fellow Sides. He knows it's probably not healthy, indicative of much larger problems between them—and for Thomas. He knows the best thing to do is probably to talk about them with the Sides in question so they can move forward together.

But bruises ache in a way that not many other injuries are capable of, and Roman has always, always been so, so sensitive.

He sees one last terrifying glimpse of Logan's face, a twisted curiosity pinned to him as though he were a bug to be displayed, and turns the idea away. He won't give it any sort of excuse to come true.

***

"No, no, no, we're not going over this again."

"On the contrary," Logan sighs as Virgil groans, slumping against the railing, "it seems that is exactly what we're going to do."

Janus rolls his eyes and examines the tops of his gloves, brushing away imaginary specks of dirt. "I don't understand what the hold-up is here, Patton, it's not as though we don't have endless possibilities for what we can watch for movie night."

"I'm just saying we can do better than getting them illegally! Thomas has access to streaming services, we can just ask one of his friends for their password—"

"Password sharing?" Janus mock gasps, holding his hand over his mouth. "Patton, didn't you know that's also illegal? The streaming services don't want you to do that! They want you to have your own account!"

"But that doesn't make any sense!"

"That's his point, Pop Star."

"But by all means, Patton," Janus continues, adopting a sickly-sweet tone that quickly morphs into one of disdain the longer he keeps speaking, "if you'd prefer to get the movies legally like a good little servant of this capitalist hellscape and contribute to the erasing of public ownership of storytelling by allowing corporations to scam us by 'selling' us copies of media that we can never actually permanently have, then by all means, let's keep looking."

There's a pause. Then Patton snorts. Soon everyone's laughing at the sheer ridiculousness—and accuracy—of Janus's little monologue. He holds his hands up. "Alright, you've convinced me."

"Thank you." Janus preens a little. "I always did think there was more validity in such arguments once you add just a little bit of flavor."

"Okay, if that's what you call a little bit of flavor, I'm never coming over for dinner again."

"Why, Virgil—"

"Nope." Virgil holds up a finger. "'Cause, see, I always thought it was weird that we went through spices so quickly over there when the ones in this kitchen have lasted for months—"

"I'm not sure Remus is entirely free of blame in this case," Logan remarks wryly, "in any case, thank you, Janus and Patton, for coming to an agreement. Now that it's all settled, shall we proceed with movie night as planned?"

"Works for me!"

"Yeah, I'm all set now."

Janus simply waves his hand in an 'of course' gesture. Logan glances around. "Alright, then—and Roman? You're all settled?"

He sees Patton and Janus visibly jerk, as though they'd forgotten he was there. He smiles a little weakly from his corner. "Yeah. I'm all good."

"Okay, I'm gonna admit something I really didn't think was possible," Virgil mumbles, fiddling with his hoodie strings, "but I genuinely forgot Princey was here and was just about to ask L what he was talking about."

"Gosh, I think I did too! I'm so sorry, kiddo, I didn't mean to!"

"It's okay."

"You better watch out, Princey," Virgil laughs, "pretty sure J's gunning for your spot as Thomas's theater kid Side with monologues like that."

Roman forces himself to laugh with everyone else—well, almost everyone. Remus shoots him a concerned look that he only nods back to, I'm fine, it's okay, as a bruise blooms warmly along the underside of his ribs. Thankfully, his little exhale disguises himself as part of the laugh as Janus starts preening again. Still, the words linger over his skin as they settle in for movie night, wriggling their way up from his stomach to the tip of his tongue.

During a loud part of the movie, he turns to whisper to Janus. "Hey."

"Hey," Janus whispers back, "you doing okay? You need us to turn it down?"

"What? No, far be it from me to keep you from enjoying something. I was just—I was just thinking. I have a proposition for you."

"Oh?"

"Did you, um, do you have any interest in learning how to fence?"

Janus fully turns to look at him, surprise painted in the many colors from the screen. "Really?"

"Yeah, I think you'd—"

"You know how to fence?"

A smaller bruise, colored mostly by the surprise, but a bruise nonetheless as Roman makes himself hold the smile. "Yeah, I know how to fence. I think you'd enjoy it."

"Yeah, yes, Roman, I think I'd like that very much." Janus blinks, surprise settling into something more akin to excitement. "I'm—well, I'm grateful you've finally noticed me as someone worth spending time with."

It's a tease, it must be, and yet the bruises ache no less at the implications. "What can I say, I need to make sure Thomas's theater kid Side knows everything."

Janus takes it as a joke. He usually does when it comes to things like this, which is why Roman knows he can get away with it right now. While Janus is distracted, high on the energy of winning the argument and the general daze that comes from being invested in a good movie with friends. Where he doesn't have time to realize that this isn't a lie, it's the truth, and if he uncovers that then this has a lot smaller chance of this actually working.

But Janus doesn't notice. And Roman can breathe a sigh of relief when no more bruises blossom across his aching chest.

***

The scales tip further and further to one side. The Imagination responds, growing wilder and crueler as the woods thicken and the rivers deepen. The skies grow darker, the wind colder. In the center of an old castle ruin, a garden that has lain untouched for years begins to wither. A single rose petal flutters to the ground.

***

He's grateful for the excuse of training Janus how to fence. That way, he has a reason to wince and smile sheepishly when the bruises covering him reassert themselves. Then again, as with most things that work in Roman's favor, it's a double-edged sword. Wow, Janus must be improving quite a bit, then! He's getting good enough to put you on your ass already, Princey? It's a good thing you've found a sparring partner that challenges you, then. Can't wait to fight, Snakey!

And then new bruises will spring up and the cycle will begin anew.

