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tonycries · 4 months ago

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The Heir - G.S.

Synopsis. No, your clan leader husband won’t stop until he gives you an heir. No, you don’t think you’ll make it out alive.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, clan leader! Gojo, established relationship, he’s cray-cray (for you), bréeding - like a LOT, oral (fem receiving), unprotected, creampíe, marathon, séx, running from it, use of “my wife”, overstim, FÉRAL Satoru, absolutely heinous, mentions of kníves and bIood, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 5.3k

A/N. Guess what ya girlie is back with clan leader Gojo hehe.

An heir to the Gojo clan - no matter how small, how weak - could eradicate all three of the big clans before even being born. Much like their father.

You knew that. Satoru knew that. And, unfortunately for him, so did the stuck-up old toad currently sputtering across from him.

“I am not asking for permission.” Satoru smiles, deathly calm. “Simply that everyone vacates the Estate. After all, what the madam wants, the madam shall get.”

“But- but young master! It’s madness- An heir can tip the scales of power like never before!” The elder lunges frantically over the meeting room table. “I cannot allow- a-and considering the madam’s lowly lineage-”

Schwing!

They say that the infamous young head of the Gojo clan has a katana as hauntingly beautiful as he is - a blade of pure white, with a sapphire hilt. Though, there wasn’t anyone left to tell the tale - and Satoru wasn’t about to let that change anytime soon.

The long, deceptively delicate sword glints sharply against Satoru’s humorless grin, and those cold, cold eyes. Unblinking - crazed, as he hums, “What did you say about my wife?”

The man in front of him can do nothing but yelp in fear, “I- it could- the scale of ah-”

“No.” The freezing cold blade presses deeper against skin. And Satoru’s tutting, “Try again.”

“Th-the madam!” Pathetic tears stain those expensive tatami mats below, every shred of previous ego wiped away as the elder’s forced to echo his words. “It is no lie that her b-background is…unsuitable-”

Oh this was why Satoru hated these meetings - and for once in his life he’d been the one to summon it instead of being forced to attend. What a joke. If only this elder had agreed to vacate everyone in the Estate like he’d wanted, then none of this would’ve happened. Seriously, how hard was it to get some alone time with you?

Satoru sighs, blue yukata rustling as he grips the hilt tighter. “Do you know why you’re here, advisor? Why any of you little council of elders are still here?” And he doesn’t wait for an answer - couldn’t care less about it anyway. Plowing on in that same sweet, dangerous tone - as if scolding a stubborn child, “My lovely wife is kind, you see. Too kind. Doesn’t like for me to get my hands dirty.”

He lets his arm retract slightly, as if giving up on the conversation topic at hand. And oh for all his wisdom, the elder should’ve known better than to let the silence lull into one of safety. Should’ve known better than to let out a breath of relief. Relaxing - ever-so-slightly, to be stupid enough to mutter, “S-see young master. I told- you-”

Because this was Gojo Satoru, and he’s chuckling - and that was never a good sign for anyone but you. “She’d make such a perfect mother, don’t you think?”

---

SLAM!

You startle - there was only ever one person that dared to kick open the doors of the Gojo Estate that way, like he was out for blood.

Eyes tearing from your window towards the now-splintered doorway and-

Oh. Oh shit.

Your voice dies in your throat as the metallic tang of blood hits your nose - followed very shortly by the realization that this was your husband. Towering figure leaning against the frame, gaze frantic - bouncing off everywhere but you, fingers twitching on the stained handle of his katana, looking for all the world like he’d seen a ghost.

What the fuck happened?

“Satoru?” you breathe. And the sound of your voice his eyes finally snap to you - widening, like he’d finally noticed your figure standing there. Like he was seeing you after a thousand years. Stepping forward in concern, “Are you o-”

You’ve barely made it two steps before Satoru’s closing the distance in a split-second, dropping to his knees before you with a harsh thump!

You wince at the sound, but if it hurt then he doesn’t show it. Anything but - in fact, looking more blissed out than you’ve ever seen him as he lets his prized katana clatter to the floor, looping two powerful arms around your waist.

And it’s times like this - when he nuzzles his cheek against your stomach, sighing in contentment - that you forget about those blossoming stains of red on his yukata. None of his, you bet.

Threading your fingers through his soft hair, you repeat, “Are you okay, Toru?”

And oh.

Oh, it only takes those words - and your sweet sweet voice - before Satoru’s entire body jolts. Taking a sharp inhale, fingers trembling as they clutch onto the fabric of your yukata. “An heir.” Words strained, ragged. Some deep, visceral part of himself peaking up at you through those hazy, half-lidded eyes, “Would you give me an heir, my wife?”

You weren’t making it out alive.

You’re gasping - partially because of his words, partially because that’s all it takes for him to yank you down. Sprawling you out like such a slut on the floor. “Wha- an heir?”

It’s not something you expected him to even consider - that sleepy, quiet little pillowtalk from earlier today where you’d mindlessly wondered out loud whether your husband was ready for kids. Hell, Satoru was never a morning person, so you didn’t expect him to even have heard the question let alone this.

Nosing at your racing pulse, whispering, “An heir. You think I’d ever deny you, pretty?” Like he couldn’t believe it himself - sharp canines nipping at your neck, “My heir.”

It’s like it was the only thing he could say - could even think about right now as his lips burned a path down your jaw, into the valley of your breasts. Muffled, “N’ now we have the Estate all to ourselves, so I can ruin you as much as I hah- want.”

And for the second time today, you’re actually registering that this wasn’t the same yukata your husband had kissed senseless in before the meeting. Or, at least, those patches of red were new.

“Satoru…” You pull his face back.

“No- no no please- Come back-” you squeal when he just drags you across the floor by the hips, pressing you up against that massive bulge, back to sloppily kissing the underside of your jaw. “Was jus’ one I swear- m’sorry about gettin’ the fabric dirty.”

“Satoru.”

“Wasn’t gonna break you where everyone could hear right?”

And fuck he doesn’t wait to hear a response, no - it’s been far too long, and every little scold from you has all the blood in Satoru’s body rushing to his aching cock. His lips are crashing onto yours, so desperate and needy.

“Sa-toru!” you manage to squeal through the way he sips at your candied lips. Letting out pained, breathless little grunts like each swipe of his tongue against your mouth was driving him insane.

“Shhh shhh, m’here m’here.” he pants into your open mouth, hands wandering everywhere. Cupping your ass, your breasts, nudging open your jaw to let him suck so filthily on your tongue. “Fuck- m’here.” He’s licking up the drool pooling at the corner of your mouth already, “N’ m’gonna ruin-” One hand makes its way to palm your clothed cunt, “-her.”

But, alas, no matter how many times Satoru’s done this before - it never gets any easier, or as less heavenly of a sight for him.

With you all disheveled and splayed out for him, your tits almost spilling out of your yukata with the way his hands have been so greedy. So thoughtless.

Satoru groans, dipping his head forward to peck messily at your lips. “Mmm- ” Pulling back just enough to mutter, “Gonna let me breed this pretty cunt, hm?”

It’s all you can do to give him a half-delirious little nod of agreement, lower lip wobbling at just how hungrily he was looking at you. Eyes wide, lips curling into a crazed smile, fingers trembling with anticipation as he deftly works on untying your robe.

“Is my wife gonna give me a pretty baby?” He gasps out, strangled. “An heir?” He presses a sloppy peck to your glossy lips, strings of spit snapping when he breaks apart to whisper. “One to take out all these dumb fucks?” Again, so dizzyingly. And again. “Oh how I’d love to see their fuckin’ faces.” And again and again and again. Kisses punctuated by that little mantra - “An heir. My heir. I need you to give me a baby, pretty.”

And then your yukata’s being pulled down your shoulders, the expensive fabric ripping down the side with the way he was so ravenous. Goosebumps prickling down your skin as fast as Satoru can get his hands on every inch of you.

“Oh, look at you.” his jaw falls slack, palms kneading at your soft breasts. “Fuck- the mother of my kids.” He rolls his thumb over your hardened nipples, rubbing lazy little circles, “I need to- fuck!”

Before you know it he’s pinning your arching body down onto the floor. One hand easily pinning down both of yours, the other angling your lips back onto his, a knee wedged between your damp thighs.

You whine at the feeling of Satoru’s thigh rubbing up against your drenched panties.

But he could barely hear - fuck, you didn’t even know if Satoru was breathing with the way he wraps his pretty pink lips around one of your pert nipples. Eyes rolling to the back of his head, cheeks hollowing as he sucks - harsh.

“Need to fill these up- s’gonna be so sweet. So full.” he’s blabbering into your tits, tongue rolling around your sensitive nipples. Incessant, like he was somehow trying to draw out milk. “I can only hope they hah- share, right?”

You buck your hips up, mewling as your throbbing clit catches on the dips and curves of the muscles on Satoru’s leg. “P-please, Toru. Don’t tease.”

And oh, when has he ever denied you? Hell, Satoru would burn down this entire world and himself if it meant giving his wife anything and everything. Especially the future mother of his kids.

With a final, playful bite, you watch with glassy eyes at the way he dances his lips down. Slow. Teasing. Eyes locked with you all the while like some sort of predator cornering his prey.

“And this-” Satoru stops halfway down, pressing a deep, sultry kiss onto your bare stomach, “Oh this. Gonna be so round n’ pretty. Absolutely glowing f’me, right? Fuck!”

Snapping his head down at the feeling of your grinding your hips so sluttily onto his legs, slick seeping through your panties and onto his skin.

“Oh.” he sighs, awe-struck. More to himself than you at this point, “You can kill me if you’re not with my heir by the time we’re done, pretty.”

A promise.

And with it went whatever was left of Satoru’s poor sanity - and whatever pathetic chance there was of you making it out of this alive.

Immediately, Satoru fists your flimsy panties in his grasp. So see-through they were practically useless anyway. Reveling in your panicked little gaze as he pulls - rips them clean off your dripping cunt.

“Oh god- There we go.” he moans, hooking two arms underneath your legs and pushing up, up, up - all the way until your knees were pressing up against your tits. Your lips wobble when Satoru takes the time to admire your pussy, breaths coming out in feverish little puffs to watch the way you glisten and clench at nothing. Licking his lips - salivating even - at the sight of your slick beading through your puffy folds. He runs a thumb along your sopping wet slit, “Better wish her good luck tonight.”

And, usually, your husband was refined - he teased and toyed with your poor cunt until you were begging to have an ounce of friction. But right now, it’s a wonder he doesn’t get whiplash with how fast he’s pushing his face into your pussy.

“Mm-” Satoru’s eyes roll to the back of his head as his tongue laps at your dripping wet cunt. Tipping his head back, back, back to let your sweet sweet juices slide down his throat. “Fuck that. Even luck won’t save you from me- hah-”

“Toru!” you arch off the cool floor as he cards the tip of his tongue between your puffy folds. From the base of your sloppy entrance, all the way up to your throbbing clit. “Hngh- s’too-”

He was going too fast too soon.

You whine at the palm pushing your unstable hips flat onto the ground, holding you still while Satoru licks all over as he pleases. “Now now, how are ya gonna ngh- fuck so sweet- handle later if ya can’t even handle this, pretty?”

Sucking on your clit in such a messy, open-mouthed kiss. “Fuck. Shouldn’t have told me about an heir.” he’s murmuring into your cunt. Harsh - rolling his tongue against the sensitive nub in a way he knows will have you crying out so prettily. “Fuuuck you shouldn’t h- oh- Ohhh, look at you, my wife.”, breathing in deep, ragged gasps of air only to go deeper. “Fuck- just look at you. You’re so wet I could fuck you just like this.”

As if to prove his point, he’s urgently bullying the tip of his tongue between your plushy walls. And it was true - so pathetically true. You take him in so easily.

Somehow, you manage to crack an eye open to spy downwards - only to be met with Satoru’s eyes already on yours. Hazy, curtained by his messy hair, swollen lips curving up to flash you such a devilish grin as he squeezes his tongue past that feeble, first ring of resistance. In and out in and out in and-

“Ohh. Squeezing me so fuckin’ tight.” His jaw grinds deeper, nose flush against your clit. “Ya like that idea? Like the thought of me p-painting ah- slutty pussy white already?”

Your embarrassed little whine isn’t enough of an answer for your husband. No, he’s pressing his fingers - all glossy and covered with a sheen of your slick - onto your pulsing clit. Just barely grazing in a way that has you crying out.

Making out with your cunt so sloppily, “Tha’s more like it.” Heavy eyes boring into yours - goading, even, for you to give more of a reaction. “Fuck- use those words, pretty. Scream.” Satoru’s fucking into your sloppy hole the way he’s been dreaming to do with his rock-hard cock. “After all, we h-have the Estate all to ourselves, right?”

Faster. Sloppier.

Pushing and pulling his tongue in a way that has you sobbing, “Yes! Please- wan’- ngh” Thighs squeezing around Satoru’s fervent head, “W-wan you to jus’ breed me, Toru-”

Oh.

Fuck, you might’ve just signed your will away at this point.

Because in a split-second, you’re cumming.

Shit, were you glad that there was no one in the house. Sobbing out a broken whine of his name, fingers white-knuckled on Satoru’s hair while you gush all over his pretty face. Just dragging your sloppy cunt all over his mouth - using him through your high.

And he’s more than happy to be dragged and angled all you please. Greedily lapping up your syrupy sweet juices, just dipping his tongue into your hole to feel the way you clench around him.

But it’s not long before Satoru’s pulling away. Swallowing a disappointed whine, you gape up at the absolutely feral man looming above you.

Lips plump and glossy, your juices dripping all the way down his chin, his jaw. Teeth bared, a pretty pink blush dusting over those cheeks - and you have half the mind to wonder how high the kill count actually is. Whether you’d be on it, too.

“Heh, kill count?” Satoru grins, teeth grazing so dangerously over your racing pulse. Shit, did you say that out loud? “Funny, real funny.” And with that, he’s thumbing apart your swollen folds, biting his lips at the sight of your quivering hole. “Wonder if our- hah- kid’s gonna have your-” Without warning, he spits. Once. Twice. Gliding the pads of his fingers along the thick globs of spit on your cunt, “-humor?”

And oh how ironic it was for Satoru to be groaning out sweet little spiels of what your kids might look like, when his fingers were anything but.

Stretching out your gummy entrance, having the audacity to laugh - laugh - at how desperately your pussy was trying to milk his fingers.

“Y-you’re so mean-”

“And yer killin’ me- ohhh you’re gonna be the death of me.” he mutters - strained. Depraved. Hastily pushing apart his yukata. He hisses, “Fuck-”

You can’t help but gasp at the sinful sight before you - Satoru’s blush reaches down his sculpted chest, down, down, down all the way to his painfully hard cock. Curved against his abs, already so angry and soaked with precum. Giving you a pretty little peak of those veins glistening against the dim lighting.

Before you even know what’s happening, he’s circling his fat, weepy head around your sloppy hole. Slow, lazy patterns to tease your cunt. “Can only pray m’not dead before I see ngh- fuck- my heir.”

It’s like something breaks. And Satoru’s remembering that no, this isn’t just any child - it’s the next Gojo. That grip on the base of his swollen cock tightening when he slips past your pussy lips.

“Oh! Toru- f-fuck wait s’too big-” you keen, nails digging into where his yukata was sliding off his milky, sculpted shoulders. Hard enough to break skin. “It’s ah-”

“No.” he spits into your sagging mouth. “No no no no- wait fuck- ngh squeezing so fucking- tight.” Hips pushing in quick, shallow little thrusts to squeeze more of his achy head inside. “Fuck- fuck fuck fuck hold on. Need this. Need this so bad- please!”

And you can’t do anything but arch into his touch, scrambling up onto your elbows to- shit, that was a bad idea.

Because one look at the sight of your poor cunt, all bulging and stretched out on Satoru’s massive cock was enough to have you running away.

You’d barely made a movement to escape, feet flattening on the floor to buck your hips because shit it was too much. And it was a useless effort, anyway, because Satoru’s dragging you back so easily, pulling your limp body deeper down his swollen cock.

“Need this. Need this need this so bad, pretty.” he groans, barely even halfway in yet. Still pushing, still relentless. “Need to breed this cunt so bad.”

Some tiny, useless part of Satoru’s rationality knows that he should slow down - maybe give you a second to relax. To maybe even breathe. But he was out of control now, hips stuttering and wrenching forwards like he couldn’t stop.

So he’s simply gripping onto your shaky thighs harder, sure to leave neat little indents of his nails to admire tomorrow - or, whenever he gets back his sanity, that is.

Satoru hisses at the way you’re so pliant below him. Limp, letting him rest your legs on his muscled shoulders. “Think I needa manhandle ya more often, pretty.” Pressing down, down - all the way until you were folded in half beneath him in such a mean mating press. “Can’t- can’t stop-”

The change in angle makes you scream out Satoru’s name - and it makes him bottom out. Finally.

Fuck, you weren’t making it out alive.

“Oh.” he grunts at the feeling of his heavy balls smacking against your ass, his fat, leaky tip kissing against your cervix. God, if Satoru was any less of a man he thinks he could’ve cum just from the feeling of you trying to suck him up already.