Janus is, in all honesty, quite an excellent sparring partner. His movements are fluid, graceful, no doubt in part due to his snake-like traits, and he internalizes the key lesson Roman teaches him on their very first day. It doesn't matter how quickly you get somewhere so long as you arrive at the right time. Slow is steady. Steady is smooth. Smooth is fast.

"I'm curious," Janus asks once day while they're taking a break, sipping from a water bottle and eyeing Roman over the top, "why fencing?"

"What, am I not fulfilling all the stereotypes as you wished?"

"Most knights don't fence, not all swordplays are alike." Roman waggles his eyebrows and Janus rolls his eyes, smacking his shoulder. "That's not what I meant. You grow more like Remus everyday."

He's grateful that his entire body is covered when a light smattering of purple decorates the insides of both of his arms. "I like fencing. It's all about timing."

"You mentioned."

"I don't know, I think—you know, like with most stories. It's all about getting the pacing right. You can't rush into the narrative, you can't force the plot, it has to sort of…happen on its own. Your job as the storyteller is to make sure the pace is right so the story has the most impact."

Janus's eyebrows raise higher and higher the longer Roman keeps talking. "Careful, there, you're getting dangerously close to being insightful."

"Hey! I'm a storyteller, shouldn't I know my own craft?"

"I suppose so."

"You suppose—what is that supposed to mean? Oh, shut up," he grumbles when Janus makes a smug expression, "I'm not falling for that again."

"I believe you already did, dear prince."

"Don't call me that."

"Whatever His Highness commands."

Roman rolls his eyes and turns around to hide the flicker of genuine hurt behind putting his water bottle down. "Come on, then. If you've got enough energy to bully me with words you can do it on the mats."

"You'll make me think you like being pushed around."

"Believe me," Roman says darkly, "you have no idea what a glutton for punishment I'm turning into."

***

"Hey, Remus?"

Remus pokes his head out from the massive gorgon corpse he's butchering, draped in all sorts of gore with a manic grin on his face. Virgil mumbles a quiet sure, why not as Logan adjusts his glasses. "Friends!"

"Hello, Remus," Logan greets, "we were wondering if we could have a moment of your time."

"Sure. Gimme just a sec to finish up with this thing and I'll be right with you."

"Is there, uh, somewhere we can wait that's less…entrail-y?"

"Go over the hill to the back, that's where the big shed is. I'll be in there in just a moment." There's the whirring of some sort of machinery that no one quite has the patience—or stomach—to name as a spray of something wet and squelchy-sounding hits the ground on the other side of the carcass. Virgil and Logan glance at each other before making a strategic and somewhat hasty retreat to the shed.

True to his word, Remus shows up a few minutes later, wiping the remains of something off of his hands with a rag he tosses into a wash barrel on the porch before coming inside.

"My two favorite Left Brain Boys, how can I help you today?"

"We've come about Roman."

Remus sobers immediately. He runs a hand through his hair and pulls a stool closer, sitting down and immediately tapping his fingers against his thighs. "What is it about him?"

"He's been bad," Virgil blurts out, hands bunched in his hoodie pockets, "like…really bad. Worse than normal bad."

"I got that much."

"He's been distant during brainstorming," Logan says quietly, "and I'm not sure—I do not know enough about it to understand what I can do to help."

"He won't talk to me about anything that isn't meeting or food related anymore. I can't even get him to complain about stupid plot twists that don't make any sense."

"He's stopped writing in his notebooks, at least where the rest of us can see."

"He's not even singing as much anymore, Remus, it's bad."

"I know." Remus's quiet admission startles them into silence. He's still tapping out a frantic rhythm, eyes darting from beaker to chart to specimen as the silence grows fuzzier and fuzzier. The wind whistles through the holes in the shutters. "Believe me, I know."

"My apologies," Logan says after a moment, "we didn't consider—at least I didn't consider that you would know Roman better than we would."

"No, no, I didn't—fuck, shit, sorry, Remus."

"You guys don't have to apologize to me. Ro's—Ro's not having a good time right now, yeah. And I'm…not helping."

"What do you mean, you're not helping? You're always there for Princey."

"Yeah, but not—okay, shit, look, I'm actually—I need to check with Roman before having this conversation."

"What? Why? Is there something wrong that we shouldn't know about?"

"It's just—to explain why—you know what? No. We're gonna do the short version of this conversation where you guys ask me questions and I tell you what I can. I'll talk to Roman later."

"We don't mean any harm," Logan starts to say, but Remus waves him off.

"I know. It's not about that. It's about me making sure I don't fuck up Ro's boundaries."

"I get that." Virgil shuffles a bit on his stool. "So can we—can we ask you stuff now?"

"Go ahead."

"Princey's been off ever since the wedding. Is—is that accurate to say?"

"Yeah."

"And it seems like it's not—like, it sort of seems like it's getting better, but it's not, not really. He's still been really down and upset and it's—it's getting really hard to like, talk to him about things. I'm just—is there something else we don't know about Roman that's making this harder?"

"Yes."

"Are you…gonna tell us what it is?"

"No."

"Okay, I guess that's fair."

"Would I be correct to say," Logan asks, "that Roman's struggles are related both to the wedding and to additional factors?"

"Yeah."

"Would it be accurate to say there is something unique about Roman that makes this situation significantly worse?"

The corner of Remus's mouth twitches. "No."

"Amended question: is there something unique about both yours and Roman's relationship to the Imagination, the Mindscape, and Thomas himself that makes this situation significantly worse?"

"Where the fuck are we, in court again?"

"Do you see why Janny didn't want Logan to be part of it if he was gonna win?"

"Answer the question, please, Remus."

"Yeah, Lolo. You're right. And we're not in a court room, which means I'm not bound by any of those stupid fucking rules and I will tell you that you're walking a dangerous line over there."