“Oh- oh my god-” you gasp when he presses down about halfway down your stomach, Pressing down for that bulge, hard. “You’re in s-so deep ngh- S’like you’re pushing into my ngh- lungs.”

Fuck, if you talked any more with that pretty mouth then Satoru was bound to pass out. Blindly, he’s feeling for your pouty mouth, kissing and nibbling at your wobbling lips like a subconscious apology. For what was to come, that is.

Because Satoru Gojo spares no apologies when he starts moving - finally. Finally fucking you the way he’s been dreaming of all throughout that droning meeting.

And he says so - a little over fifteen times, in fact, while he splits you apart on his cock.

“-n’ when I was negotiating those ngh- c-clan deals. N’ when I was at that meeting-” he gasps, shoving your legs so far apart it burned. “S’all I could hah- think of. Everything - don’t give a fuck if I got a contract wrong.”

Each word was punctuated by a rough, harsh ram of his cock, stretching out your gummy walls so far apart like he wanted to make his mark there. Pushing - even when he could feel his aching tip nudging at your cervix.

So merciless - violent even - with the way he’s slamming back into you. Molding your plushy walls to every ridge and curve of his massive cock. It was impossible to even form coherent sentences with his harsh pace.

A large hand flattens beside your head as Satoru’s thrusts get deeper. More purposeful. You almost sob at the sheer pressure when he dances his fingers down to rub quick, methodical little circles on your clit. “Toru-” you moan, like a prayer. “M-more.”

But it wasn’t enough.

“More.” Satoru breathes, more to himself than anything. And shit at that very moment you almost understood why even the most hardened of clan leaders feared to even look at Gojo Satoru wrong. Because he was giving you a sopping, fucked-out smile, eyes widened, voice trembling, “You want more?”

And of course this was the strongest. Of course, he was ruthless.

Of course, it takes him exactly two seconds to pull out of your heavenly cunt and flip you onto your stomach. One hand coming under you to angle your hips up until you were on all fours - like some ragdoll. The other feverish, distracting on your clit while he bullies his achingly hard cock past your sopping entrance once more.

“Fuck!” your voice is hoarse when you scream. Teeth gritting because fuck the stretch was too sinful and Satoru’s hips were too harsh. Too hellbent on fucking into you like he’d lost control. “O-oh please, Toru-”

He doesn’t waste time easing you into it this time, picking up where he left off with that maddening cadence. And you were glad he had an arm on your hips because your knees were weakening with each thrust, slowly sliding down the floor before-

“Aw, my poor girl.” you hear Satoru coo from above you. Muscled chest rubbing up against your back, “S’alright. M’gonna take care of it. You jus’ hafta take it- jus’ take it like the good lil’ wife you are.” his body bows into yours, strands of white sticking to his forehead. “N’ I’ll take fuck fuck fuck- care of everything.” So sloppy with his rhythm, pushing you further and further up the floor with each movement - only to reel you right back so easily. “I’ll wash ‘em and hah- clothe ‘em n’ t-teach ‘em to take over this godforsaken society. To protect their momma.”

“T-Toru-” you squeal as he only gets more erratic. “I’m…”

“Hm?”

He didn’t even have to ask - he could feel the way you were squeezing so hard around him, like you were trying to suck the fucking soul out of him. The way the only thing you could get out was his name.

His perfect wife.

Sobbing out, “Close! So close. Wan’ cum- Ah! Please-”

He was losing his fucking mind.

Biting down so hard at the crook of your neck to keep himself from cumming before you, he moans deliciously, “Then cum. Fucking cum. Please- wan’ you to cum on my cock.” Wrists aching with how desperate he was moving, “Cum- yeah yeah yeah fucking- cum- Cum for your husband.”

Oh, if heaven was real then whatever was left of that part of Satoru that could still form coherent thoughts knew that this was it.

Watching you fall apart like such a slut all over his cock. Not even realizing it at first - just that your eyes are rolling to the back of your head, swollen lips falling slack, letting out such a pretty cry of his name that he can’t help but cum, too.

You don’t know who’s more far gone - you, with your head spinning, a lewd little ah! ah! ah! leaving your mouth each time Satoru fucks you through your high.

Or him, gushing out in thick, hot ropes of cum that overspill from your snug cunt.

“So muchhh.” you whine, heavy head being held up by your husband. “S’too much.”

And he knew what you were talking about - because Satoru was cumming and cumming and cumming so hard it was like he couldn’t stop. Didn’t want to stop. Because he was mesmerized by that creamy trail of white drooling down your folds, forming an obscene ring at those tufts of white at his base.

“Too much?” Satoru hisses. “Too much?”

You can only give a barely-lucid nod, whimpering when he doesn’t ease up. Not one bit, in fact, Satoru was only abandoning the hand playing with your ravaged clit to press down on your abdomen. Hard.

“There we hah- go. Better now?” The hand supporting your head forced you to look down below, at the sticky mess of white covering your cunt. Slobbering all over Satoru’s cock - even down to his thighs. “Now we got fuck- more space.”

You don’t even realize you’re scrambling away until Satoru gasps, panicked, “No no no- we’re not done, pretty. Fuckkk we’re far from done.” Fingers tightening around your neck to pull you deeper down his cock, holding you in place. Just dragging you along his length. “Gotta make sure it takes. Why else d’you think no one in the Estate will be back until tomorrow?”

He doesn’t wait for a response - not that you could give one, anyway, with how you were being fucked dumb on his cock again.

A strong, powerful leg hooks around yours, pushing you down with his body weight. “So that we ngh- h-have enough time to prepare for my heir.” Weeping head grazing all those sensitive spots so expertly. “T-to plan and and- ruin you and- fuck you feel so good. They’ll be the most powerful- hah- jus’ watch. Those fuckers better w-wait and see.”

So debauched and fucked-out that you don’t even know what he’s running his mouth about now, just heavy, urgent words slurred into your neck while he fucks you just as sloppily.

“Don’t know?”

Fuck. You said it out loud again.

And the embarrassing realization has your eyes screwing open, gazing tearily back at an amused Satoru. Well, as amused as he could be when he was just as wrecked as you.

Kissing your sweaty forehead, hips reeling back all the way until your cunt was missing the stretch - bucking traitorously against the fat mushroom tip grazing your entrance. Making a mess of precum down below.

“S’alright, pretty.” he groans, sandwiching his cock between your puffy folds. “Because you just have to sit there n’ ngh- take- it.”

If you thought that Satoru was broken before then he was absolutely ruined now.

Because there was no reason or rhythm to his actions now - just mindless, feral movements to milk his cock as much as he physically could on your pussy. Running only on pure need and the thought of you round and so full with his kid.

“Ah!” you’re startled out of your reverie by something wet. Whirling sluggishly to catch the tears of overstimulation brimming at Satoru’s heavy eyes - shit, you wondered if he even knew what he was doing at this point. “T-Toru…you- ngh- o-okay?”

The only response you get is an unsteady nod.

“-the best.” he whispers, twitching balls squeezing so painfully with each slap against your ass. Faster. Absolutely soaked with the sinful concoction of your juices and his cum. “We’ll be the best parents- ngh-” And fuck it was so much - too much. Too good. Painful pleasure.

Enough that all it takes is another, sloppy thrust before he’s seeing stars behind his eyes again. Cock twitching wildly inside your cunt as Satoru shoots load after load of cum to paint your pussy white.

So warm with his cum - him - that Satoru’s body moves before his mind. Pooling the mess down below to nudge back into your cunt. “C’mon, pretty, c-can’t get ngh pregnant if ya don’t oh- cum.”

And it’s so embarrassing how that’’s all it takes for you to reach your high with a strained, barely audible moan. Voice shot, your own orgasm nothing but a few tingles that have your thighs fucking back into Satoru’s.

“Satoru- Satoru Satoru Satoru.” you mewl, big fat tears streaming down your cheeks. Birds of a feather, they say.

Hypnotized. Drunk off the feeling.

And, evidently, Satoru was, too.

“Pretty…” his voice rings in your ear. Tinged with a tone you know didn’t bode well for you - or your poor, overfilled cunt. Bloated and dribbling already. “Are- sure- ngh-”

And with a jolt, you realize he’s still moving. Still pushing and pulling in languid, slow strokes. Thighs shaking as the fatigue wears on him.

If anyone saw Satoru like this, they’d have a heart attack. Flushed your favorite shade of pink, the lower half of his body well covered with a sheen of your obscenities. Eyes teary with sensitivity, cock still twitching and so angry as he clears his throat and tries again, “Are we- hah- sure it took?”

“Wh-what-” you gasp, breathing in big, deep inhales. “Yes- yes yes- oh my god it’won’t-”

“It will.” Satoru’s interruption almost comes out as a whine. And he’s more sluggish, dazed when he flips you over onto your back again - not too difficult, with the way you were practically splayed out already. “Th-this pussy is made to take it, right? T-to be bred by me?”

It’s almost like Satoru was begging for confirmation, plugging back in the excess of what was leaking out of your abused pussy. It was spreading in a lewd little pool now, seeping into the non-existent space between you two.

But oh how Satoru loved it. Couldn’t tear his eyes off of it, in fact as he noses at your neck. Barely even thrusting anymore, just raw grinds, “Right? Gotta make sure- ngh- heir. Oh-”

He’s darting his tongue out to lick at the beads of tears streaming down your cheek. The salty taste on his tongue having Satoru’s hips stuttering forwards. Again. And again - alternating, not on purpose - between hitting your cervix and that bruised g-spot. “Gonna give me an heir? Ohhh fuck fuck fuck- lemme breed this cunt?”

You’re using up every bit of energy left in your body to give that slow, shallow nod. Which is all the time it takes for the pool to spread even wider. For Satoru’s fingers to stumble their way back to play with your clit.

Rolling his thumb over in a harsh, uncalculated pattern - if you could even call it that, just jerky, obscene movements to get you off.

And it works. Hell, the two of you are barely in the state of mind to even feel it. But he’s finally cumming again, and so are you.

“Ngh- Fuck-”

With a loud, pained cry Satoru tightens his grip on your body like a vice. Raw, sensitive, overusing his cock until it felt so empty. Until you felt so bloated it was like you could explode - or maybe that was your own orgasm. “Toru- c-cumming.”

You’re not sure, anymore. And you don’t know if either of you could bring yourselves to care at this moment, not when your eyelids grow heavy. Vision tinging with black in the corners, and the only thing you could see was your husbands face - sweaty, eyes almost closed, kiss-bitten lips moving in a soundless whisper. “-the best- momma.”

A/N. CLAN LEADER GOJO SAVE MEE. Oh yeah the “can’t get pregnant without the momma cumming” bit was based on this old tale I’d heard where people used to gen believe that.

Plagiarism not authorized.

#gojo x reader #gojo smut #gojo x you #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk #jjk fic #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #tonywrites

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ms0milk · 3 months ago

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racked with summer somethings

iguro x fem reader [cw] body image struggles. reader fights with insecurity post-injury and iguro wants a kiss so badly he'll let some students die. 1.9k

three huge cheers for @serendipitous-soul and their generosity and patience in waiting for this piece to be published! thank you so much for trusting me with your @ficsforgaza request. I hope a slightly stubborn and overtly obsessed Iguro brightens your day <3

“No, Iguro wait–” Pushing him back is agony. Not because you crave the gentle kisses, not because you’re still clammy with afternoon sweat, but because he is so persistent the pushing has become a less than playful beating, “Down, boy!”

He leans closer the farther away you turn until you’re practically underneath him, one hand pressed over his face in your attempt to keep him off. His bandage seams lift in the gentle roughhouse. “Y/n,” his voice is firm. Let me kiss you. Let me see you. It is firm with his usual requests, sitting just unspoken at the edge of your name.

“M’gross–”

“Take that back,” he grunts, this time slipping a hand under your arm to cup your chin. He will have you. “What’s wrong?”

“Something has to be wrong to stay ungroped for the afternoon?”

Iguro folds himself around you like paper and presses you both into the swollen wall of his wooden greenhouse. It hosts aphids in the winter to feed crickets to feed birds to feed Kaburamaru and on summer days like this, groans like it’d rather collapse than endure its master’s appetite. “Oi, Igu–wait!”

You try to force another wait out before the Hashira's breath on your throat makes your voice crack but certainly too slowly to keep him from running his hands up your thighs and unfastening your scabbard belt with one hand. It’s Hashira training week, and no doubt the corps members assigned to him are begging for mercy somewhere their supervisor doesn’t have to hear. Your fingers dig between the folds of his increasingly disheveled bandages, he dips into you again, he shivers at your fingertips hot on his jaw, he does not care your other hand is pulling his hair and thwapping the top of his head repeatedly.

“You’re kissing me through bandages! You’re in such a rush you’re not even– NO don’t take them off, there’s no time to wrap you back up again!”

“No one will see,” he begs like a child negotiating for candy.

“Yeah cos they’re all dying– as we– Iguro!”

He is at your mercy, always, you are the head of his household more than his wife, his general, and today his general feels like shit. Training leaves you breathless and sweaty and makes him glow. Humid summer days fray the hairstyles you so carefully construct and melt makeup and soak fabric and make your husband shine with life, a delicate pink on the highest point of his cheeks. Your recent injury compounds pain with frustration: day after day in the Butterfly Mansion testing the strength of your healing knee and it taking two tiny nurses just to hold you up.

Iguro moves with every strong and graceful movement of a serpent. He doesn’t bump into tables, chairs, soldiers, or door frames or worry about the way his clothes fall over the curves of his body. Watching him is like sneaking into the opera. His noh would stop hearts.

“Your injury,” he startles and you return to the shade of the greenhouse where your husband wants to hold you. He drops his hands from where they’ve made a home under your top and in the pleats of your hakama and quickly leans away to see you better. “I wasn’t thinking.”

The fabric on your back clings to splinters in the greenhouse wall. Sweat collects where your thighs touch and under his gaze you can’t hide imperfection. “That’s not,” you start, but his eyes are filling with worry faster than you can prepare sarcasm. “I’m not hurting,” you murmur instead to stamp out budding concern.

“Then what’s wrong?”

The indignation is almost comical, like you’ve committed some horrible crime in withholding kisses. “It’s hot, Iguro, I haven’t rinsed off.”

“I don’t care if you’re sweaty.”

“I care if I’m sweaty,” you bite like he won’t bite back.

“Why would you care about what I want to taste? Does imagining my undersalted lunch put you in a shitty mood too?” You should have expected this; he’s such an instigating shit. “Y/n,” he presses, his voice matches the weight his palms bear on your waist even as you prickle, “what’s wrong?”

“The list is getting longer.”

“My love.”

If frustration could kill you’re not sure which one of you it would take in the muggy summer shade of your home. My love, Darling, Master, summer thunderstorms, winter nests, gifts brought back from distant villages to decorate this body and meant to suit someone so much different than you. Terms of affection meant for eastern goddesses and tiny little wives in their birdbone kimonos.

Your knee shifts without permission as it’s recently begun to do when it’s in use for too long. “Let’s change your bandage,” Iguro offers patiently instead of letting flares of worry show in his voice, “wrap you up tighter.” But he knows he’s the last person you want to see the wound there. Hunger shaped, a slice out of your body like a bite from bread, stitches swimming in the knotted scar from a spar with a demon that just couldn’t die quietly.

“Go save your students,” you admonish with a fond push. He leans into you instead of away and your fingers spread, your palms shift flat on the chest of the man you love.

“If they couldn’t last this long they’re dead already.”

“Obanai Iguro.”

“Obanai Y/n,” he replies without delay. In the sweltering shade, he draws his hands from your hips, up your waist and soft onto the clefts of your face. His palms cup your jaw. “What are you thinking about?” You roll your eyes and bring your own hands up to settle his someplace the sweat wont pool immediately, but he holds you steadfast. His students really might die if you leave them much longer.

His greengold stare is completely disarming and you know better than to let it hold you for too long, but the thoughts truly come faster than you can keep up with them. Training week is a logistical nightmare every year and besides feeding the swaths of corps members, keeping them alive in Serpent Manor, and their uniforms unpissed in, is the larger struggle. Watching the shapes they make under your husband’s instruction stings familiarly. You don’t look like that when you fight. Your hips fill your hakama with curves no one here has and in a field that requires uniformity, it hurts how much you stand out– how easily your skin scars, marks, bruises, and stretches– how much more room you take up. It’s always easier when the house is empty.

Iguro’s thumb catches your lip and rolls over the oil you use to gloss them. The one he loves to taste and that dots his white uniform with shiny little spots now, in all the places you tried to deter him with a bite. “Well?”

“I don't like training week.”

His cheeks pinch under his eyes with a soft smile, “I know.” And he tickles the notch of your jaw with delicate fingers. He traces the curls of your ears. It aches. “Your knee will heal. You’ll fight again.” What can you do but close your eyes? His will burn holes in you, then what good will you be? His graceful fingers tuck away your loose hairs. Does he like it when you make yourself smaller like this? He’s never once liked it, but is today the day he changes his mind? Does he wish you looked like the other slayers? Slim and featherlight– the thought hasn't left you in days– the idea you might not have been injured so badly if you weren't such a big target.

Iguro breathes once deeply and covers your ears with flat palms.

A warm breeze teases you both around the ankles to remind everyone that summer won’t end anytime soon. You think too much, you’re sure he drawls before the world goes silent.