"Forgive me. I'm not trying to pry into Roman's business—okay, I'm not just trying to pry," he amends hastily when Remus glares at him, "I want to help. But I need to understand in order to help."

Remus sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I know you guys want to help. But Ro…fuck, okay, this is the only piece of info you're getting from me about this that isn't gonna be just an instruction on what to do, but Roman…Roman really isn't good about letting people help him."

"Why?"

"He lets you help him."

"I'm his brother. I'm exempt and can make him let me take care of him."

Logan looks like he wants to argue for another second before he makes himself take a deep breath and adjust his glasses. "Thank you for telling us, Remus. How…how can we help?"

***

"It's getting worse." Patton confides in a whisper as Janus leans into his side. "I don't know what to do."

"There's not much we can do if Roman doesn't let us."

The irony of this conversation is not lost on either of them, not when the expression Roman wore when they glimpsed him all but fleeing back to his room is still in the forefront of their minds. They'd tried everything Remus had suggested, all of it: letting Roman have a say in what they watched for movie night, what they had for dinner, what they talked about when they all hung out in the living room just for the sake of it. They'd tried asking about his projects, expressing enthusiasm for things they didn't love for themselves but they loved because Roman loved them, even just asking Roman if he was okay, if he needed anything.

And Roman just kept falling further and further away from them.

"I don't know what to do," Patton confesses, prompting Janus to reach up and card a hand through his hair, "Roman's so quiet now, he's so small, he's not—Roman's not supposed to be small."

"He isn't," Janus agrees, "he's supposed to be our larger-than-life prince. I don't…I don't know how to fix this."

"If I'd known that it was going to be this bad, that the wedding would cause something like this to happen—"

"Don't play the 'what if' game, Patton, it never ends well. It's not—" Janus sighs— "believe me, as someone who's spent too long wallowing in the guilt of how badly my actions have hurt others when I truly didn't intend them to, it's not worth it."

"But I don't know what else to do! Roman's hurting, Janus, and I don't know how to fix it! I'm supposed to know how to fix it, we all have to take care of each other, and Roman's not—he's not letting us!"

"I know," Janus whispers, pulling him closer, "I know."

"What do we do?"

"The only thing we can do is keep trying and hope that Roman realizes how badly we want to see him alright again."

So they do. They try, and they try quite desperately to make sure Roman knows how much he is loved and how they care for his happiness. Roman, their wonderful vibrant prince who is greyer than any can remember him being. Roman, their songbird who hasn't sung a single note in weeks. Roman, who once could light up a room simply by appearing within it who has relegated himself to silent corners where their eyes long to skip over him. They don't know what to do. Roman is fading right in front of their eyes and nothing they do seems to have any effect on it whatsoever.

Remus is getting worse. He's more frantic, more hyper, more exaggerated. His ideas grow more and more frenetic, his experiments wilder and less restrained. The Imagination grows dangerous and chaotic as rules break and remake themselves over and over. The doors are soon locked and barred lest something try and escape and only the brothers can safely enter its depths without fear of getting lost in the storm. Remus tries to keep himself contained there, just because there is so much energy brimming within him that it would be catastrophic should it leak into the Mindscape proper, but Roman…

They're losing Roman.

Desperation makes fools of us all.

They have a meeting. They ask Roman what's going on. They try to be gentle. They try to tell Roman how much they care. They try to show that it's all coming from a place of love.

And Roman, their precious, lovely, wonderful, incredible Roman, collapses into a heap of tears.

***

The break comes. It's horrifying, tragic, and so very beautiful. The scales are upended, one side swinging wildly towards the heavens as the other shatters free from one of the links holding it aloft. The Imagination screams.

***

"Please—please—just tell me what you want, I can't do this anymore, I can't—I can't—" Roman's hands tangle in his hair and pull— "don't do this to me, I'll never—I can't—don't fucking do this!"

"Ro, Ro, you gotta calm down—"

Roman flinches away from Remus's touch, even as the others back up to give the brothers more space. His sobs run his breathing ragged, each inhale more pained than the last as they echo around and around the room. Remus swallows and reaches out again, carefully prying Roman's white-knuckled grip free.

"Ro-bro, it's me. It's just me. You know I'll never hurt you, right?"

"I don't understand, Re—"

"Shh, shh, hang on, breathe first. Don't try and speak, it's gonna be okay."

Sobs choke themselves free from Roman's lips as Remus coaxes him forward, wrapping his arms tightly around his waist and pulling him nearly into his lap. He sets Roman's head in the crook of his neck and keeps murmuring reassurances, stroking his hands up and down his brother's spine.

"Remus—"

"I'm right here, Roro. Don't you fall away from me, not again."

"I can't do this—"

"You can. You have to, Ro, I can't—I can't hold all of this by myself, you know I can't. Come on, just breathe with me, okay? I'm right here, I'm not going anywhere and neither are you. You're gonna stay right here, with me, and we're both just gonna breathe and let this even itself out." For indeed, Remus is trembling too from the force it's taking to restrain his nails from digging into Roman's back. Even now, there is too much energy thrumming inside him, two vessels forced together and it's not sustainable, none of this is. "I'm right here, Ro, you gotta let me be here for you."

"It hurts, Remus," comes the whisper against his neck, "it hurts so much and I don't know how to make it stop."

"I know, Roro, I know."

"I can't do this anymore. It's too—I can't. I just can't."

"You need to let us help you, Ro. I know, I know," he says, quickly hushing Roman when he cries out in pain again, "I know, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

"I can't!"

"I won't let them hurt you, not again. I promise." He tightens his grip. "Just—just hold on for me, okay?"

"I'm so scared, Re. I'm so scared."

"I know. Me too."