“Hey,” you warn and try to pull his hands down but he shakes his head– your voice grates inside your own. It’s too hot to stand so close but you don’t quite pull back, even as August damp makes your tunic uncomfortable. He tilts your head in his hands every time you look at something other than him, “Iguro.”

The crepemyrtles rustle at a distance in purples and pinks, he draws you back to him, swallows dive for wasps in the begonias, he draws you back to him, nothing makes a sound past his strong calloused hands. It’s finally quiet. Your fingertips find purchase in the fabric of his haori. His knuckles vibrate with all the things he says that you cannot hear.

You murmur his name. He vibrates again. Your husband picks favorites; you, his general, his wife, his master, and he is never subtle. Subtlety kills devotion. Iguro’s sharp eyes trace adoration into summer air while he keeps noisy humid thoughts from haunting you. His chest rumbles with speech you can’t make out in this peace you can’t find on your own.

What about you makes him so soft? His rumpled bandages tighten against his lips as he speaks and all it takes is one finger to pull them away. You tug once gently, hands rising like smoke from their home on his chest as he makes a shelter for you behind the shade of the greenhouse.

You, his soft lips mouth, Y/n. His own scars crawl along his perfect cheeks and tighten when you trace them in the quiet of his love. Your love is the first night he let you see them, fireworks on a cemetery hill and hiding as best you could, the rush of an overfilled heart. He doesn’t hide from you, even when it makes his well-trained fingers shake. He doesn’t stop speaking when you touch the part of himself he hates so much.

I want you. Iguro’s lips make the shape of every syllable so slowly you couldn’t misread them if you tried, the three words you feed to him on bad days like medicine. Y/n. I want you.

The realization comes with slightly more embarrassment than you’d like for such a hot day. Warmth rises in your cheeks and the heat threatens to make tears. How much more similar could you two possibly be? How many more signs do you need to believe that he was made just for you? When you kiss him you are gentle and his hold over your ears falters so that he can hold you properly.

“I want you, Y/n.”

“I heard you.”

“Scars and all.”

“Have me.”

“I won’t have you any differently. I won’t have you smaller, weaker. You wouldn’t be my wife that way.”

“Kiss me then, chatterbox.”

Iguro finally relaxes against you in the unbearable summer air, inescapable by shade, swim, or fan. He cradles the back of your neck like looking away from him would even be possible in the closeness of your kiss. In the minutes before battered corps members begin limping back to the top of your mountain home, you don’t need to think about dinner or dressing wounds or keeping your bandages hidden. You don’t spare a thought for the breakable nurses at the Butterfly Mansion or how predictably tsuguko marvel at the strength behind your kicks. Easier than training, than putting out fires, easier than smoothing balm on your scars, easier than nursing hips bruised from doorways or learning to sew your hakama just right, is letting Iguro soothe your worry with stolen kisses in the sticky shade of the greenhouse. Scars and all, the predictable pair of you.

(divider by @cafekitsune!)

#love a man who can soothe insecurities #love a couple who mirrors each others experiences #iguro x reader #obanai x reader #kny x reader

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daryl-dixon-daydreams · 8 days ago

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Words: 6,623 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Era: The Whisperers Reader pronouns: she/her Warnings: language, discussions of past trauma (nothing super graphic), discussions of violence, allusions to child abuse (Alpha to Lydia), alcohol A/N: You can find the other parts to this series on my Master List! Check out my pinned post. Previous part here!

Daryl had to ram his shoulder into the door of the little cabin a couple times before it gave way, ripping off part of the doorframe in a shower of splinters. He thought you shot him a bit of a look afterward but he couldn’t be entirely sure what your intention with it was or what it was even about. After all, you weren’t happy that he’d, umm, tagged along. He signaled for Dog to enter first and he followed after with his crossbow at the ready, but the interior of the small cabin was completely quiet.

Inside, the rooms seemed to still be stocked with almost everything someone would need to actually live there. The furniture was shrouded under sheets to keep off the dust and most of the windows had been reinforced or boarded up, although their glass was smudged and dusty and a few panes were now cracked or broken out from wayward branches or hailstones. Daryl drifted back to the front door to call you inside. He found you staring at the building with a queer expression on your face, almost a haunted look. Your arm was draped across your body to press your hand to your side right over the bandage that hid Alpha’s knife wound.

“Hey,” he said gently, snapping you out of whatever had been going on inside your head. “S’clear. C’mon.”

You nodded and whistled to Achilles, who burst out of a tree above and landed on your shoulder. The noise of his wings as he fluttered down was reminiscent of wind through leaves. You climbed up the steps and across the small wooden porch to follow Daryl in. As soon as you could, you relieved your body of the burden of your pack and quiver, setting your bow beside them as well. You started pulling the dusty coverings off the furniture and clouds of speckles drifted in what little late afternoon light could still filter through the gray panes. You moved around in a way that suggested to Daryl that you knew this place well; uncovering this but not that, running your fingers along the oak mantle over the fireplace. He drifted after you as you went into the kitchen and he watched as you thumbed open the pantry. Inside were rows and rows of dusty canned vegetables, clearly homegrown and preserved.

You seemed to have felt his eyes on you and looked over before quickly shutting the cabinet again. You squeezed past him where he was standing in the doorway, nearly brushing your body against his, and stepped back into the main room. Daryl’s heart seemed to have jumped into his throat for a moment, inexplicably. He tried to gulp it back down where it belonged.

“What is this place?” he asked you. Dog had already settled down on the rug in front of the hearth like it was an old home he’d warmed his fur in many times. But Dog had a way of making himself at home that Daryl envied.

You paused, halfway through tugging a sheet off an armchair by the fire. “A cabin,” you said, looking at him with a tinge of annoyance.

Daryl sighed and frowned at you. “Ya know that ain’t what I meant. And that ain’t just it.”

You stayed frozen there for a long moment before you finished tugging the sheet off the chair and then glanced back at him, your expression distant. “It’s just—someplace I stayed once… a long time ago,” you said vaguely.

Daryl chewed on his bottom lip and nodded. “Alrigh’,” he drawled, but you could tell he knew it was more than just that. “I’ll take the couch,” he said, tossing his pack down.

“Obviously,” you retorted. “There’s only one bed and only one of us has a stab wound.” He was surprised to hear some note of jest in your voice and he looked up to catch just the momentary wink of a smile at the corners of your mouth. “You’re far too noble to make me sleep on the couch. You barely let me walk out of that community today.”

Daryl huffed a little and sat down on the couch, his mouth tightening into a thin line for a moment. “If I’d had my way—ya wouldn’t have. Ya’d still be in that clinic with Enid watchin’ ya.”

“And probably you too,” you retorted. “Yeah, I know. I’m well aware… and now I have a tail to shake off,” you retorted, easing yourself down into the armchair you had just uncovered. Your cautious movement wasn’t lost on Daryl. Your body ached and panged. You let out a heavy sigh as you sunk into the cushions.

“Good luck. Dog can track. And so can I.”

You smiled at him, a small one that seemed almost knowing. Daryl’s brow flinched down for a brief moment. On your shoulder, Achilles let out a happy sound and his large bill began to pick through and nibble your hair as if he was preening you. Your eyes crinkled in a smile as your head tilted toward the glossy black bird. You reached up and stroked the feathers on his breast and he let out a sound that was almost like a purr. You whispered something to him that Daryl couldn’t quite hear.

“How’d ya end up with him?” Daryl asked, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees as he sat forward on the edge of the couch, his attention intense.

Your eyes met his and they were tired, but soft. “Probably the same way you ended up with Dog. He came to me,” you said. Achilles climbed down your shoulder and perched beside you on the arm of the chair. He let out a harsh click click click and looked inquisitively at Dog as he lifted his head and stared back at the bird, his head tilting and his ears at attention.

Daryl nodded. “Dog wandered up to me when he was just a pup. He started comin’ round and hangin’ at my camp,” he said. He ducked your eyes and you could tell he was holding some piece of the story back, but you didn’t begrudge it.

“Your camp?” you asked.

“Mhm,” Daryl hummed, staring down at his hands and fiddling with a rough spot on the back of his thumb. “Ain’t like I’ve always lived inside walls. Lived way more outside of ‘em. Even before the world went to shit.”

“Mm,” you acknowledged, studying his features; his wavy hair, the sharpness of his cheekbones and jawline, the scar running above and below his left eye. You stroked Achilles’ head feathers as he bent toward you in a bow, asking for attention. “Achilles was an orphan. Fell or pushed from his nest when he was far too small. Ravens are usually cared for by both parents, so I can only assume that one or both of them were lost in a storm or to predators… I’m not sure. But he was just this tiny, helpless thing. I hand fed him and kept him warm, safe. Taught him to use his wings when he was big enough. Ravens are incredibly smart. He did the rest pretty much.”

“And now he lets ya use his feathers as a thank you?” Daryl asked, mainly joking.

You caught the jest in his tone but answered more seriously. “We’re bonded. To him, it’s like the bond he’d have with a mate or family member. Ravens are highly social. As for the feathers, it’s just that black feathers are the strongest and the most resistant to wear. A convenient fact,” you said. “And he’s kind enough to share.”

“S’that true?” Daryl asked curiously.

You met his blue eyes and a strange sensation ran through you when yours connected with his. You couldn’t quite name it, but it was… almost destabilizing. You sat with it for a moment before you answered. “Yes. That’s why many white birds, like seabirds, will have black edges to the feathers on their wings and tails. The dark pigment, melanin just like in people, actually strengthens the feather structures. It’s why they work so well for fletching.” You returned to stroking Achilles’ back, watching the shine shifting in his dark feathers as he moved.

“Hmm,” Daryl hummed, nodding. “He got anymore tricks I should know about? Besides yankin’ out my hair on command?”

You allowed yourself a small amused exhale and Daryl liked how the corners of your mouth turned up subtly and stayed there. He thought it was maybe the first actual smile he’d seen on you since he’d looked up at you in that damn tree as you told him to forget about you.

“He can talk, mimic sounds he hears. But he’s not a parrot. He won’t do it on command. Ravens are—” you paused thoughtfully, searching for the right word. “—suspicious. He’s not comfortable around new people or even new objects sometimes… Everything must be thoroughly vetted,” you explained. “If he does talk around someone, it means he’s comfortable. That he’s accepted them. They’re very wary.”

Kinda like you, Daryl thought. But he didn’t speak it. He nodded and glanced at Dog who had gone back to snoozing. “Hungry?” he asked you, climbing to his feet.

“Not really.”

“Well, too bad. ‘Cause ya gotta eat somethin’. Need to get your strength back up. Ya’ve got a lot of healin’ to do.” He started toward the kitchen and your eyes followed him across the room and through the doorway.

“You’re gonna cook?” you called after him. Achilles took off from his place on the arm of the chair and soared over to a large armoire and perched on the top.

He appeared in the doorway again and the expression on his face nearly made you laugh. “What? Ya think I can’t cook?” You shrugged and now did laugh a little. “Alrigh’, I may not be no damn chef but I can cook. I mean, it’ll at least be edible.”

“Well, that generally is the most important quality in food—that it’s edible,” you said, pushing yourself up to stand, wrapping an arm around your midsection again and pausing as some pain shot through you.

“Would ya just sit down and—”

“You aren’t exactly inspiring confidence in me about your kitchen skills,” you argued.

“Nah,” he scolded you, shaking his head. “Sit yer ass down. Now ‘m gonna really have to figure somethin’ out in here,” he drawled. “Ya should be restin’ and I dun want ya breathin’ down my damn neck while ‘m workin’ out here.”

“Breathing down your neck?” you laughed. “Christ, I wasn’t planning on that.”

“Well, I dun want ya—supervisin’ or starin’ or judgin’ me anyhow, so sit back down,” he scolded you again.

You considered him for a long moment but being on your feet again reminded you of how tired you were. “Fine. I’ll just get a fire going and then I’ll sit out here with Dog. Just try not to burn the place down or waste my ingredients, would you?”

Daryl rolled his eyes but disappeared back into the kitchen. You soon heard the clanking of pots and pans and the slamming of cabinet doors. You glanced up at the armoire to see that Achilles had made himself comfortable and tucked his head under his wing for a nap.

“Hey—anywhere to get water ‘round here?” he called out from the kitchen.

“There’s a covered well out back—least… there was when I was last here. But you should probably boil the water just in case,” you said.

You heard the back door being unlocked and tugged open. Dog lifted his head from his paws to look toward the kitchen, apparently concerned about his master leaving.

“He’ll be back,” you told the Malinois. You walked over to the hearth and Dog’s eyes followed you. You sank down to sit on the hearth, wincing at the pain running through your torso. “Fuck,” you murmured, wrapping you hand around your middle again.

Dog tilted his head and whined lightly, looking at you with bright, inquisitive eyes.

“Oh, hush. I’m fine. I don’t need you worrying about me too,” you told him, straightening and turning your attention back to the fireplace. You leaned in and opened the flue, wiping the dark smudges of soot that transferred to your hand on your pants. The basket beside the hearth still had faded newspapers, tinder and kindling piled in it and there was a large stack of dry wood beside it too, now shrouded in cobwebs and coated in dust. But you reflected on the fact that it really looked like no one had been here since you’d left… and that had been years ago.

As you busied yourself with getting a fire started, you heard Daryl enter the kitchen and get back to whatever he was doing in there. You soon had a happy blaze crackling away and it cheered and soothed you instantly, casting the previously gloomy and neglected interior in a warm glow.

Dog had already settled his head back down on his paws, but as the flames licked around the logs, he shifted more closely to it and it drew an appreciative chuckle from you. You slipped off the stone ledge of the hearth and knelt beside him on the floor. “Feels good, doesn’t it?” Dog let out a content sigh and closed his eyes, the fire warming his back. You sunk your fingers into his soft fur and he quickly exposed his chest and belly for scratches, which you provided with a smile. In no time, Dog was snoozing on his side again and you propped your back against the stone ledge of the fireplace. It warmed your back and shoulders. It felt good. It helped your focus on something besides the pain in your body from your fight with Alpha. Your fingers ran through Dog’s thick fur absently, almost meditatively, and you let your mind drift for the first time since you’d left The Hilltop.

Daryl appeared in the doorway and looked in, surprised to see you nearly cuddled up with Dog on the floor. You must have felt him looking at you because you glanced up, and it was like a lightning bolt shot through him at the exact moment your eyes met his. His heart jumped in his chest and he found himself inexplicably nervous. “Dog’s won ya over, huh?” he drawled. “I might have to ask him for some tips.”

“Not anything you could emulate,” you joked.

“Nothin’?”

“He’s not a person. I tend to prefer most animals to people.”

Daryl smiled briefly. “Yeah. I think tha’s fair.” He ran a hand nervously over the back of his neck. “Well—food s’almost done. Can’t say whether it’s any good or not—”

“It smells good,” you remarked. “Even if I don’t feel much like eating.” You started to try to climb to your feet, grimacing and struggling to even get your feet under you at all, let alone stand up. Daryl hesitated for a split second before rushing over.

“Uhh—can I—can I please help ya up before ya rip a damn stitch?” he asked.

You struggled for one more second, but sore and exhausted, you relented and gave him a hesitant nod. He extended his hands and you delayed a moment longer, looking unsure, before placing yours in his. He gently pulled you to your feet and for some strange reason the two of you were frozen for a moment. The time had passed when he should have let go and you both felt it. Your breath seemed caught in your throat until he finally slipped his hands softly away from yours, tingles left behind like the ghosts of his touch, and he cleared his throat. “I’ll just go check on the—the food. Ya should go sit down,” he drawled, and he made a hasty exit for the kitchen.

Ten more minutes passed and Daryl came out with two steaming bowls. Funny enough, both Dog and Achilles perked up as he handed one to you where you had sunk into the armchair again. “S’just—some dried beans and bunch of those canned veggies ya had in there. Tomatoes, onions, garlic, uhh… peppers, I think? Careful. Bowl is hot.”

“Thank you,” you murmured, accepting it by the top edge of the bowl. Your fingertips brushed the back of his hand and Daryl swore there was a static charge, though you didn’t seem to react as if you’d been shocked. Achilles stretched and then fluttered over to perch on the back of your chair, letting out a squawk and interested trill as he peered over your shoulder at what was in your bowl, tilting his glossy black head this way and that. Dog trotted over to beg at Daryl’s side and while he watched Daryl eat, a string of drool grew in length until it touched Daryl’s knee and pooled a bit on his black pants.

He let out a disgusted noise. “Agh… Dog! Dammit, get back!”

You couldn’t help chuckling a little as you scraped at the last of your meal.

Daryl looked up in surprise. “What? Yer laughin’?”

You glanced up still smiling and shrugged a little. “Maybe,” you said, unable to hide another chuckle at his expense.

“Yeah, real nice. After I cooked ya this five-star meal,” he joked.

“It was actually pretty good,” you admitted. “Maybe I was hungry after all.”

“Ya should be,” he murmured, chewing his last bite and wiping at his mouth with his sleeve. “Ya ain’t had anything in how many days?” He stood and came to collect your bowl.

“No—I’ll deal with the dishes,” you argued. “You cooked.”