The two of them stay like that for a long, long time. Long enough for the room to grow cold as the sun goes down, long enough for them to start to shiver from having expended so much energy just to stay in each other's arms.

"Here," Logan says softly, so softly so as not to startle them, "I have a blanket for you."

"Thanks, Lolo."

"Of course."

Roman eyes him warily as he approaches, blanket held out unfolded between the two of them like a peace offering. Logan offers him the gentlest of smiles and drapes it over them. He retreats to a safe distance where the rest of them are, still watching, still waiting.

"You stayed," he croaks, throat weary from overuse.

"Of course we did, kiddo," Patton murmurs, "we were so worried."

"We wanna make sure everything's okay, Princey," Virgil agrees, slumping down a little to make himself seem like a smaller target, "that's all."

Janus, scales glimmering from his bare hands, wordlessly holds up another blanket.

It takes another long pause for Roman to nod, but he does nod, and perhaps that makes all the difference.

***

"Come in, please," Logan says, smiling when Roman shyly knocks on his door. He steps aside so Roman can shuffle through. "Sit wherever you'd like."

"Even on your bed?"

"Even on my bed."

Roman looks at it, clearly tempted, before he decides to only partially push his look and sit on the floor, his back against the bed. Logan just chuckles and comes to sit next to him, getting comfortable before holding out his hand.

"It's not a trick," he says when Roman just looks at it, "will you let me hold your hand?"

"Why?"

"I'd like to." When that just gets him another look, he lets out a small sigh. "I'm…concerned that in my failure to realize how much you were struggling, I've cultivated a relationship between the two of us that is a great deal more adversarial than it needs to be. I'd like to amend that by offering you comfort, both emotional and physical. So…I'd like to hold your hand."

"…oh."

"But if that's something you're not comfortable with yet, I understand."

"N-no, I didn't—I didn't mean—" Roman splutters for another second before he puts his hand in Logan's—well, he more lets it flop in his direction like Logan might take it back if he lets it go for too long.

"Thank you, Roman." He covers it with his other one and pulls it into his lap to cradle it gently, raising an eyebrow at Roman's noise of surprise. "What?"

"I, um…didn't know that's what you meant."

"Is this alright?"

"U-um…yeah. Yeah, it's…it's okay."

"I'm glad." His thumb strokes soothingly over Roman's still-trembling knuckles. "Can I ask you something?"

"Aside from that?"

"Yes."

"Sure."

"Are you…is it possible that you're touch-starved, Roman? Shh, shh, easy," he soothes when Roman tenses immediately, "my apologies, I didn't mean to frighten you."

"I—um—I don't—"

"No tricks, Roman, I promise. I'm only asking because I want to help. Here: is it easier to just nod or shake your head?" Roman nods. "Alright. Can…are you?"

He nods again, his mouth twisting up to hold back a sob. Logan quickly squeezes his hand, still stroking over his knuckles.

"Thank you for telling me, though I am sorry to hear it. If…if it's alright with you—and please know you can say no or shake your head and I won't bring it up again—may I help?"

He likes to think that the work they've put in to making it easier to spend time together without it feeling like a fight or an interrogation is what makes Roman nod. He's unable to keep the grateful smile from spreading across his features, nor the way he scoots a little bit closer so their sides press together.

"Thank you."

They sit together like that for a long while. Long enough for Logan to start running his fingers up and down Roman's arm, long enough for him to squeeze his hand when Roman's grip shivers and shudders, long enough for Roman's head to drop onto his shoulder, breathing heavily.

"That's it," he whispers, turning his head so his nose brushes Roman's hair, "you're doing so well. It's alright. Is this still okay?"

Roman nods.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he can't help himself from asking, "I would've helped, I would've done this earlier."

"…I was scared."

It's not a surprise to hear, not truly, but Logan can't stop the slight pang of hurt. Quickly, he moves past it; Roman has been so terrified of asking for help for so long, he will not give him the opportunity to be further hurt by this. Instead, he carefully lifts Roman's hand to his lips and presses the smallest kiss to his knuckle.

"What were you scared of, little one?"

Patton had always warned him about asking questions, said at some point he might learn something he wished he hadn't. This…is not one of those times, as he does not regret learning about Roman's terrifying nightmares, but he does…ache.

"If ever you need to be reassured that something like that will never happen," he manages, voice slightly hoarse with Roman's confession, "please, little one, let me know."

"I don't think it'll happen anymore."

"Perhaps not logically, but fear is rarely logical." Roman shifts, caught out, but Logan doesn't give him time to murmur an apology. "It's alright, I understand, and my promise stands."

"You mean it?"

"Of course I do, Roman."

***

"Go on," Roman whispers when Janus, Patton, and Virgil don't say anything for too long after he's explained himself, "just get it over with."

"May I hug you?"

His head snaps up. Janus is looking at him with that foreign soft expression again and he—he can't have heard that right.

"May I hug you," Janus asks again, holding out his arms, "please?"

"I—um—sure?"

Janus stands and hurries—hurries?—over to wrap Roman up in his arms, pressing a kiss to his temple and Roman is confused but Janus is warm and solid and there are more hands than he expected and he's—he's going to cry again, isn't he?

"You're gonna overwhelm him, J."

"Too late for that, I think," as Patton and Virgil come closer too, "oh, kiddo…I'm so sorry we didn't know about this sooner."

"I know that was on purpose, Princey, but…" He runs a hand through his hair. "Shit, I didn't—I didn't know we were—that you—fuck, I didn't know we'd fucked up that badly, I guess."

Roman glances at Patton, who looks so upset that he doesn't even call Virgil out on his language. "I didn't know how," he manages, just as Patton reaches up to brush a tear from his cheek.

"You shouldn't have had to go so far for us to notice, and that's on us."

"But I should've said something—"

"But you didn't to try to keep yourself safe," Janus interrupts, his own voice thick with tears.

"…yeah."

"Will you tell us, now?" Patton wraps an arm around the part of Roman's waist he can still reach. "If we do something that hurts you?"

"Don't feel like you have to promise something if you don't think you can," Virgil adds when Roman looks even more terrified at the thought, "just…know you can tell us, okay?"

"Okay."

"There's no replacing you, Roman," Janus says, leaving no room for argument, "not at all."

"Not even with your monologues?"

"Not even with my monologues."

"Can we hug you too, kiddo? Please?" Patton has to keep himself from beaming when Roman nods, quickly ducking over to wrap his arms around both him and Janus properly. "Oh, kiddo, I'm so sorry."

"Move over, Princey," Virgil teases gently when Roman tries to lean against the wall, "I'm the one who gets to cuddle you, not the wall. Hey, hey, shh, it's okay—c'mon, let's all be a puddle on the floor, okay?"

"I like floor puddle plan."

"Me too."

Roman is crying too hard to say he agrees, but he thinks the boneless way he slumps into the embrace is as good as anything else.

***

"Hey, Remus?" Roman whispers in the middle of the night as the rest of the Sides slumber around him, curled up on the massive mattress with fluffy blankets and soft pillows.

"Yeah?"

"You were right."

And because Remus is a good brother who loves Roman so very, very much, he doesn't even hold it over his head. He just smiles, leans over to bonk their foreheads together, and tells his brother to go the fuck to sleep.

***

A new chain holds the scales together, forged in longing and heartbreak and strife, borne of an old magic far more ephemeral than whimsy and fantasy. Tendrils of roses curl up the sides of a golden dish, affixing it to links of courage and loyalty. The Imagination heaves a sigh of relief. The sweet smell of petrichor wafts over the exhausted landscape.

The scales stand balanced once more.

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[rosezza]

࿐Let go of me

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

-r

Warnings — i wrote this at 4am yesterday so i apologize if its any spelling mistakes or just bad, dark!rafe, violence

His hands explored every part of your body. His cold hands sliding up and down your sides sent shivers down your spine and caused goospebumps on your arms.

Your lips crashed against eachothers over, and over, and over again. Getting more passionate as the seconds passed.

"Youre so pretty.." Rafes voice low and seductive as his hands kept caressing your smooth and soft skin.

You felt your breathing get heavier. But thats also the time you thought maybe this was too soon. Even tho Rafe was known for being a player and was most likely just using you now. You didnt feel comfortable. You had only been dating for 2 weeks.

You were known for your big ego and confidence, Nobody thought you would get with Rafe, and honestly. You didnt think you ever would either, but there was just something about Rafe that broke past that thin layer of confidence. You always felt so vulnerable around him. Even tho you tried to hide it.

"Rafe i dont- i dont know." You said quietly as you placed your hands on his chest. Pulling away from the kiss.

You sighed and you shook your head "Rafe im not ready for this yet. Im not." You said quietly as you looked to the side. Fidgeting with your own fingers. This whole situation feeling so akward for you.

His hands stopped caressing your body and he chuckled "What do you mean you dont know? Just let yourself go, yeah?" Rafe said with a smug look on his face.

"Oh stop being dramatic and kiss me again, y/n." Rafe said as he brought his hand up to your cheek. His thumb gently caressing your cheekbone. But you knew it was just to get you to give in.

You gently moved your hand to his. Moving his hand away and placing it down on the side of the bed. Rafes facial expression changed and you could see he got a little annoyed and dissapointed in you.

"Y/n you have got to be fucking kidding me. ou got me all worked up over nothing?" Rafe said with a hint of annoyance in his voice as he scoffed. you closed your eyes and frowned your eyebrows.

"Rafe dont talk like that" you said, your voice low. You felt a bit bad since you knew you had just turned him on, just to shut him out.

"Dont tell me how to talk, know your fucking place." Rafe said sternly and he moved his hand to your chin bit you pushed his hand away and began moving away from sitting ontop of him. But before you could move any further his strong hand gripped onto your wrist harshly. Your lips parted and you winced at the stinging pain coming from your wrist.

"ow—.. Rafe let go of me-" You winced with slight surprise in your voice. Even tho he had gotten mad and said some unpleasant things he had never gotten physical. Or- atleast not the 2 weeks you had been with him.

"You dont fucking move unless i tell you to move, get it?" Rafe sneered as he sat up straight while your legs were still straddling his hips, his cold eyes meeting yours. Rafes grip tightened as he waited for an answer from you. You pushed your lips together to a small line while you tried to pull away

"Let go of me-" You continued. Not giving him a satisfied answer. Which only fueled his fire even more. In a swift move he gripped onto both your wrists, flipping you to the side before moving himself ontop of you. Pushing your wrists down at the sides of your head as his eyes stared you down. Not giving you a chance to escape without him moving.

You had never been treated this way with him. And it scared you. Even tho you had been warned about him you thought it would be different. How stupid of you.

"Answer me." His voice cold. He was so different then he was 3 minutes ago. It was like a switch inside him had turned on. You locked eyes with him. Your fearful eyes meeting his cold and narrowed ones as he pinned you down.

His grip hurt your wrists, more then he probably thought it did. Your lower lip quivering ever so slightly, not only because of the pain but because of the fear. Not knowing what got into him or why he was acting this way.

Rafe let out a sigh of frustration when you didnt answer. You were lost in your own thoughts. why was he like this? why was he hurting you?

Rafe imediately let go of your wrists when you answered his question. His eyes stayed locked on yours. Waiting for a reaction from you.