“Nah—look at ya,” he growled, taking your bowl. “Ya can barely stand up. And ya sure as shit ain’t haulin’ more water like that. Just lemme do this.”

You watched his broad shoulders retreat toward the kitchen. “I can stand you know! We walked how many miles today?”

His voice rang out from the kitchen again. “Exactly. Ya did yer standin’ and walkin’. More than ya shoulda. Ya should’ve been in bed all damn day!”

You rolled your eyes but got to your feet anyway and threw a couple more logs onto the fire, blowing on the coals to get them to catch. Dog came back to the rug in front of the hearth and circled a few times before laying down. You wandered over to a painting hanging over a long, low bookshelf. It depicted an early morning landscape shrouded in fog. The grass was luminescent with dew and you could practically taste the verdant smell of the meadow as you looked at it. But you lifted a hand and nudged it aside. It swung on the wire hanging over the nail and revealed a little nook behind it.

Daryl was walking back out of the kitchen and froze at the threshold. “What’re ya doin’?” he asked, his brow furrowed. He watched curiously as you withdrew a glass bottle and then replaced the painting. You straightened it carefully before you looked over at him.

You held it up so the light from the fire cascaded through the deep amber liquid inside.

He frowned. “Uhh… should ya be drinkin’ in yer condition?”

This drew another dry laugh from you. “I’m not pregnant. I have a knife wound. And… some other bruises. It’s fine.”

His brow furrowed. “Dun ya have a concussion?”

“It’ll be fine. Look—I need something to take the edge off, alright?”

“Yeah, ya should’ve stayed in the clinic,” he said for what felt like the fiftieth time that day. “Enid woulda had pain meds for ya.”

“Well, I didn’t,” you replied. “Am I drinking alone or what?”

He fixed a long stare on you and then sighed, giving in.

“Great. Get some cups from the kitchen, would you?”

He returned with two mugs and handed you one. You poured in a healthy share of whiskey and then held the bottle up to offer him some. He held his mug out. “Not sure I should be encouraging this…”

“Come on. After all the trauma I just went through you can’t let me drink alone,” you joked wryly.

He shook his head at you but took his glass over to the couch and sat down, planting his boots up on the coffee table and taking an exploratory sip. “Mmm. S’pretty damn good whiskey.”

“Yep. Medicinal grade,” you said, gulping down a good amount. You were hoping it would ease not only the pain in your body, but quiet your anxious thoughts a little too. A slightly fuzzy head sounded good at the moment. Either way, a nightcap hit the spot after the decent meal and with the fire crackling in the fireplace… You could almost forget outside was a hellish nightmare of death and violence. Almost. You never could completely forget.

“Pretty nice place ya got here. And pretty well stocked,” Daryl said, interrupting your train of thought.

“Who says it’s my place?” your retorted.

“You did.”

“No. I just said I stayed here once.”

Daryl gave you a knowing look. “Alrigh’. Maybe ya didn’t say exactly, but ya know where the damn hidden booze stash is… And I could tell even before that. Ya moved around in here like ya knew it. But… ya left so many things behind, especially all that food in the kitchen. Ain’t exactly like ya can walk down to the grocery store and pick up what ya need anywhere.”

You ducked his gaze and ran a finger over the curving handle of the mug in your hand. You raised it to your lips and took another big sip. The burn down your throat and into your stomach felt good.

“Ya have to leave here in a hurry?” he asked. You didn’t answer, but Daryl didn’t seem to need you to and he wasn’t deterred. If you had looked up, you would have seen his blue eyes narrowed perceptively, flickering over your features. “Ya left it all here on purpose. As a… like a safehouse,” he said, nodding. He didn’t ask it as a question. “As a ‘just in case’,” he finished. “Yeah. Ya seem to live your whole life with a ‘just in case’.”

You looked up at him, your brow slightly furrowed. “What does that mean?” you asked, an edge to your tone.

He shrugged. “Nothin’. Sorry. I dun mean anythin’ bad by it. Prob’ly just means—ya didn’t have a ‘just in case’ sometime when ya needed it. And ya ain’t ‘bout to make that mistake twice.”

You gulped, feeling how exquisitely close to the mark he was deep in your midsection as a tense knot materializing somewhere behind your navel. You downed the last of your whiskey and eyed the bottle again.

“Must be a lot for ya to have me here, lettin’ somebody else know ‘bout it. Thanks for trustin’ me that much.” You did. You didn’t know why, but you did. You couldn’t even remember the last time you’d trusted some—wait. Yes, you could. “Ya won’t tell me a thing more about ya? About what’s happened to ya?” he asked. “Bout the trees? Bein’ up there?” His voice was gentle and patient. Your eyes flickered back over to where he was sitting reclined on the couch, his hands absently twirling his mug.

“Why do you want to know my story?” you asked in a low voice.

He shrugged. “‘M just—tryin’ to understand ya,” he drawled.

Your brow furrowed. “But why?” you asked softly. “Why does it matter?”

Daryl fiddled with his now empty mug and shrugged again. “It just does. To me. Ya saved my life and I can’t shake the feeling that yer in somethin’ with these Whisperers, Shepherds as ya call ‘em. And if ya are, I want ya to know that ya dun gotta do it alone. My place, the communities ‘m tied to, they’re full of good people. People who’d help ya. People who did help ya.”

“And this has nothing to do with the fact that I recognized Lydia and know about The Shepherds? All these questions,” you said.

“No. But I ain’t gonna lie and say I don’t wish ya’d just tell me what ya know.”

You grabbed the bottle and poured in a generous amount of whiskey again. You leaned forward, ignoring how it sent a sharp pain through your stomach, and set the bottle in front of him on the coffee table. You considered him for a long moment. You thought about his people who had saved you, about the place they’d brought you to. It had seemed wholly good. He seemed wholly good. Your gut was telling you, over and over, that you could trust him. It had told you that since the night he’d ended up at your tree in the storm. But you’d been wrong before and you had to consider this all carefully. What harm could come from opening up, just a little bit, to this one person? Logically, you didn’t think much, but it still felt… scary. You took a small sip of whiskey and let it sit on your tongue a moment, the smokiness of the oak. “I can’t really tell you one without the other, I suppose.”

“What d’ya mean?”

“About them and about me, at least some of it. In some—sick way, we’re connected.” You froze for a moment, truly wondering where to start. Daryl leaned forward and poured another share of whiskey into his glass before sitting on the edge of the couch, leaned forward, ready to listen intently. “I know a lot about The Shepherds,” you said. “More than probably anyone alive who isn’t one of them.” You gulped and tried to suppress the flashbacks that were threatening to surge forward. Your hand shook as you raised your mug to your lips again and took a big drink. “Alpha is not someone you want to fuck with lightly. She’s ruthless, even to her own people. The things I’ve seen her do—” You broke off and shook your head, shutting your eyes for a moment as you tried to retain your composure. You licked your lips and went on. “Look, without going into my whole backstory since the world went to shit—I was part of a community once. One that was probably a lot like yours. All of a sudden, Alpha comes out of nowhere and starts telling us that we’re trespassing on her lands when we’re hunting the same areas we’d been hunting for years. She threatened us with consequences if we didn’t pay attention to her borders. But the reality was that we had hungry people, hungry kids to feed. It was winter and game was already scarce. Supplies were tight. I wasn’t going to wait around listening to the leaders sitting on their asses talking while kids starved. I went out and hunted like I felt I had a right to. The way I had been…” You felt as if a concrete block had just materialized on your chest. It was built of residual anger and grief and guilt and blame… “‘Fuck her borders,’ I thought.” You averted your eyes to stare down into your mug, swirling the whiskey inside and chewing on your bottom lip. Daryl swore he could see the color draining from your face. “One of them saw me. Of course they did… we didn’t know they wore the dead’s faces then... But I figured it out real quick when what I thought was a walker started attacking me with a knife. That one and two more ended up dead.” You sighed and your head fell back against the chair. Achilles, still perched on the back, picked at your hair and let out a soft rasp. “If they’d managed to kill me, that might’ve just been the end of it,” you thought aloud. “Probably not. But maybe.”

Daryl gulped. He had a bad feeling about where this was going. “What happened after that?”

You let out a dry laugh and blinked away the moisture burning in your eyes. “Alpha went back to my community, where the leaders themselves were enjoying the venison and rabbit and quail I had shot, and offered them a deal. But she didn’t come alone this time. She brought a horde with her, and delivered a note into their hands. A final warning. If no one else crossed her borders again, she would leave the community alone. But there was a caveat. She wanted me in exchange,” you said.

“Dun tell me they—” but Daryl broke off, reading the answer on your face. He couldn’t even begin to contemplate that level of betrayal.

“They did. More than that, they did it right proper, with a vote. Yay, democracy,” you said wryly. “They traded me for their safety. Turns out one of the ones I killed was Alpha’s number two. Beta. Not the same Beta she has now, obviously. A different one. And she was pissed. She was pissed that I’d killed them, but more than that she was pissed that I had defied her, ignored her. If there’s one thing Alpha hates, it’s people who aren’t intimidated by her. She wants people scared, even her own. It makes her feel… powerful.”

Daryl stared down into his mug and then downed the whole thing. “I’ve known—plenty of people like that.”

You nodded. “Yeah. They seem to do well these days.”

“So, what? They took ya prisoner? And your community just went on livin’?” The rage in his chest was starting to boil over.

“Not exactly.”

Daryl’s brow was low over his blue eyes, casting them in shadow. “So, what happened?”

“I was taken to Alpha’s camp as a prisoner,” you said, resting your hand over the knife wound again, which seemed to pulse and burn as you talked about the one who’d given it to you. “I think I’ll—I’ll gloss over the finer points of that experience…” Your voice went soft and trailed away.

He ducked his head. Though across the room, he could feel the waves of pain and suffering radiating off you. He cleared his throat finally so you’d look up at him again. “Look, ‘m sorry. Ya dun gotta tell me any more of this if—if it’s too—”

“We already started,” you said, straightening up again. “Might as well finish.”

He nodded. “Where’d Lydia come in?” Daryl asked.

Your expression unstiffened, became less stony. “She was really just a kid then. Little. I saw Alpha beat the shit out of her countless times for screwing up, which was really just being a kid with normal needs. Sometimes, at night when she couldn’t sleep which was often, Lydia would come and talk to me. She’d ask me questions about the old world or about where I came from. Bring me whatever little bit of food or water she could. There was a—a kindness in her that her mother couldn’t kill. But it didn’t stop her from trying. Eventually, Lydia saw that they were going to kill me. I was going to die. Whether it would be from exposure, or hunger, or sickness, or the fighting, or whether Alpha just decided ‘today is the day’… neither of us knew, but I was going to die there.”

Daryl drew in a sharp breath as he realized. “She let ya go. Lydia.”

You nodded. “Yeah. And I tried to take her with me, to convince her that she didn’t deserve everything her mother—” you broke off and shook your head. “She wouldn’t. She was young. She was afraid. She almost didn’t remember any other kind of life…” Daryl watched you wince at the thought of leaving her behind.

“S’not yer fault,” he said. You looked up at him quickly, vague surprise on your face. “Ya tried. Ya can’t help people if they ain’t ready for it.”

You let out a wry laugh. “That sounds familiar… considering recent events,” you joked, giving him a semi-sheepish look.

“So, what happened after ya escaped?”

“I… went back. After what I’d seen out there, I had to try and warn them. Even if they’d traded me like a fucking sack of corn, I had to tell them. They betrayed me, maybe as good as killed me in some ways, but there were plenty of people in there who didn’t deserve what would come from The Shepherds, from Alpha. They were scared…”

Daryl’s brow furrowed more heavily. He stared in disbelief. “Ya went back… to the damn people who—”

“No.”

“No?” he repeated, confused.

Tears welled up in your eyes again and you fought against them, blinking rapidly to clear the blur. “No. I was too late. There was… nothing to go back to. No one. They were all dead. The whole place was ransacked, destroyed. Alpha had brought her horde in. She’d lied. There was never any fucking deal. She put the community board’s heads on pikes,” you said, your face distorting in disgust and anger as you remembered it, could almost taste the copper in the air.

Daryl’s heart sunk into his boots. “Fuck… ‘m—‘m sorry.” The distant look grew in your eyes again. You seemed to fade away, behind some gray veil where he wasn’t sure he’d be able to reach you again. Your voice drifted out from behind it.

“I still wonder if I hadn’t gone out hunting there again,” you shook your head, “maybe none of it would have turned out that way. All those people… families. Kids. They’d still be alive. Maybe the community would still be standing.”

Daryl’s chest ached. He felt hollow. Not just because of what you were telling him, of what had happened to you, but at the thought that it might happen to the people he cared about—The Hilltop, Alexandria. “Look, I’ve done things—things that I felt led—to some real bad shit happenin’. Got people killed.” Flashbacks of the line-up burst behind his eyes and he had to close them for a moment and steel himself before he could go on. “But we dun get to know. We don’t. It ain’t how it works. So, ya can’t keep on carryin’ that guilt. Maybe shit woulda turned out different, but maybe it woulda turned out exactly the same. Hell, maybe it woulda been worse. Ya made a choice to try and feed some of yours. Ain’t no blame in that.”

You looked up at him for a long moment and finally sighed. “After that, I just… I left. I hid.”

“Here?” Daryl asked.

You nodded. “Yeah. I found it and I built it into some kind of a life until I was ready to go after them.”

“Alpha.”

“And the others. She has a lot of loyal followers who are nearly as fucked up as her. If I get the chance to take them out, I do.”

Daryl set down his empty mug and clasped his hands between his knees. “Why was Lydia so angry with ya? When we went to see her at The Hilltop?”

“Because I’m killing them. Because she knows I want to kill Alpha. Because she knows she should have left with me? I don’t know. All of the above.”

Daryl’s mind was whirling, but he could see that you were exhausted, physically and now emotionally. “Thanks for tellin’ me,” he said. “I mean it. That—that can’t be easy to talk about. And… I understand why ya felt—unsafe at The Hilltop. It’s a community and it’s got people and I sure as shit would have some fuckin’ trust issues after that,” he said.

You let out an amused exhale. “Trust issues? Who says I have trust issues?”

“Oh—Nah, I—No, I didn’t—”

You let out a laugh and it broke the tension immediately. “Relax, Daryl. I’m kidding. You nailed it. But—I also suspect you may have some,” you said perceptively.

“Me?” he retorted. “Nah, I trust ev’rybody. ‘M a real open book…”

“Uh huh…” You leaned to one side as Achilles suddenly took off and landed almost silently on the rug beside Dog. He hopped closer and tilted his head one way and another, puffing up the feathers on his head and chest. Dog lifted his head lazily and turned to look at the bird. Achilles let out a low croak and strutted closer. “Achilles,” you said in a warning tone. “Be nice.”

He flapped his wings a little and walked around toward Dog’s tail. “Achilles…” But the raven showed no sign he was listening. He took a hop toward Dog’s long tail, the Malinois looking on, and then seemed to consider something for a moment. He made an exploratory grab at Dog’s tail, which the Malinois quickly flicked away and punctuated the action with a low growl. Achilles’ head tilted this way and that, thoughtfully, but the next second he hopped closer and repeated the annoyance. Dog rearranged himself more strategically on the rug, flicking his tail away again and curling his front toward the bird. He let out an annoyed noise. Achilles flapped his wings and gurgled, taking in Dog’s much closer muzzle and watchful gaze. Then, apparently undeterred, he darted forward, took hold of the end of Dog’s tail in his bill, and pulled. Dog lunged and barked. “Achilles!” you scolded him as he flew away with his prize, a tuft of Dog’s fur, and soared a victory lap around the room back up to the top of the armoire again.

Daryl couldn’t help himself and laughed at the bird’s antics. You rolled your eyes. “Don’t encourage his bad behavior,” you said. “Achilles, come on!” you said, pushing yourself up to stand. “Bedtime. Let’s go.” You held out your arm and he soared over and landed gracefully. You scratched his head affectionately. “Sorry, Dog. He can be pretty incorrigible.” The Malinois blinked at you, sighed, and went back to sleep. “Alright,” you sighed. “I’m pretty tired so… I think I’ll turn in.”

“Yeah. Yeah, good idea,” Daryl said, standing abruptly and awkwardly rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “Dog and I will hold down the fort out here…”

You nodded and started toward the door that led to the bedroom. “Night.”

“Night…”

When you got to the threshold, you looked back at him. “I meant what I said, you know. About Alpha. You and yours should take The Shepherds seriously. Especially since you have Lydia, the whole community could be in danger. To her, Lydia is a possession.”

He nodded, a little confused by the abrupt warning. “Yeah. I got it. Thanks again, for tellin’ me.”

With another nod, you disappeared into the bedroom and shut the door softly behind you.

#daryl dixon fanfic series #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon twd #the walking dead #twd fanfics #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl imagines #daryl dixon x reader #daryl x y/n #fanfics #writers of tumblr #twd drabbles

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littlefanficprincess · 22 days ago

Text

Below The Surface

Tmnt 2012 x (Fem) reader

Synopsis: The turtles reunite with a childhood friend.

(A/n): The timeline is changed a bit, they are let out to the surface for the first time but before April was kidnapped.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Moving to a new place is not something you can used to easily, especially a big city like New York. It wouldn't be surprising that parents would lose their child on the first day.