"Fucking answer me Y/n!" Rafe yelled as he tightened his grip 2 times more then he already was. You whined out in pain as your wrists began turning red at where he was gripping you. "Yes!-.. yes i get it! I get it let go of me!-.." You whined as you felt your eyes tear up because of the pain and his yelling.

You didnt like him just staring at you like that. Your wrists began aching as the pressure was gone. You couldnt help it anymore. You didnt even know you were this sensitive as your throat tightened and light sobs came out from you.

Tears ran down your face and you moved your head to the side to hide your face from Rafe who was hovering over you. Rafe sighed as he heard you cry. The one girl who was always so 'tough' was crying underneath him. He sighed.

"Fuck Y/n. Im sorry, im sorry." Rafe said with a relaxed voice. He was probably not sorry. He just didnt want you to leave him. His hands moved to your wrists again. But this time he held onto them gently as his thumbs began massaging your weak and red wrists. You flinched at first but you relaxed when you realised he was only massaging you.

You closed your eyes and you sniffled, attempting to suck it up and stop crying. Rafe moved closer to you. His hot breath against your skin. "Sh sh sh.." he whispered as he placed a gentle and soft kiss on your neck before laying down besides you. His hands gently leaving your hands and sliding down to wrap around your waist. Pulling you closer and into his body as he kissed your neck a few times more before nuzzling his head into the crook of your neck.

You kept your eyes closed and you stared into the corner of the room. Looking back at everything that had happened. You sniffled again as you felt Rafes hot breath against your neck.

You moved your hand up to your mouth. Biting on your nails to keep you distracted. All of this felt wierd and just so off.

Rafes breathing became more slow and heavier. His grip around your waist loosened a little. He was falling asleep. You began feeling tired aswell as you heard his quiet snores. You finally closed your eyes. Falling asleep and leaving all of this behind you.

Taglist: @necroflame ♡

[moirindeclermont]

Happy Sunday!! Today prompts for my Polin Kinktober are Dirty Talking and Dacryphilia (which is a form of paraphilia in which one is aroused by tears or sobbing - this story is my version of that k!nk) also, there is going to be some exploration of body image issues, so if you're sensitive to that, keep that in mind. This is also more modern!au than regency.

Colin knew he had to stage an intervention.

He left Pen for a round of shopping and she come back almost in tears, not having found anything. Or to be precise, she did find plenty of stuff, but no one had her size. Which was also Colin experience, sometimes, being so tall, but it seems it weight on her a lot.

Which is why he staged that intervention. He don't have the pretence it would fix her problems, but maybe it will help her a bit.

His resolve straightened when he noticed she didn't ask him to follow in the showers as usual.

So, he did wait in their bedroom, already naked, for her to arrive.

She looked like a siren or a goddess, as she walked almost naked in their space.

She looked at him and smiled, knowing why he was here.

"How did you know I needed some of your reassurances?"

He smiled back, inviting her into the bed. "I know you sweetheart and how hard you are working on loving your body."

He did know. Hours and hours of therapy.

"I also know sometimes it is normal to have a little bit of a down. I want to help."

Pen caressed his cheek. "You been here helps, more than anything in the world. But yeah, proceed with your intervention."

She chuckled as she was kissing him.

"Lie down love and open the towel for me, please," he said, whispering against her ear.

She trembled a bit but she listened to him, her gorgeous body unveiled for him and him only.

Intervention was just a name he gave to this: he would undress Pen and calling her all the beautiful things she deserved until she was crying - the emotional release she needed after the physical one.

Colin loved to be able to do this for her, her tears and sob not because she was feeling ugly, but because his words and action made her feel beautiful and cherished.

He started by straddled her, caressing her cheek again.

"There is nothing I love more than losing myself in the splendor that are your eyes. They shine so bright when I'm near you. They become almost black when I do something you like. Your lips too are sinful just to look at, as I want them all over my body. Your tongue is a s devilish as the rest, making me feeling so good."

He accentuated each word with a soft touch on said parts that made her gasp and tremble slightly.

He kissed her again, deeply, before moving down.

"I don't think the poets have yet thought of a word good enough to describe what I feel when I can see your lovely neck on display," he stopped to give a light bite to said neck, making her giggle, "and you know that your breasts are my religion. I have never seen something so transcendental. Full and round, and the way the flesh spills when I squeeze them," he said, squeezing them, "if I could I would make you forsake every bra, so I would just access to these beauties every single time."

He paused to give each breast a kiss and a light suck on the nipple, making her moan.

"You waist and your tummy. I know how you feel about them, but I love every roll and every stretch mark. So good under my hands, it makes me want to kneel in worship," he whispered, squeezing and touching, while his tongue followed some of her stretch marks. Pen was looking at him, her eyes shining with unshed tear as he went down.

"The curve of your stomach that dips into your mound. I dream about that curve. If I was good at math, I would find its equation, because somehow I can grab it as it was made just for me," he added, demonstrating his statement. He went on her hips and her thighs, a kidding where she was most sensitive for now.

"I tremble the first time I touched your thigh. This creamy expanse of skin and muscle and, yes, fat... Because it's not a bad word, I love how you squeeze me when I put my cock there."

And then, her ass "you don't know how many times I almost fall, just walking, because I was lost looking at your fantastic ass moving." He confessed, hearing her laugh softly.

"And this pussy," he said opening her legs wider "this pussy is my religion. Your auburn curls glistening with arousal at my words, the way your vagina clutch and stretch around my cock. Your clit, the source of your pleasure. My altar on which I give myself to you." He put one finger on her slit, finding her wet.

"I love eating you while my hands find every dip and curve of your body," and then he did just so, teasing her with tongue and mouth as his hands went to touch her hips and waist, her stomach and her thighs, all the places he most loved.

"Fùck, Pen... I need you," he said breathless and as she nodded, he align himself, entering slowly.

"The way you accept me inside you," he said before starting thrusting, "so wet and warm, it's like you were made for me."

He lift her legs and put them on his shoulder, chasing the right angle.

Pen was sobbing by now, he left her tears untouched as she was watching him, moaning her pleasure. "Pen, my love. You are everything I always dreamed and more," he said as tears were falling on his face too. He didn't care. She was more important.

They released almost at the same time, Colin slightly before Pen, as if his orgasm triggered hers as well.

Only then he moved, kissing her again and tasting their tears combined. It was always so emotional for both of them, when they did it like this, but as they cuddled and whispering love words to each other, they had not a care on the world.

Colin did make Pen laugh the next morning: he sad he would start a sewing course, so he could make her dresses she liked.

[chiscribbs]

Apocalypse Future Donnie Concepts

I wasn't actually planning on posting these until I had a definitive final design to share alongside them, but- It's probably going to be a while before that happens and I feel bad for how inactive this blog has been lately. I've been working on stuff, but only in-between projects, and none of it is really ready to post. So, here's a little something to prove that I am still alive. ❤

Donnie's design is so hard to update. It's just...so good in its simplicity??? Every element feels necessary to his character - so figuring out what to keep, what to get rid of, and what to change slightly is a definite challenge. It's even harder when we're given so little (canonical) information about what role he played in the Resistance and what effects the Krang Apocalypse may have had on him...including how long ago he was killed in relation to the movie. Or how he was killed, for that matter.

So, I'm playing around with some potential ideas and trying to get something that feels right - feels like Donnie, but if he had to adapt to the apocalypse (while also trying to stick to the show's simplistic, shape-heavy style, so nothing too terribly detailed or complex.) I'll share a few of these ideas below, for anyone who's interested.

(Also, yes - I know the spot-goatee is in no way an original concept, but I have a deep affection for it and had to include it in my design.)

One of the concepts I'm considering is giving Donnie a prosthetic leg, something to sort of parallel Leo with his Robo-Raph arm. But in Donnie's case, he probably lost his leg long before Raph was killed or maybe even before he built the robots of his family (maybe this serves as the inspiration or catalyst for the idea.) My working theory is that he was attempting to detonate a mine field full of some Krang dogs and something went wrong which caused him to get caught up in the resulting blast. He was lucky enough to keep his life, but lost his leg and probably some of his hearing in the process. Naturally, because it's Donnie (and because they're living through an apocalypse), the leg will be more than just a prosthetic limb - it'll have some kind of weaponry or technological capabilities built into it. Just haven't decided what that's going to be yet, lol.

I'm also toying with the idea of him creating some kind of "Ninpo Protection Device" - something to act as a defense mechanism against the Krang's mystic-cancelling (or, more accurately, locking) abilities. He's testing it on himself before green-lighting it to be used on his brothers (which, obviously, never happens.) The problem is I can't decide how to visibly convey this idea, I was thinking something along the lines of one of those medical aid devices that become permanent attachments to the user's body. But most of the visible parts of his body are covered in natural armor, save for his limbs and head. So figuring out the best placement for a thing like that has been a little challenging.

I was considering giving him a mechanical hand along with/in place of the robotic leg, as well. Reason being - he works primarily with his hands and almost never wears practical protection gear (another thing I tried to partially remedy with the addition of the gloves), so if any part of him is going to be lost, his hands would be the logical first choice. I also think there's a poetic element to the guy who relies on his tech becoming more and more "mechanical" himself (but only in the physical sense). It would also imply that there was a time when he couldn't work as efficiently on his own as he normally is able to, due to having one less hand, so there was likely an adjustment period wherein he had to lean into his mystic abilities (and the aid of others around him) far more than he's used to doing. A little background character development for him, because I love that kind of stuff.

These are about all of the definitive concepts I have for him at the moment, but obviously, I'm nowhere near having a finished design just yet. So, all of these could potentially be scrapped or tweaked in the final version.

If you read this far - kudos! And thanks for your interest! :>

[datesinredink]

Yan turtles (rottmnt) with an m/c that’s allergic to reptiles/turtles? Idk I just think it would be funny (not Donnie trying to get m/c into getting injections to help the allergy-)

ANON I AM SO SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG BCIRBIFUNUIEH

Super duper sorry i ended up procrastinating really hard and i guess god took issue with that because he struck me down with multiple QAs and a Feelings crisis but the tests are over and I finally managed to sit down and finish Raph's part- seriously i struggled with him and mikey a lot but i guess it was kinda worth it in the end because Raph has an entire 110 more words to his part than the other three- hopefully it makes up for my lack of knowledge of his character. Enjoy!

Donnie

“My inspiration for this device was simplicity-”

Yeah you’re getting a hazmat suit until your allergies either magically disappear or he figures out some other solution

You’ll probably have to do a lot of tests, including possibly a blood draw but I’m no medical expert- since I headcanon Leo to be the medic he’ll probably end up helping too

After he finally puts the pieces together, he’ll start working with Leo to engineer a medicine to help suppress your allergic reaction, and maybe even be able to get rid of it entirely

Also anon you’re very right, you may be subjected to becoming the human pincushion of allergy shots while he figures it out. It’s safe. No it won’t kill you. Yes he made sure. Just, uh, maybe don’t ask your best friend their opinion on needles for a while….

In the meantime, he completely hates the current situation. He finally meets someone that he’s (mostly) fine with touching him, and they CAN’T TOUCH HIM without a HAZMAT SUIT. Just the worst. Awful times.

Normally, he’d have you around almost always, but, unfortunately, that’s currently not ideal.