"Ow..." A small voice mumbles as a girl falls on her arms and legs, her shoes, socks and (skirt/shorts) were soaked by the sewer water.

The four years old had tripped into an uncovered manhole and fell in. Who would even leave open a manhole like that?

"You shouldn't have gone up there, what if master Splinter finds out?"

"It was only a peek, he won't know a thing"

"Wait, what was that noise?"

"It was coming from over there"

(Y/n) pushes herself off the ground, trying to shake the water out of her shoes. She squints her big (e/c) eyes when she sees four sillouettes heading her way. They were a bit shorter than her.

When they get close enough, the light escaping through the manhole illuminate their forms. Short humanoid green creatures black eyes, slight differences between them. They looked like they were straight out of an alien movie, but just with shells instead.

"What is that thing?" One with a bandaid on its cheek asks, disgust on its face."It looks like us, is that fur coming out of its head?" The tallest one observes.

"We shouldn't go near, it could be dangerous" The plain looking one warns the others.

"So cool!" The one with freckles smiles, didn't seem to be listening. He approaches the girl with curiosity "What are you?"

(Y/n) tilts her head as he leaned in closer. "I am a human, nice to meet you...turtles?"

"It can talk!" The bandaged turtle yells, pointing at her. They haven't seen any other species beside the rat that had cared for them since before they could even remember.

Then it was the tall turtle that began walking up to her. He stands behind her, pulling on her hair. He watches as her head would slightly tilt back as he pulled.

"Ow, that hurts" (Y/n) complains, pulling away from his grip. "It's not fur, it's hair"

"Hair...interesting" The tall turtle mumbles in amazement.Hesitation leaves the bandaged one's mind, deciding to join his brothers.

"Wait, Raph–" The plaine turtle calls out, but was ignored. First they break the 'no going to the surface' rule and now they are interacting with a 'you-man'.

'Raph' scowls, eyeing the human child. "Are all of you 'you-mans' this ugly?" He questions, poking at her cheek. "Why is it so squishy?"

The remaining turtle sighs as he realised he failed to get his brothers to listen to him. He follows after, standing next to the others. He judges aside Raph, looking straight into the girl's eyes. "Your eyes" he mentions.

His words catches the attention of the turtle with freckles. He leans over, looking at her eyes aswell. (Y/n) just saw two pair of black beady ones. "They're pretty! Like that big shiny rock master Splinter has"

"It's called a gemstone, Mikey" The turtle next to him corrects him.

"Gemstones, I like it!" Freckle throws his arms around (Y/n)'s shoulder, rubbing his cheek against hers. "Can we keep it, I will care for it real good!"

"I'm not a pet, you know" (Y/n) pouts, crossing her arms.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes"

"We can't, we have already been away for too long" Plaine argues.

"Leonardo, Donatello, Raphael, Michelangelo?" They hear someone calls out.

In a flash, the turtles had dissapeared. (Y/n) looks around confused, wondering where they went. She looks back up the manhole opening, seeing a ladder on the wall below.

Not having much choice, she climbed up it. She snuck out of the alleyway, being met with the sunlight. She was soon found by her parents, her dads didn't believe her story about talking turtles. They wrote it off as it being her imagination.

┏━°⌜ 赤い糸 ⌟°━┓

Timeskip

┗━°⌜ 赤い糸 ⌟°━┛

Then twelve years later, (Y/n) lays awake in her bed. Everytime she closed her eyes, she finds them open again. She gives up trying to sleep and gets out of bed.

She opens the door to her balcony and takes a seat on her balcony. She looks up at the sky, she would see stars if the air wasn't so polluted. She squints her eyes when she sees something on the roof of the building that was in the other side of the street.

(Y/n) gets up and leans on the railing, trying to get a good look. Were those...turtles? Each wearing a different colored badana, blue, purple, red and finally orange.

The shortest turtle stops in place, turning towards her. The two make eye contact, both not moving an inch. She hears one of the other turtles call out to him, so he runs off.

'Those guys were real this whole time. I'm not hallucinating, right? Are they ninja now? Would they remember me? Probably not'

┏━°⌜ 赤い糸 ⌟°━┓

Timeskip

┗━°⌜ 赤い糸 ⌟°━┛

(Y/n)'s eyes snap open when she hears knocking on her window. She pushes aside the curtain to see the shortest turtle hanging upside infront of her window.

She gets up from her bed and opens the door to her balcony. She watches as he lands on the balcony, a big smile on his face. She barely gets time to react as he pulls her into a tight hug.

"Gemstone! I thought I'd never see you again" He says, excitedly. Then letting go of her, bouncing up and down.

"You still remember me?" (Y/n) says surprised. She regonised as the turtle with freckles, his skin was more on the lime side compared to his brothers.

The turtles grabs her face, squishing her cheeks. "How could I forgot this cute face. Also I remember you by your eyes, so shiny like gemstones" He cooes.

(Y/n) graps his three fingered hands, pulling them down, but not letting go. "You have a great memory. My name is (Y/n), nice to meet you"

"The name is Michelangelo" He steps back, pulling out a pair of nunchucks and spinning it around. "But most people call me Mikey" His eyes suddenly light up, getting an idea. "What if I bring you to lair, I can't wait to see their reactions"

Looking back into her room, the girl thinks. "My dads aren't home, so they won't notice... It couldn't hurt, right" She slightly shrugs her shoulders.

She watches as he turns around and hunges over. "Get on!" Hesitantly, (Y/n) does as he says and climbs onto his back. She grips tightly his shoulders as he holds her legs. She tries her best to not scream her head off as Mikey jumps off the balcony and onto the next roof.

┏━°⌜ 赤い糸 ⌟°━┓

Timeskip

┗━°⌜ 赤い糸 ⌟°━┛

Quietly, Mikey leads (Y/n) into lair. She hides behind his shell as he shuffle towards his room. His brothers didn't pay too much attention to him. Leo was watching a tv show, Donnie was in his lab and Raph was reading something.

The turtles and his human friend sneak into the bedroom. (Y/n) tenses up when the foul smell of dirty clothes and moldy food hit her nose, it was definitely worse than the smell of the sewers.

"I'll be right back, gotta do something real quick. stay here" Mikey says, as if he was he talking to a dog. He slowly walks out and closes the door behind.

(Y/n) looks at the mess covering the bedroom. She folded the dirty underwear, questioning why he would even wear them.

Raphael eyes his brother as Mikey walks out of his room. He hears something coming from the room, sounding like things being moved. It couldn't be any of his brothers, meaning there was an intruder.

He gets up from the couch, pulling out one of his sai. He strolls over to Mikey's room, slowly opening the door. There he finds a girl, folding clothing. She didn't seem to have heard him. He puts the sai towards her. "What do you think you're doing here?" He questions her.

Flinching at the unfamiliar voice, (Y/n) realises she had been caught. She slightly turns her, looking who was standing behind her.

A turtle, a bit taller than Mikey. He wore a dark red bandana, which was a bit tattered. There was a small crack in the front of his shell, makes (Y/n) connect him with the turtle who had a bandaid on their cheek. Then she notices the weapon he had pointed her. "Um...I come on peace" She akwardly smiles.

Walking out of Mikey's room was Raph, pointing his weapon at a girl who was walking infront of him. "Look at what I found doing laundry in Mikey's garbage dump".

Leo looks away from the Tv, wondering what his brother was talking about. His face turn to surprise and then to fear "A human!?".

"Apparently Mikey got followed back here, not sure why you would good his underwear" Raph mutters, poking the girl's back with his sai.

The door lab opens, revealing Donnie. He pulls his goggles from his eyes, putting it on his forhead. "What is going on, I heard yelling" He looks at Lei, than Raph and then... "A human!?" He puts his hands over his mouth, realising that he could've alerted master Splinter.

"That's what I'm asking"

(Y/n) holds up her hands, trying to not get stabbed. "Listen, there is a good explanation for this"

A door slams open and Mikey comes running in. He stand between (Y/n) and his brothers, waving his arms. "Guys, guys, it's chill. It's just gemstone"

"Gemstone?" Donatello repeats, confused. He cautiously approaches.

"You mean the one we found in the sewers when we were little?" Leo asks, getting up himself. (Y/n) suspected him being the plain one and the tall one, being the tall one obviously.

Mikey crosses his arm, with a proud expression on his face. "The one and only" He brags, smiling.

Now being surrounded by the four turtles, (Y/n) realises how much they have grown. When she first met them, they were a bit smaller. But now they were almost towering over her.

Suddenly she feels a tug at her head, making her head tilt back. She realises it was one with the purple bandana, just like when they were little. "Ow, it's not fur..."

Donnie's eyes widen at her words. "...it's hair" He finishes the sentence. "Yeah, alright. It's her" He admits, feeling the texture of her hair.

"Anyways, my name is (Y/n). It's nice to meet you all again" (Y/n) introduces herself, fiddling with her sleeves.

The turtle with blue bandana places his hand on his chest. "I'm Leonardo, the one pulling your hair right now is Donatello and the angry looking one is Raphael, you already seem pretty familiar with Mikey"

"What is going on here?" Everyone seem to freeze when they hear master Splinter's voice. They turn to see him, looking stern at them.

"Sensei, I–" Leo tries to explain, but his defenses seem to melt away when he sees his father's gaze. Him and Raph step aside to reveal (Y/n).

"I let you go to the surface and you being back a human?" Master Splinter says, infuriated by his sons' decision.

Before any of the turtles could speak, (Y/n) steps forward. "Please, don't get angry at them, sir. It's not their fault. I had accidentally fallen into a manhole and wandered my way here, they were trying to get me out". The four brothers look surprised at her, not expecting her to lie for them.

The humanoid rat looks down at her, stroking his thin beard. "I must admit, taking the blame for them is quite honorable. But falling into the sewers is something you usually don't do twice".

"Twice? Wait, you knew?" Leonardo asks him.

"I have keen sense of smell and hearing, also you are pretty loud" Master Splinter explains, looking at (Y/n) once again. "Do you promise to keep our existence a secret from the rest of the world".

(Y/n) nods, looking up at him with a determined expression on her face"I won't tell a soul".

Master Splinter smiles, knowing that he could trust the girl. "Then you are welcome to reside here when you see as needed"

"Oh yeah!" Mikey cheer, pumping his fist. The other three couldn't help, but also be happy she gets to stay.

Their first human friend, reunited with them once again.

#oneshot #fanfic #x reader #starligt_galaxy #Tmnt #tmnt 2012 #tmnt leonardo #tmnt raphael #tmnt donatello #tmnt michelangelo #teenage mutant ninja turtles #master splinter #fem reader #childhood friends #tmnt x reader #tmnt 2012 x reader

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nsharks · 2 years ago

Text

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part four —other parts

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader words: 2.8k tags: death. blood. zombies of course. lowkey cannibalism implication. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn't here yet. slow burn. enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival. a/n: i'll try to get the next part quicker. my grandma wasn't doing well this past week but she is all good now~

Your fingers are decisive. You slot an arrow on the bowstring and release. It drives through the air with a silent whirl. Your aim is far from the best— it buries into the man’s shoulder rather than his skull.

The revolver falls from his grip and skitters across the ground. Your lips part to warn Blue, to tell her to pick it up before he can, but now his eyes point wildly in your direction.

An inhumane snarl rips through him. He is withered by hunger, aged beyond his true years. Matted hair and leathery skin. Still, he moves quick. He doesn't bother picking up the gun. Something animalistic drives him towards you. You find yourself unable to breathe. This isn’t what you expected. You fumble for another arrow, but as you try to get it on the string, it slips from your hand.

You are fucked.

The realization splinters your bones with adrenaline. It takes only a few blurred seconds for him to reach you. A weight greater than your own shoves you to the ground and your bow is knocked out of your grip. A human stench fills your nose as your arms flail around to keep a snapping mouth from reaching your cheek, your neck, your nose. Close combat is not a skill you’ve mastered. You have rarely needed it. Range weapons and retreating have been the tactics to shape your survival so far.

You can’t hear much besides his growling. You think you hear Blue shout. Blood pulses thick in your veins. You can’t think. A knife— you have that, but it’s in your coat pocket. His body is pressed against it and moving an arm to grab it could be enough for your fragile defense to crack.

It feels like you are being attacked by a dog, one with ribs that poke out and teeth that flash viciously.

Only when he pulls out his own knife does an idea occur to you. There is still the wooden arrow sticking out from his shoulder. It nearly pokes you in the face from all the movement. You wrap a hand around the base of it and snap the wood. You stab the splintered arrow into the first part of him you can reach - his torso. It doesn't stop him. Crazed eyes narrow. His blade goes for your neck but you block it. It cuts through the sleeve of your coat, earning you a gash to the plush of your forearm instead.

“Fuck,” you hiss, and tears prickle. Where is Blue? Maybe she could get—

The man is on top of you, and then he isn’t.

The weight is lifted, and the snarling ceased.

Through stinging eyes, you make out the shape of a dark shadow against the grey sky. There is an abrupt sound - the crack of bone. A snapped neck. The man’s head is bent haphazardly to the side before it rolls forward, limp and silenced. You breathe heavily through lungs that hurt.

A growl.

This is one you are familiar with.

But the arrival of it offers, for the first time, a sense of relief.

Your gaze slides over the form of broad shoulders and thick arms that toss the dead body to the side with ease. With the view from where you lay, Ghost looks even taller. Blue is dwarfed by him as she approaches his side, her eyes widened with concern more than fear.

She must have called for him. Or maybe he heard the snarling and rushed over.

Although you are the one laying on the ground, freshly attacked, she is the one he checks. Ghost touches a gloved hand to her cheek, moving his eyes to sweep over her.

“You alright?” he asks, firm yet gentle. “Did he hurt you?”

She gives a dismissive shake of her head. Then, it is she who bends down to help you up. It is a feeble attempt with only a child’s arm as your crutch. Your body feels like it’s been pillaged of energy. The wound on your arm is not nearly as bad as what their caltrops did to you, but it is enough to make you choke in pain.

“Fuckin’ hell," Ghost mumbles, before he gets the job done right by scooping you up. Only for a short moment are you in his strong arms, before he plants you on your feet.

"Did you know him?"

You press your palm over the gash, applying pressure over the oozing blood. Through tight teeth, you utter, “No.”

“Were there other camps in your area?”

You stand there bleeding, and he is interrogating you?

“I-I think so. Yes. One or two.”

He speaks under his breath, more to himself than to either of you. “Maybe he had to run, too, huh? Crazy fuck.” He roughly taps a boot to the side of the man’s body, inspecting it without care for its corpse. He glances around the trees for a short moment. Then, he looks back at you.

“Can you walk?”

It is less caring and more practical.

Can you?

“Yes,” you tell him, nodding lazily. Your eyes roll to the ground, having to watch each step of your boots to keep them moving steadily.

The walk back to camp is silent. Before you leave, Blue fetches the fallen revolver in the snow and gives it to him. Ghost discovers only one bullet in it. He carries the bow for you. You keep hold over the gash, hand soaked red.

At one point, a small hand brushes against your free one until her father grabs it and tugs her back to his side.

Everything feels like a blurred dream. Your brain decides to block out any thoughts of who that person was and where they came from. More importantly, what he could’ve done to you or Blue.

By the time you’ve made it to the cabin, you can’t recall what time of day it is. The boarded windows block out most light except a few stray strips. Ghost turns on a dim lamp.

To your surprise, he instructs you to sit on the couch and disappears for a moment before returning with his medical kit, which you have been a patient of once already.

This time, you are awake for it. Blue stands near the couch. He pulls a stool beside you. You shuck off your coat and roll up your soaked sleeve to reveal the gash that runs from the middle of your forearm to the knob of your elbow.

You know it could have been worse. If the blade had nicked bone, you’d be howling right now.

“Wet a cloth for me, Blue.”

She does so.

You twist your shoulder to offer the wound to him. Rough fingertips dab the damp cloth to the area and you roll your lips. You try to look at the wall to distract yourself, but find your gaze shifting to your nurse. He is a pragmatic one. All you can see are ashen lashes that line firm, shadow-cast eyes. Warmth rolls off his body in billows.

He puts the cloth down and rummages around for a needle and one of the rolls of black thread.

Before he can pierce the first stitch, his daughter’s soft voice stops him.

“Ghost,” she murmurs to break the silence. She walks over to the kit and grabs a small tube. Antiseptic, you believe. “You… You forgot this.”

His eyes lift from your arm and he looks back at her. There is a silent language they share. You’ve acted as a witness to it a few times now. You are not fluent in it, but with the way Blue’s brows furrow together, you have an idea of what he is trying to remind her of.

He is willing to offer the stitches.

You’ve spotted at least two rolls of the stuff.

But the antiseptic isn’t for you this time.

None of their medicine is for you.

“It might get infected,” she argues against his stare, her voice congealing into something firmer. She studies him.

“I’m not having this conversation with you,” he tells her lowly.

“She saved my life, Dad.” She grips the tube in one hand. With the other hand, she rubs the heel over her eyes. “That guy went after her because she… she protected me.”

You stare at the shorn rug, finding a distraction in the worn threads of red and blue. This conversation thickens the air.