Starts trying to keep things extra clean around the lair for you. Also everything that can be sanitized is sanitized. Good luck in the cleanliness prison after you get kidnapped later on.

The best about keeping distance, since he already wasn't super touchy before this whole situation. While he might tap you on the arm or something once or twice, it's nothing serious and you won't have a problem with him on that front.

Going back to the hazmat suit real quick, while it does do its job well, it's definitely not the most comfortable thing to wear, and you'll probably end up getting too hot pretty quick, so chances are you won't willingly be wearing it all too often. Donnie may occasionally force you to wear it, but otherwise you (usually) just... don't have to.

Leo

He’s the one who finds out you’re allergic. It was an accident he SWEARS. He only wanted to give you a pat on the arm when April first introduced you to them! How could he have known you’d get hives where he touched you?

At least he knows how to treat it. He managed to guide April through treating it, after which he sulked while rereading some Jupiter Jim comics.

Has a personal grudge against your immune system for daring to make you allergic to him. How dare your cells get mad about him.

When Donnie tells him that he might have “a fix, bro”, Leo jumps at the opportunity- oh thank god, he can finally hug you!

…Doesn’t mean he’s not super bad at focusing on actually working on it. Don’t worry, he’ll fix it eventually, just have a little patience.

Honestly, this is your chance to BOOK IT away from them, because none of them are as clingy as they will be after your allergies are cured/suppressed, which gives you more time to leave New York before things go from bad to worse.

Anyway, Leo’s about as clingy as he can be without physically clinging onto you for hours on end. Constantly hanging around you, like a ghost haunting their killer, except you’re not the one who kills people.

He might end up using your allergy to try and manipulate you away from his brothers. Mikey keeps forgetting to keep distance, Donnie’s suffocating and makes you wear a hazmat suit, and Raph almost treats you like a sopping wet cat that he has to take care of, so why not just stay with him? 

As much as he likes to criticize Mikey for forgetting, sometimes, particularly early on, he gets a little too close, and your allergies flare up, and while he does genuinely feel kinda bad, he will exaggerate his remorse for sympathy from you. He genuinely does try and apologize for it later, and he probably portals you two somewhere nice and gets you a couple of trinkets you like or find useful.

Mikey

Absolutely heartbroken!

His love is allergic to him! This is awful!

2nd most panicked when they first find out. Is their new friend ok? Did they mess up?

If you have a low tolerance for pain/allergic reaction symptoms and cry a little he probably will too. High empathy, man…

He’s really understanding after everything’s resolved and they figure out you’re allergic to them. He tries his best to keep a fair amount of distance between you and him, but he tends to naturally be physically affectionate, so there may be a slight adjustment period. He really doesn’t mean harm though.

He occasionally tries to bring you something from the mystic city that he thinks would be safe- a small figurine, maybe a sketchbook if you also like doing art, if he manages to bargain for/steal a piece of jewelry, he’ll also give that to you.

As I mentioned before, Mikey’s pretty big on physical touch, but since that’s off limits (for now) he’ll try to show you affection in any other way he can think of

Mostly quality time. He likes to take you with him when he explores through the sewers/city to spraypaint a couple of blank walls, and he’ll probably get you to try it too, and regardless of your skill level he’ll tell you it’s great

After Donnie and Leo finish making the cure, Mikey squeezes the LIFE out of you- he doesn’t mean to practically strangle you, but he’s fairly strong and he got excited, so he does feel a little bad afterwards.

Will decorate the hazmat suit Donnie gave you if you let him. He'll put stickers on it that match his and draw fun patterns that may or may not relate to him in some way. Maybe the spots he has, or the face on his knee pads. It's pretty endearing, even if his brothers may occasionally glare at him. In Mikey's opinion, if they're really that jealous, they should add something themselves.

Raph

And the award for most paranoid goes to….

Ok but really, he’s the most overbearing about it. This probably isn’t a surprise, but it’s still something I've gotta mention.

You don’t really have to worry about Donnie making you wear the hazmat suit- he gets it, not a fun sensory experience- other than a couple stand-out occasions, but you will have to convince Raph fairly often that you’ll be fine without it.

To be fair, it’s partially because he also forgets not to touch you sometimes, and while he’s better about it than Mikey and most of the time Leo, he’s also self-aware and protective enough that he’d rather be safe than sorry.

If you’re having an allergic reaction, he’ll either get Leo/Donnie/April to help you, or go find the hazmat suit Donnie made him a while ago when Splinter got sick and then help you himself

There’s a chance he might not do great though, as he’s not always the best under pressure and tends to panic when the people he loves are hurt or in some sort of extreme situation, especially when it comes to you (seriously, he treats you like a porcelain doll), but you can be reassured that he’ll do his absolute best to make you safe and comfortable.

Feels terrible after, pampers you a lot after the ordeal. Every time, not just the first few.

If he wasn’t the one who caused it, then he’s definitely pissed at whichever of his brothers made your allergies flare up. He won’t kill them, and he won’t lose it and drop kick them into tomorrow (yet. If they ever intentionally trigger your allergies he might snap some bones) but there will be a noticeable irritation and tension for at least the next few weeks between him and them.

He’s super excited after Donnie and Leo finish the allergy shots! I personally headcanon him to be the second touchiest of the brothers (Mikey being the most touchy, of course) so there’ll be a lot more casual touch between you two after. Hugs, headpats, you get the idea. If you try to tell him to stop, he’ll be very upset, though doing his best to understand, he will try to respect your wishes.. Before going right back to it after a week tops. Sometimes he genuinely does forget, after all, he does have a fair amount on his plate, but sometimes he does intentionally wait until he thinks he can get away with it again before jumping right back to how things were before. He’ll vehemently deny it, but no matter what happens, you’ll likely never really get him to stop for an extended period of time.