Blue continues, words pushed out in a ramble now, “I didn’t even see him there. I wasn’t,” and her eyes drift to the floor before she admits, “I wasn’t aware of my surroundings, okay? But she saw him and she helped me. That is why he—”

“And how many times have we helped her?” he interrupts harshly.

He is either unconvinced of your role as a savior or doesn’t particularly care, not when it means sharing vital resources. He hadn’t witnessed the whole thing. It all happened so fast.

“We can help her more,” his daughter insists. “We can make sure she doesn’t get an infection.”

Ghost’s voice travels a notch louder, “Then that is one less time we can make sure you don’t get an infection.”

You can remember this type of tone - your own father used it a few times on you as a kid, but never did it carry the weight of life or death. Your arguments usually involved doing your homework or eating an extra sweet after dinner. For Ghost and Blue, most of their disagreements are about survival and mercy.

He turns to face his daughter fully. “Do you understand?”

“I just think—"

“Look at me,” Ghost says. There is no room here for her to bicker with him. “Do you understand?”

She meets his gaze under lashes that flutter hesitantly, casting shadows across her pale temples. With a swallow, Blue quietly answers, “I do.”

She puts the ointment back.

He stitches you up.

You bite your palm to keep silent.

Sleep evades you.

You jolt up against the floorboards when you hear the shed’s door creak open.

“Just me.”

With the light of a small flashlight, her eyes glisten. You sit up, spine sore. You didn’t eat dinner tonight; you hadn’t managed anything during your short-lived hunt, and you didn’t dare to ask for food. You didn’t think it was a good idea to further test Ghost’s generosity.

“Hey,” you give her a small smile. “It’s late.”

“I know.” She carries something in her other hand - a lumpy pillow. She sits down on the floor of your shed and you scoot your legs over so she can have space. “Ghost said I could give you this. Something to sleep on.”

“Oh, thanks.” You can’t help it, the words leave dryly: “He’s so generous.”

A look passes over her illuminated face - something apologetic, something wary. She looks down at the pillow in her hands and runs a hand over the fabric.

“I asked if you could sleep inside now,” she says quietly, sighing. “He said it’s a bad idea. You could steal our stuff and whatnot.”

“That’s okay. The pillow will help a lot. And—” you wave a hand around, “Kind of like my own hotel room here.”

“Maybe we could decorate it.” Blue looks around. “At least, in the spring when the flowers come back. There are these really pretty white ones by the pond."

You want to tell her you’re not sure if you will be here that long. Instead, you tell her, “Maybe.”

“I wanted to say thank you,” she then says. Her hair is still in the braids, but a few wisps have slipped out. Blue toys with one of them thoughtfully. “You really did save my life today, huh?”

“You’ve saved mine before."

Probably more than once.

She nods. She seems deep in thought, and the color of her eyes appears less youthful than usual. You really didn’t need to think twice about protecting her. A child’s life - her future - means more than whatever awaits you, anyway.

“Ghost always says that the only person you can trust is yourself,” she mutters into the small space. “What do you think?”

“I think he’s right. I think that being careful with who you trust is smart.”

“Do you trust me?” whispers Blue.

“A little bit.”

You can’t trust her fully. She still has a higher power to answer to, despite her innocent intentions.

It is then that Blue flips the pillow over. Her hand slips under the faded, cotton case of it and reaches for something hidden inside— what you now realize to be the cause for the lump at the bottom. What she digs out and reveals to you in the palm of her hand has your breath catching in your throat. The tube of antiseptic.

“I can’t,” you choke after a beat of silence.

Moisture dallops the rims of your eyes. You don’t know why; this kind gesture feels foreign, inviting a strange weight to your chest.

“Blue... thank you, but I can’t.”

“You can,” she says and begins to untwist the top. “You had my back, and I have yours. I don’t want your arm to get infected.”

But your hand reaches to cover hers, halting the removal of the top and pushing the tube closer to her chest, away from you.

“Ghost will notice,” you explain. “And then you will get in trouble and he will make me leave, alright? Thank you, but I can’t.”

“Just a little,” she insists in a hushed voice. “He won’t notice if I put it right back.”

With great reluctance, you move your hand away and let her continue. Even just a little could be enough to save you from a nasty infection, and it’s not like you have antibiotics. If you did get an infection, you’d have to take the treacherous journey to a pharmacy and hope that there is still something left on the shelves. You’re not confident that you are in strong enough shape yet to survive a trip like that.

You shrug off your coat.

You’d rinsed out your shirt and dried it by the fireplace before retreating to your shed. Lifting up the cleaned sleeve, you reveal the gash sealed with sutures. The ridge of it is a swollen range of ugly mountains against the rest of your unblemished forearm.

With soft fingertips, she dabs some on. You swallow and offer another thank you.

When she is done, you lower the sleeve and rub at your damp eyes.

“I will put a liiiiittle more on tomorrow night, too. Just a little,” she tells you, and the youth sparkles back in her irises. She gives you the pillow. She puts the tube in her coat pocket this time. Not as great of a hiding place but you hope she knows what she is doing.

Before Blue leaves you to sleep, she tells you:

“I trust you a little bit, too, you know.”

a/n: more sweet papa ghost in the next one i promise :)

taglist: @cool-0-n @savagemistresss @morganvoorhees @dinsverdika @cated18 @lolszass @jeswiii @all-good-things-have-an-ending @alternatealt @uvoiid @underatreedrinkingtea @ramadiiiisme @crissteetee67 @lexi-zsy09 @spikespiegell @littlezarp @rebel-soldat @4headkissess @mckenzieriley69 @moxxiestar @palomaxaxaxa @msjaeger @galacticstxrdust @anubiseqq @l-0-v-3-r-z @kakashiislut @a-queen-blr @random0lover @hehatesmati @ghost-with-a-teacup @konigbabe

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost #zombies #zombie apocolypse au #cod #call of duty #fanfiction

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theyhavetakenovermylife · 9 months ago

Note

Write a fic about where you are attending kindergarten and then there's a rat fighting off foot ninjas

and then TMNT x reader

Ninjas In Kindergarten (Angst?/Crack?/Fluff?)

Bayverse!Turtles x reader

A/N: In honor of the second rat we found in the toilet today, along with the signs of rats in the other parts of the kindergarten, daycare and staff room, I bring you this. I’ve changed it from Foot ninjas to a mouser, and brought the turtles in just for the fun of it. And oh yeah, they brought the rat hound in again. IT FOUND ANOTHER RAT WHILE WE WERE THERE. What an internship. It isn’t boring I tell ya.

Btw, me and the kids are now joking that it's Master Splinter’s unmutated family that wishes to recruit ninjas on their own. These little ninjas now do a double check before using the toilet.

Warning: Kids in danger, crying children, and spelling like always.

It was a surprisingly calm day for a Monday in a kindergarten. All handovers of the kids from their parents had gone smoothly, with the kids happily playing together on the mats, the pillow room or the play kitchen. Even the girl that tended to cry whenever her mother dropped her off was in a somewhat good mood, drawing with her two best friends at one of the tables.

You sat by the play kitchen area, plastic food all around you as the boys and girls around you handed you food, acting as if you were the only guest in an overstaffed restaurant. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see one of the adults cutting up fruit, while another one brought more pencils to the drawing table, all while the third one was changing diapers on the three youngest kids.

It was nice to finally have a calm day at your internship. The past few weeks had been somewhat chaotic. Not so chaotic that you couldn’t keep afloat, but enough to make you very tired whenever you finally got home. But damn it, these sweet kids made the whole ordeal worth it, only making you excited for the day you would have your own.

You and your boyfriend had started to talk about children. Nothing was set in stone yet, but the topic had been up several times. Well, if it was possible that was. With your boyfriend’s… less than human nature, none of you were sure that a child would even be possible. But nonetheless you dreamed, finding your heart jump whenever one of the kids accidentally called you mom.

“(Y/N)!”, one of the girls at the table called out, running to you with the drawing in her hands. Her 4 year old face, bright eyes and happy smile shined proudly as she held up her drawing for you. It was a blob of colors with no form of meaning, but nonetheless she was happy. “I made it for my mom!”

“Woooow!”, you smiled, leaning forward to show interest in the paper and the many doodles on it. “Did you really make that all by yourself?”

“Yes!”, she said with a little happy jump. “All by myself!”

“I think your mother is going to like it a lot”, you said, smiling as another kid handed you yet another piece of plastic food, adding it to the growing pile in your lap. “I think you should put it in your drawer. Then mommy will know where it is”.

“Okay!”, she smiled, running to her drawer with a skip in her steps.

With the paper in one hand, she opened her drawer, only to jump back with a scream, causing you and the other adult to jump, all turning your attention her way, all the kids doing the same in quiet shock. In her drawer was a mechanine, the size of a mouth, with one bright red lamp where its eyes should be, walking around on two feet. You jumped at the sight, knowing exactly what it was. You had seen such a thing several times with your boyfriend and his brothers, during your run ins with one certain scientist.

You quickly ran to the girl and pulled her back, just before the mouser jumped out of the drawer, snapping out at you. All the kids let out a scream, running for the farest corner in order to get away from the mouser.

In one swift move, you pressed the number that the turtles had given you onto the keyboard, sending an alarm signal to the ninjas, before giving the mouser a hard kick as it tried to get near you and the poor crying girl.

“Up on the tables!”, you yelled over your shoulder to the three other adults, quickly helping the girl up on the nearest table, before helping the next kid. “Keep the mouser away from the kids!”

And so you did, getting all the kids up on the tables, ignoring the questioning looks from the other pedagogues, as they wondered how you knew what that thing was.

You got the last kid up on the table, kicking the mouser back once more, before quickly jumping up on the table to the kids, before it could bite at your ankles. The kids on the table hug you tightly, crying as the mouser started to bite at the wooden legs of the table, trying to get it to fall.

Suddenly the door swung up, revealing your mutant turtle boyfriend in the front and his brothers right behind him. The moment he spotted the mouser at the feet of your table, he jumped into action, smashing it into pieces with his weapons, causing the room to fall quiet. Thankfully the kids weren't crying at the moment, but you could tell by the looks on their faces that the sight of four mutant ninja turtles would soon cause another round of crying.

“So”, you said, trying to defuse the building intensity in the room. “Kids, this is my boyfriend. You know, the one that was a little different with strong muscles? That is him”.

Your boyfriend waved at the kids with a somewhat awkward smile. When he and his brothers gave you that emergency number, he had never thought he would have to come and save you, three pedagogues and a bunch of kids from a rogue mouser.

To his surprise, one of the kids poked at him, staring at him with their big eyes and runny nose, not fearing his big frame as he looked at them.

“Are you green because you ate broccoli?”

“Yes”, your boyfriend answered with a smile, before knocking on his shell. “And I got this from drinking coconut milk”.

“Oh boy”, was the only thing you could mutter, before the questions came flying, all of the kids wanting to learn about your strange boyfriend and his brothers.

It didn’t take long before the kids started playing with your boyfriend and the other turtles. With Mikey they took turns to jump on the smashed mouser, laughing loudly at the sounds it made. Donnie drew with girls, taking a look at the drawing the girl from before had made. Raph played a throwing game, throwing the kids into a pile of pillows one by one, while Leo was making a tower of building blocks with the quiet kids, their eyes growing wider the taller the tower got.

It was safe to say that you would have to bring your boyfriend and his family to your internship a little more often, especially when the kids started screaming and asking you to bring them once again. There was nothing you could do. The kids had turned into big fans of the ninja turtles. And it was adorable.

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icrypop · 4 months ago

Text

"Fatherly Advice"

TMNT 2012 Donatello

2012! Donnie x Fem! Reader

Fluuufffffyyyy

Hiya my lil bookworms, hope everyone is weellllll! I know its taken me a hot minute but my jobs kicking ass right now :') I'm so sorry and I'll try to update more but also give people chances to request!!! ANyway, thought this was cute cuz Splinter from 2012 is like... an awesome father figure and I love Donnie soooo- Here is some fluff!! Also, definitely make sure to check out writer Grem's stuff, they're working hard right now<3

ANYWAY, Requests are 100% open so pleaaaaseee ask away<33

-Writer Icy<3 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the serene and dimly lit dojo beneath the bustling streets of New York City, Master Splinter sat in quiet meditation. The soft glow of candlelight flickered against the walls, casting gentle shadows that danced around the room. His keen ears caught the sound of hesitant footsteps approaching.

"Enter," he called, his voice calm and inviting.

A young girl with h/c hair stepped into the dojo, her eyes filled with uncertainty. Y/n had been a friend of the Turtles for some time, often joining them on their adventures. Recently, however, her heart had become overwhelmed with emotions she struggled to understand.

"Master Splinter," Y/n began, her voice barely above a whisper. "I need your advice."

Splinter opened his eyes and looked at her with a kind and knowing gaze. "Sit, my child. Tell me what troubles you."

Y/n took a deep breath and sat cross-legged before the wise old rat. "I... I think I've caught feelings for Donatello," she admitted, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "But I don't know what to do. I don't want to ruin our friendship or make things awkward between us, especially if he has a crush on April."

Splinter nodded slowly, considering her words. "Love is a powerful and beautiful emotion, Y/n. It is natural to feel uncertain when your heart is involved. Tell me, what is it about Donatello that draws you to him?"

Y/n smiled softly, her eyes lighting up as she thought of Donnie. "He's so intelligent and kind. He's always thinking of others and working so hard to help everyone. He's brave, but he also has this gentle side that... that makes me feel safe and cared for."

Splinter's whiskers twitched in amusement. "Donatello is indeed a remarkable young turtle. Your feelings for him are understandable and sincere."

Y/n sighed, her shoulders relaxing slightly. "But what if he doesn't feel the same way? Or what if it makes things complicated with the team?"

Splinter reached out and gently placed a hand on Y/n's shoulder. "In matters of the heart, there is always a risk. But love is not something to be feared. It is a gift to be cherished. If you speak honestly and openly with Donatello, you will find your path."

Y/n looked up at Splinter, her eyes filled with gratitude. "Thank you, Master Splinter. Your words mean a lot to me."

"Remember, Y/n," Splinter continued, "Love requires patience, understanding, and courage. If your feelings are true, they will find their way. And no matter the outcome, your bond with Donatello and the rest of the Turtles will endure."

Y/n nodded, feeling a sense of calm wash over her. "I will talk to him. Thank you for the advice sensei."

Splinter smiled warmly. "Go with confidence, my child. Trust in your heart and in Donatello's."

With newfound resolve, Y/n stood and bowed respectfully before leaving the dojo. As she made her way to the lab where Donatello was undoubtedly working on his latest invention, she felt a renewed sense of hope. Whatever the future held, she knew that Master Splinter's wisdom would guide her through the challenges ahead.

And in the quiet of the dojo, Splinter returned to his meditation, his heart full of pride for his son and the young girl who had bravely sought his counsel.

Donnie's POV~

Donatello adjusted his goggles, his focus completely absorbed by the precision needed to tend to the chemicals in front of him. The hum of machinery and the faint scent of chemicals filled the air, creating a familiar and comforting backdrop to his work. He was in his element, surrounded by the tools and gadgets that defined his world.

"Hey, Donnie," a voice called out, pulling him from his concentration.

He looked up, a smile spreading across his face as he saw Y/n standing at the entrance of his lab. Her presence was always a welcome distraction, though he could tell something was different this time. There was a nervousness in her eyes that made his heart skip a beat.

"Hey, Y/n! What's up? Need help with something?" he asked, setting his tools aside.

Y/n stepped closer, her eyes locking onto his. "Actually, I wanted to talk to you about something important."

Donatello's curiosity piqued, and he gave her his full attention. "Sure, what's on your mind?" He asked, raising his goggles.

Y/n took a deep breath, her voice trembling slightly. "Donnie, we've been through a lot together, and I really value our friendship. But lately, I've been feeling something more. I think… I know...Okay...I have feelings for you Donnie."

Donatello's eyes widened in surprise, his mind racing to process her words. "Y/n, I… I don't know what to say."

Before he could find the right words, a loud hissing sound filled the lab. Donnie's eyes darted to a beaker on his workbench, which was boiling over and fizzing violently.

"Oh no!" he exclaimed, rushing to grab a towel.

Before he could reach it, the top of the beaker exploded with a small, harmless pop, sending a shower of foam and liquid across the lab. Donatello and Y/n were both splattered with the pink fizzing mixture.

For a moment, there was stunned silence. Then, Y/n burst into laughter, her eyes sparkling with amusement. Donatello couldn't help but join in, his own laughter filling the lab.

"Well, that was unexpected," Y/n said, wiping foam from her face.

Donnie grinned, shaking his head. "I guess I got a little distracted. Thankfully, the mixture wasn't harmful."

They both laughed again, the tension of the moment melting away. Donatello reached out and wiped a bit of foam from Y/n's cheek, his touch lingering a moment longer than necessary.

"You know, Y/n," he said softly, "even with exploding beakers, this has been one of the best moments of my life."

Y/n's heart swelled with warmth, and she leaned into his soft touch. "Mine too, Donnie."

Donatello took a deep breath, his eyes locking onto hers with a newfound determination. "Y/n, I need you to know something. I've had feelings for you too, for a long time. I was always afraid to say anything because I didn't want to risk our friendship. But now, I don't want to hide it anymore. I care about you so much and I do reciprocate those feelings."

Leah's eyes widened in surprise and joy. "Really? What about April?"

Donatello nodded, his expression earnest. "Yes, Y/n. I got over April. Look, You're amazing, and I want to be with you...I-If you'll be my girlfriend, that is..."

They stood there for a moment, Donnie reaching slowly to hold her hand gently. The world around them seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them in their shared happiness.

In that moment she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close foe a hug. he hesitantly wrapped his arms around her, stiffly before relaxing slowly. It was quiet a promise of many more moments to come, filled with love, laughter, and the bond that had brought them together.

As they cleaned up the lab side by side, their hearts were light, knowing that they had taken the first step on a new and exciting journey together. Donatello couldn't help but feel a sense of joy and contentment, knowing that Leah felt the same way. And with her by his side, he knew that their adventures would be even more special.

Little did the duo know, Splinter was just outside, listening to the whole exchange with a proud smile on his face, "That's my son." he nodded and made his way back to the dojo to continue his meditation.

#donatello 2012 #2012 tmnt #tmnt 2012 #donnie x reader #donnie tmnt #donatello x reader #tmnt x reader

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dragonridernoobie · 7 months ago

Text

Page 1

Transformers

Single Mother Reader (Optimus, megatron)

Pregnant Reader (Shockwave, Starscream)

Blind Reader (Optimus, Megatron)

Pregnant Reader (Optimus, Megatron)

Predicon Reader X TFP Kids

Sister Reader (TFP autobots)

Granny reader predicon (bayverse optimus, ratchet, Bumblebee)

Mother Figure Reader (Optimus, Megatron)

Emotionally Didatched Reader (TFP Autobots)

Reader Wanting to beat up child (Optimus, Soundwave, Shockwave)

Predicon Reader (Predaking)

Forgetful worrier reader (Optimus, Ratchet, Megatron)

Demon Reader (Optimus, Arcee, Bumblebee, Bulkhead, Ratchet, Smokescreen)

Demon Reader part 2 (Megatron, Starscream, Shockwave, Soundwave, Breakdown, Knockout)

Demon Reader part 3 (Megatron, Soundwave, starscream, shockwave, Knockout, Breakdown)

Demon Reader part 4 (Optimus, Bumblebee, arcee, ratchet, bulkhead)

Demon Reader- (Starscream) (NSFW)

Model Reader (Starscream, Soundwave, Megatron, Breakdown, Knockout)

Mechanic Reader (TFP Ratchet) (NSFW)

Predicon Reader TFP(Autobots/Humans)

Esméralda Reader (Megatron, Starscream)

Readers Pet Owl (Optimus, Bumblebee, Arcee, Bulkhead, Ratchet)

Predicon Reader (bayverse optimus, megatron, sam)

Mutant Reader (Optimus)

Maximal Reader (Optimus, megatron)

Nervous Reader (Optimus, Ratchet, Soundwave)

Gladiator Reader (Megatron)

Zombie Apocalypse Reader (Optimus, Ratchet, Wheeljack)

Nifty Reader part 1 (Optimus, Ratchet)

Nifty Reader part 2 (Optimus, Bumblebee, megatron, Soundwave, shockwave)

Avian reader (Ratchet, Optimus, Wheeljack, Megatron)

ADHD Reader (Optimus, Ratchet, Bumblebee, Arcee, Bulkhead)

Neotenic Reader (Optimus, Ratchet, Smokescreen)

Physically Hurt Reader (Optimus, Ratchet, Bumblebee, Soundwave, Starscream)

Kidnap Reader Son (Optimus, Ratchet, Bumblebee, Arcee, Bulkhead)

Dark conscience reader (Optimus, UltraMagnus, Megatron, Starscream)

Hiccup problems (Bayverse TFP, ROTB)

Snakes (Optimus, Ratchet, Wheeljack)

Mentally Tierd Reader (Ratchet, Wheeljack, Megatron, Soundwave, Shockwave)

Helpful Reader (Ratchet, Shockwave, Starscream)

S/O being flirted with (Ratchet)

Best Friend Reader (Smokescreen)

Captured Reader (Megatron, Knockout)

Angry Reader (Megatron, Soundwave, Starscream, Knockout, Breakdown)

Deaf Reader (Megatron, Soundwave, Starscream, Knockout, Breakdown)

Orange Cat Energy Reader (Megatron)

Reader X Megatron (Megatron) (NSFW)

Predacon Reader Part 3 (Bayverse Transformers )

Predacon Reader Part 4 (Bayverse Transformers)

Mixbreed Reader (TFP Megatron)

Reader X Knockout (TFP Knockout) (NSFW)

Predicon Reader (Bayverse JetFire)

Angle Dust Reader (TFP Ratchet)

Artist Reader (Megarron, Knockout)

Undertale/AU's

Married Reader (Undertale Sans) (NSFW)

reader stargazeing (Undertale Sans)

snick reader (Undertale Papyrus)

Abused reader (Underswap Papyrus)

Serial killer Reader (Underfell Sans)

Reader x Bitty (Underfell Sans, HorrorTale Sans)

Threesome Reader (Horrortale Sanse, DustSans) (NSFW)

(Y/N) dancing in love land (Dust sans)

Error X (Y/N) (NSFW)

Adventures Reader (Undertale Sans)

HelluvaBoss/HazbinHote

Hellhound Reader (Mammon)

Musician Reader (Charlie MorningStar)

Reader (Romantic) (Angle Dust)

Legend of Zelda

Human Reader (Ganondorf)

The legend of the Gerudo King and Human (Ganondorf)

Human Reader (Zelda)

Meta Human Reader (Superman/ClarkKent)

Mutant singer Reader (Jason Todd)

My Little Pony (Gen 4)

Alicorn Reader (main 6)

Teenage Mutant ninja turtles

Master Splinter X neice reader

#headcanon #transformers tfp #x reader #tfp optimus prime #tfp megatron #tfp ratchet #optimus x reader #sans x reader #ratchet x reader #undertale #helluva boss mammon #helluva boss

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normal-internet-user · 2 years ago

Note

Since we got the Bayverse turtles with a sibling reader , Could we possibly get the 2012 bros x Platonic! fem child Sibling reader? Perhaps the reader is a recently mutated Turtle that the turtles come across and adopt as their sibling?

EEEE YES!! I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS!

(P.s. (R/N) means random name!)

2012 BOYS WITH A MUTATED CHILD SIBLING READER

First is backstory! Headcanons are at the bottom!

....................................

The boys were on an intel mission. A new kraang base had made its way onto their raydar, and they needed to find out what they were up to.

The last thing they expected to find was a little mutated turtle. You were so small, it hurt them to think about how you got here.

"She's just like us guys!"

"Mikey, quiet down, you're scaring her." Leo scolded him.

The blue clad leader crouched down to your level, reaching out a comforting hand and speaking in the gentlest tone he could, "Hey there, we're gonna get you out of here ok?"

You sniffled, reaching out to take his hand with your tiny one. He picked you up as carefully as possible, doing his best to sooth away your tears.

"I can check her over for injuries when we get back." Donnie said, checking to make sure the coast was clear. He nodded to the others, and the four made their way home, with you falling asleep halfway.

They entered their home, and Donnie gently took you from Leo. The action woke you up, and you started to cry, not wanting to be taken away from Leo.

Donnie quickly passed you back to his brother, and the two went to the lab so Donnie could check you for any injuries.

Raph and Mikey went to get Splinter and alert him of the new arrival. They rejoined their brothers in the Lab, their father in tow.

Master Splinter spotted you and felt a wave of nostalgia hit him. You looked just like the boys when they were tots, he approached you, and you shyed away into Leo.

"Hello there, what is your name?"

You spoke quietly, your voice was soft and timid, "Subject 05."

Splinter glanced at his sons, and they all shrugged, Raph spoke up, "We found 'er at that kraang base. Guess that's what they called 'er."

Splinter looked back at you, a gentle smiling playing in his lips, "Well if you're going be staying here, you'll need a proper name."

You looked up at him with wide eyes, "I can... stay?"

He nodded, "You can. Now how about we find you a name, hm?"

You nodded eagerly, and the boys began to toss around ideas,

"How about (R/N)?" Donnie suggested,

Raph shook his head, "Nah, let's call 'er (R/N)."

You stuck out your tounge and shook your head, and Leo looked down at you, "You don't like that one?" you shook your head again, and he hummed, "Well how about, (R/N)?"

You shook your head once again, muttering, "Uh uh."

Mikey raised his arm up high, "I got it! Let's call her (Name)!"

You thought for a second, then nodded, "I like (Name)!"

Splinter chuckled, "Well then, (Name), let's get you settled in. Welcome home."

....................................

These boys' adore you.

Thats to be expected though,

You are the baby of the family, and they definitly treat you like it.

You were a bit clumsy the first few weeks of you being there,

So Leo made you walk around wearing knee pads, elbow pads, and a helmet untill you grew out of your two left feet.

When April and Casey met you,

April was instantly slain by how adorable you were, (Casey too, but c'mon, he ain't gonna admit that.)

Casey has experience with taking care of young kids, since he has a little sister, so he babysits you often.

You even have playdates with his sister,

Ya'll are besties!

Everyone tries not to say the k-word around you, (Kraang), since it's kinda a trigger for you.

They learned that quickly and adapted to avoiding the topic around you.

One of your favorite activities is having a tea party with your dad.

When the boys are out doing their ninja things, you always have tea time with Splinter.

He starts training you as soon as you're willing,

He makes sure to pace it so as not to overwhelm you, but you are really enthusiastic about your training.

You just wanna be an awsome ninja like your brothers.

If you ever can't sleep, you'll spend some time in Donnie's lab,

He's usually up really late, so you'll keep him company while he works,

You even have your beanbag chair next to his desk.

Raph takes you with him when he and Casey go tag buildings,

You get your own little corner to paint and everything.

It always makes you happy.

Mikey likes to read to you,

It's a nightly ritual that he tells you a bedtime story, and you can't sleep without one.

Sometimes they're actual stort books,

Other times he tells you all about some of their past adventures.

Some of them water downed of course, you are stull pretty young.

Leo loves to watch cartoons with you,

All kinds.

You guys have daily Space Heros marathons.

Even when you grow up.

You'll never say no to Leo when he asks if you want to watch Soace Heros.

April helps Donnie homeschool you.

You don't really like lessons, you think it's boring, but you sit through them without complaining because of how excited Donnie is to teach you stuff.

April is really just there to help you understand certain things while also making sure Donnie doesn't go overboard and try to teach you something like honors chemistry.

Obviously they have a lot of enemies,

So they do their best to keep you a secret from them.

Obviously the kraang will want their test subject back,

And there is no way in hell this family is letting that happen.

If anything ever happened the entire Hamato clan would burn down heaven and hell to get you back.

And that is not a threat.

It's a promise.

.........................................

All done! @gal-with-pastels I hope you enjoyed my friend!

#tmnt #tmnt x reader #x reader #leonardo x reader #raphael x reader #donnie x reader #leonardo x reader tmnt #mikey x reader tmnt 2012 #tmnt x reader platonic #platonic x reader #master splinter x child reader #child reader #tmnt x child reader

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queers-gambit · 2 years ago

Text

Kin Slayer [ part two ]

PICKS UP INSTANTLY FROM WHERE [ part one ] LEFT OFF [ alternate ending two: Sweetest Devotion ] [ series masterlist ]

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!wife!reader

fandom: House of the Dragon

word count: 5.4k+

note: two parts cause total word count was 12k+. also, this is the final, people!!

warnings: loose book spoilers - proceed at your own risk. cursing, spoilers, angst angst angst. ❗️SPOILERS

The Dance of Dragons was a bloody war that left families and towns splintered; burnt into nothing for wind to sweep away the ashes. Corlys had been named Hand of the Queen, and together, devised a plan to protect her remaining children. You were on bedrest at Dragonstone, so, you were accounted for. Joffrey was to be sent to the Vale with his dragon and a few eggs, as well as your step-sister, Rhaena, who visited you the most following Rhaenys' death.

Poor lass needed comforting, and you were happy to provide.

Your half-siblings, Viserys and Aegon (the Younger), were sent on a ship to Pentos - something you grew jealous of. Being on bedrest left no room for any other thought beside how you should have accepted, risked everything, and ran away with Aemond across the Narrow Sea.

This left Jace to step-up in your place, and after your advice, sent word for any Dragonseeds to attempt to master riderless dragons. Dragonseeds were Targaryen bastards and though very few ever got the right to ride a dragon, your brother offered an opportunity that only four could complete.

The ancient dragon Vermithor was claimed, as well as your father's dragon, Seasmoke, Silverwing, and the temperamental Sheepstealer.

However, at the same time, according to scouts, the Gullet of King's Landing had been overrun - and word reached you of your baby half-brother's demise. One captured, the other left to cling to his injured dragon and swim for Dragonstone's shore.

However, as your mother told you the news, there was a commotion from the courtyard that even Rhaenyra could not stop you from leaping to your feet to stare out the window.

"JACE!" You worried, hand to your cramping belly. "DON'T!"

But he was gone - away on Vermax, going to avenge his half-brothers in a fit of impulsive rage. In response to your stress, you gasped when your legs were covered in a sudden rush of slick, and before you were due, it was evident your child was coming. Your mother lead you back to the bed and called for the Maesters, never once leaving you alone through the bloody ordeal. It was the worst string of events you could recall - where Aegon was resting from his frightening ordeal, you were screaming in pain, and Jace was flying too low to the surface of Blackwater Bay - crashing.

Vermax did not survive the ordeal, and rumor had it, soldiers on the Green's ships fired at your helpless brother - spearing him to death. The pirates then made land-fall, and your father's home of Driftmark was set ablaze. Through the fire and smoke and pain and misery, you were no different.

The birth lasted two full days, and during the whole of it, you felt your emotional dam shatter. Through pain, sweat, and tears, you begged the room, "Please, please, someone find Aemond. Please, for the love of the Gods, get my husband. Please! Send for him! He should be here!"

"You know he cannot be here, love," Your mother tried to encourage, but you were sobbing harder.

"Please, fuck this war - fuck the succession. Fuck everything! J-Just let him be here, please! Please!" You sobbed, "Someone take Kasta - or just send Kasta herself! He will understand! Please, please, please, he should be here. I-I need him," you felt broken, "I need him here, please, get Aemond, find my husband, I need him, please, please."

Rhaenyra just held you tighter as you sobbed uncontrollably. With your dressing gown soaked all the way through with sweat and blood, you started to pace around the birthing chamber with your hand reached for your cunt periodically to feel for the diameter. You knew there was much time to go, but the pain was indescribable.

When the contractions were too powerful, you refused any aid - except your mother's. Rhaenyra was at your side as you squatted to the floor, using the stone wall to keep you upright as your hands tried to guide your babe from your bloodied cunt.

Still, you begged for Aemond because this was something you couldn't do alone and while you had your mother, you needed your husband. Your heart was broken, your stress tangible, and for the life of you, no matter how hard you screamed or begged, there was never any relief from pain - in head, body, and heart.

The darkness had only just set over your family.

As a messenger arrived to give news of Jacerys' death, you were pulling your still-born son out, sobbing at the sight of their his body. Your mother tried to remain strong but she was surrounded by death; both by a scroll detailing the demise of her first born son, and that of her first born child giving birth to twins who would never draw their first breaths. Rhaenyra held your son as you pulled your daughter out, soon slumping into the puddle of blood and fluid as you weakly held your babies.

"Spread your legs," your mother nodded, guiding your knees open as you only offered her a look of curiosity. "The afterbirth, my love," she explained, helping you in the final part of delivery - but you barely noticed. You didn't feel. How could you, when you were holding your heart in your arms? Your eyes were locked on the bloody babies, confusion and resentment circling your gut.

"Well," you whispered, glancing at your mother, "that's that, then."

She frowned deeply, gazing at the dead look in your eyes. "I'm so sorry, my girl."

You nodded slowly, only one question on your mind, "Do I tell him?"

Rhaenyra scoffed gently, "Give yourself time to grieve, my love. You need to mourn before you worry about anything else."

You sighed, head leaning back to the stone behind you as her hand reached out to pet sticky hair from your face. "Did I do this?" You whispered. "Did I push myself too far? Did... Did I kill my babies, Mumma? Is this my fault?"

She sighed with a frown, "In truth, you did not know about the ambush... I do not think the fault lies with you, my love. Sometimes, these things happen when the mother is under incredible stress."

You hummed as Aemond once did, unable to move. Even when she tried to coax you to your feet, you refused to get up as your body was drained of life, of purpose; of any energy or drive to continue forward. Yet, hours after giving birth, you were on your feet and wrapping both babies in cloth before presenting them to Kasta on a pyre of wood.

Your mother's hand remained in yours as your voice clearly rang out in the cold night, "Dracarys, Kasta."

She whined with steam leaking from her nose, waiting for you to give a second command before heaving a large inhale and upon exhale, let out of a stream of fire.

The light flickered in the night, and from that moment forward, you were never the same. Something in your heart snapped, something in your mind broke, and in your soul, shriveled into nothing. You were desperate to understand why your children had to suffer for someone else's war, and in your despair, forgot to pen a letter to Aemond.

Yet, perhaps that was good - for your anger bubbled as bright as Kasta's flames. You needed someone to blame and the stress of Rook's Rest seemed the most appropriate; leaving your mind set on the Greens. Your anger festered and showed in your fighting in the war, leaving nothing but smoldering ashes anywhere you were sent.

Time on Dragonstone became hectic following Jace's death. You were your parent's secret weapon and felt little ire for your actions; charging headfirst into danger without so much as a second thought towards consequences. With your babies gone, you felt little reason to be cautious - because being reckless seemed your speed now.

Word then reached your ear of Aemond marching armies and flying Vhagar into the Riverlands. Your spies told your mother, who had ensured to you that your step-father, Daemon, who was in Harrenhal still, also knew of the movements. You remained at Dragonstone with Kasta as your mother and Daemon flew to sack the Capital City, and soon enough, word reached you that the city fell in less than a day. You sent Rhaenyra's sons to her, but remained in the place you were to inherit.

Time passed still, and your heart never mended.

However, imagine your surprise when you came face-to-face with Aegon II in a darkened hall late one stormy night. "Aegon?" You questioned in earnest shock. "Am I seeing things? That really you?"

"It's me, sister," he snipped curtly, hands clasping before him.

"What're you doing here?"

"I've been here for a bit actually," he revealed. "I was smuggled from the capital before your mother took it."

"Hmm," you considered nervously, "I see. And you're here now, because...?"

He sighed, "If I ever owe my brother anything in this life, I will never again after this one curtesy. You can't win this war, Y/N, and there are Greens here to take the island."

"This is my home, Aegon, I cannot abandon it," you argued.

"I'm trying to give you time to go get your kid, get on your dragon and get the hell out of here," he snapped. "This is the one - the one curtesy I will grant my brother after all he's done."

"You owe him so much more," you sneered. "You do not deserve him."

"Did you, ever?" You steeled your jaw. "Now, go. Before I change my mind and instead send him your head."

"Where is he?" You decided not to mention the death of your children.

Aegon sighed, "The Riverlands, still. You might be able to find him."

You shook your head, "How'd it come to this, Aegon?"

"In truth?" He sighed. "I do not know anymore. But you need to go, get your kid, and get the Hells out of here. Do not try to alert the others," he nodded, and a guard stepped out. "My man here will ensure you do not stray from task."

Nodding, you whispered, "Thank you... Aegon."

He nodded in return, seemingly genuinely shocked by your words. You turned and rushed for your room, packing whatever you would need - whatever would fit for your trip. Aegon's man stayed true and saw you to Kasta, and you were left no choice in mounting and surging into the air. You had no choice but to abandon your home.

Aegon and Sunfyre watched you go.

You flew for days, no sign of any Black ally. You grew frustrated, and Kasta understood; taking control and turning to head a bit farther West. You were confused until you came across smoke, and through it, you made out the form of your husband's dragon burning the countryside. Fearing for the lives of those countrymen who lived here, Kasta located Vhagar in the air - but the great dragon saw her coming. It was a clash of flesh, teeth, and claws; yet neither you, nor Aemond, were willing to concede.

Fate worked in funny ways, and before you understood what was happening, you screamed when one of Vhagar's teeth pierced into the flesh of your calf when she latched onto Kasta's chest in a fatal bite.

You swore you heard Aemond telling Vhagar not to, but a moment later, you were thrown from the saddle as Vhagar had crushed your beast into the ground. You were momentarily knocked out before coming to again, noticing your armor had been ripped off in the crash, gazing around you as Vhagar took a victory lap in the air, and you saw your beloved mount... Laying unmoving.

"KASTA!" You screamed, half-crawling-half-limping your way to her in a rush, thinking you could save her. "Oh, Gods, no, no, fuck, fuck, fuck, this wasn't supposed to happen," you wept, letting her muzzle rest on your lap as you got a look at her injuries. Vhagar had all but gutted her, leaving thick spurts of blood to leak into the cratered ground around you. "Oh, my precious girl, not you... Not you," you sighed as you stroked her cheek and neck.

Behind you, Vhagar landed with a tremble, and your head whipped around with anger when you noted Aemond dismounting. Gritting your teeth, you stood to your unsteady feet and unsheathed your sword; turning to face Aemond as he came to a halt. "Love," he warned, hand held in caution, "it doesn't have to come to this."

"We're past that," you seethed. "What're you doing here? If your brother can't rule, you'll ensure there's not even a country to preside over?"

He shook his head, "I need to draw your step-father out."

"He's not so easily taunted," you argued, readjusting the weight of your sword, "but I know what will draw him to you."

"No," he refused, "I will not fight you."

"I did not say fight," you sighed, starting your approach and ignoring the pain through your legs. "You'll have to kill me today, Aemond. No more running, we finish this now."

"No," he backed up, but you did not stop. Taking a swing, he jerked back as his sword rose to the defense. "Sweetheart, no, just listen - "

"I'm done listening," another hack from your sword was blocked. "You've ruined everything," your tears surfaced as anger burst; channeling it through your movements that left Aemond shocked. "You had to kill my brother - and I have not known peace since!"

"It was an accident!"

"LIAR!" You raged, metal clanging together. "You wanted to torment him - you wanted to pursue! You could not let it go - and in turn, you ruined any future we could've had!" Your sword swung around, nearly catching his chest - forcing him to flinch backwards. "You did this - why!? Huh!? Why ruin what we had!? Fight me, Aemond! Show me the swordsman I know you to be and fucking fight me!"

"I cannot! I will not!"

"You must!" You heaved, and Aemond was forced to brandish his sword to fend you off. You grit your teeth, and for a moment, Aemond had no idea who you were. He's never fought you, he's never seen you fight, but he knew you father, Laenor, and step-father, Daemon, both trained you. They were incredible soldiers on their own, and in you, was all their skill. None of their distraction.

Aemond was losing this fight, and his temper was slipping.

"FIGHT ME!" You raged through angry tears, iron clanging against each other. "I am left with nothing, there is no more left for me to lose!" Another deafening clash of iron rang out around you. "You've taken everything with this stupid fucking war! I've lost it all! Everything! Because of YOU!" You fully sobbed, never relenting in your attack despite the exhaustion settling in. "My brothers! My dragon! My babies!"

"Wait! Wait, love, wait!" He barked, using both hands to hold his sword hilt against your swinging attack to simply pause in midair as you both panted heavily. "Wh-What're you talking about? What happened?"

Your eyes were dead but shining with tears, "They're dead."

"Who?"

You sniffled, "W-We should have a pair of beautiful twins. A little girl, who looks just like my Aunt Laena - and a little boy, you looked just as his father!" But the anger came back, making you swing the swords to break contact. You attacked again, making him block you, "They're both dead! Because of you and your attack on Rhaenys at Rook's Rest! You started this war - and I lost everything I've loved!"

"You weren't supposed to be there that day!" He insisted, still fending you off with his sword. "I thought with your pregnancy, your mother would not risk you!"

You laughed bitterly, "You weren't there to protect me, now were you? My mother needed me, I came back to her, and in return, I could not shy away from what she needed."

His breathing staggered, "You were sent to the frontlines."

"I was," you grit, pulling back before swinging again. "You weren't there! I needed you!" Another clash of swords. "I needed you with me, I was alone! I was alone, you let me be alone, I needed you, and you weren't there! I had to go through that birth with only my mother, and all I fucking wanted - all I fucking needed was you! You weren't there and I needed you!"

"That was not my doing - "

"You started this war when you killed my brother!" You raged. "Fight me, fucking Kin Slayer!"

Your hacking movements made him defensive and in a short moment, everything changed. Aemond, quick with his blade, but playing the evasive measure, had parried your attack before taking a wide, sharp swipe. But it was enough, and he froze the moment you did; eyes widening as shock passed between the short space between you.

Looking down, your tunic was blooming in bright red blood after the tip of his sword cut clean across your gut. Your hands, after months of pressing to the same area to hold your babies, now tried to hold your entails inside you as your sword clattered to the ground. You stumbled back a few steps, groaning as blood slowly coated your mouth, eyes cutting up to meet that of Aemond's fearful stare.

"A-Aemond?"

"Love?" He asked, dropping his blade to rush for you. You did not fight him, letting his hands take hold of you as he helped navigate you back towards a still-moaning, barely breathing Kasta. "Hey, hey, hey, no, no, no, no, no, no no, no," he whispered when you were lowered in your dragon's blood, leaning to her shoulder for support. "Oh, Gods, what have I done? No, please, no, fuck - Gods, no."

You smile ruefully, choking lightly on your blood; teeth lined with red as you whispered, "Now y-you cannot deny the title Kin Slayer."

"No, no, do not, don't do this, please," he argued. "Don't call me that, I-I'm your husband, I'm your love, your sweet husband, remember? Don't call me that, please. None of this should have happened - I'm so sorry - please. Just stay with me, okay? I-I'll fix this - I can fix this."

But you both knew he couldn't. Just like all those years ago when your hands had covered his injured eye, his pressed to your gut. Like those years ago, as your hands once had, now his were coating in your life's liquid.

It silent for a moment as all defenses of yours finally dropped and your tears suffocated you more than the internal bleeding you suffered through. "A-Aemond," you whispered, feeling one hand move to caress your cheek, "I-I'm so scared, love, please. I'm so scared. I don't want to do this alone, please, Aemond, don't make me do this alone. I-I need you, my love, please."

He sighed and moved beside you, not minding the wetness of the blood surrounding you both; lifting his arm to draw you into his warm embrace. You don't voice it, but you're starting to feel cold and the warmth he provided was something you cherished.

"I'm so scared, too, my love," he admits in a whisper. "I'm so sorry."

"I am, too," you sobbed into his neck. "I'm so sorry, I'm so fucking sorry. Aemond, please, i-it hurts, my love, please. I-I don't want to die, I don't want to be without you, I-I can't do this next part alone. I hate how this war played out," you whimpered, his arm tightening as the other came around to cradle your head into his neck. "I wish I would've run away with you when we had the chance. So much would be different... W-We'd have our baby."

"Don't do that," he rushed, kissing your sweaty forehead. "It's okay we didn't run, it's okay, sweet girl. It's all going to be okay, I promise you."

"What if it's not?"

"It has to be," he promised, giving you a squeeze. "I'm not leaving, you're not alone. I'm here, I'm right here, my love. You're okay. You're going to be okay, I promise you, you're never alone."

"Would you do me a favor?"

"Anything."

"Show me all of you," you whispered. Aemond understood and all but ripped his eyepatch off, caressing your cheek again. You sighed in wonder, "There he is. My handsome husband."

Aemond smiled sadly, "I don't think I can let you go."

"At-At-At least, y-you'll get Daemon out here," you chuckled sadly, fully leaning into his embrace as your neck hurt trying to keep it upright; crashing to his shoulder. "You'll get what you want - an end to this, if you kill him."

Aemond shook his head and tried to press a hand to your wound, again - but it only made more blood seep over his fingers. "My love, please, let me get you out of here. Kasta's spent, sweetheart, and I'm so fucking sorry for that loss, but I can get you t-to Maesters on Vhagar. Please, let me try."

"'S too late for me," you chuckled dryly, patting one of his wrists as your energy was depleting.

"What have I done?" he whispered, looking more panicked than the night he told you about Luke.

"What was needed in wartime," you sniffled, using your energy to lift your gaze up to him, again. Weakly, you let go of your wound to reach for the neckline of your tunic, pulling it down some and leaving smears of bloody fingerprints. "Please," you whispered.

He let his brows furrow, gently reaching for what you referred to. He breathed out when he discovered the golden Warrior pendent you had gifted him for his first nameday as a married couple.

"Take it," you begged, "let it protect you while I'm gone."

"Love - "

"It was a gift," you insisted. "Take it back. Do not make a dying woman beg."

"All right," he whispered, readjusting slightly to unclasp the chain and remove the necklace.

You settled back into his side as you knew the end was nearing. With your hands holding your entrails in and his arms tight around you, you whispered, "Is it true that you took a lover?" Aemond stops breathing for a second. "Please do not lie to me."

He shudders a moment, "I did."

"What's her name?"

He doesn't want to respond, but he does, "Alys. Alys Rivers."

You hummed breathlessly, whispering, "Do you love her?"

"No," he answers instantly, "but... She is useful."

"Oh, Aemond, I do not wish to hear - "

"No, no, you misunderstand," he rushes. "She's unlike anyone I've met. She... Sees things in the flames, love. Like a sort of witchcraft."

You hummed, "Like across the Narrow Sea."

He nodded, lips pressing over your forehead, "Yes."

"Then she told you to come here, did she?"

Aemond pauses, tears falling faster, harder, "She did..."

"Hmm," you sighed, "now I see. She knew I'd be here and needed you to commit to her."

"What?"

"That's how these things work," you croak with a sad smile, letting a bit of blood spit from your mouth to splatter on the dirt. "She needs you: mind, body, and soul. Y-You can't be hers because y-you're mine. W-With me gone, s-she can finally have you, and service you better. J-Just promise me something, please," you felt your throat starting to close.

"Anything, my love. Anything you ask for, I will always give you," Aemond promised swiftly, bringing your forehead to his.

Through your tears, you manage to whisper, "Please don't forget about me. With no children, we've no legacy, but... But if you don't forget me, I cannot ask for much else."

Aemond holds his breath again. Then, he whispers, "I could never forget you, my sweet girl. We are bonded together, my love, and you will always be a part of me, my darling, sweet wife. I will never forget you because I could never love another because all my love is yours, and always will be." It's quiet for a moment before he admits, "You're it for me, my pretty girl, I won't ever love another, won't ever take another wife, and I'm so fucking sorry." His sobs become uncontrollable, holding onto you tightly, "I'm so sorry. This never should have come to pass, I'm so sorry."

You nod, "I forgive you... For all of it." You're dying and there's no use denying that, not wanting to take your anger to the grave. "Aemond, now I-I need to ask the impossible of you, my love."

"Anything," he promises.

But you sobbing through your request, "Kill me, pl-please. J-Just make it stop, love, it hurts so bad. So fucking bad. Please."

For the first time in his life, Aemond had to refuse you, "No, no, not in this lifetime, I cannot - please, do not ask that of me. Let me get you help - "

"It's too late for me, my love, and we both know it," you sniffled. "Please, Aemond. Ju-Just make it s-s-stop."

"I cannot," he whimpered, forehead to yours again. "I love you so much, more than reason and more than life. I cannot do this to you, I-I hate myself for where we are now. Please do not ask this of me."

"I-I don't want to go," you admitted, holding onto him so you were nearly pulled fully into his lap. "I'm so scared, Aemond, please. I don't want to do this alone, please, my love, I don't want to be alone. I just want to be with you, I can't go - I don't want to go. Please, I don't want to be alone."

"You'll never be alone," he tried to promise but his emotion was too thick to sound confident. "There's so many who love you who are waiting for you beyond this life. They're going to be with you, always, an-and soon, I will be there with you. You'll wait for me, right? Yes?"

You nodded against him, trying to hold your sobs in, "I'll wait for you, my love, yeah. As long as it takes, I'll wait for you."

"I'll miss you so much," he whispers. You smirk gently, lifting a bloody hand to pet over his cheek - staining any part of him you touched with blood. "I know it pains you, but I'm glad, in the end, it was you."

"Don't say that," he pleaded.

"I am, because I get to meet my end with you," you nodded. "But Aemond, yo-you've gotta finish it for me, love."

"No," he refused again.

"Please," you begged quietly. "Just do it, Aemond. I-I'm not surviving this, I'll only suffer worse."

"I cannot," he still refused. "I know it is a kindness, my sweet girl, but I cannot be the one who takes your life - not like this. Please, do not ask this of me."

Kasta gave a low groan.

"Would you do me a different kindness, then?" You whispered.

"I will try to," he nodded, tears falling down his soaked cheeks. Above, the sky slowly started to darken as a new storm brewed.

"Kiss me goodbye," your bottom lip trembled as you tried to smile at him but the action was near impossible. "Please, husband?"

"You need never ask me. I love you so much, my sweet girl," he swore, leaning in to press a last kiss to your bloodied lips. You hummed softly, keeping him close for a moment longer to savor this moment. But it was over far too soon.

"I love you, too," you sniffled when you pulled back and he started to shift onto his feet, but remained crouched to keep level with you. "Do not forget me, my love, please."

"Never in my life," he whispered, letting his tears flow as he took one final kiss. "I'll miss you beyond words, my pretty girl."

"Thank you," you whispered, unable to keep yourself upright and leaning dependently on Kasta.

"For what, my love?"

You smiled through your tears and pain, "For the love of a lifetime. I-I wish we had longer, too, because the time we had wasn't enough."

Aemond's jaw clenched as his tears would not stop; hearing you recall his words from months ago shattering his heart. Nodding, his lips pressed to your forehead, and with one last caress of your head and lingering promises of his love, he had to pull away. You grinned as you watched him, chuckling to yourself before coughing on your blood; letting it splatter uselessly across your lap while weakly holding your wound.

"Still with me, precious girl?" You asked Kasta in High Valyrian, who gave a low groan. You stiffly tried to sit up some, but only managed a half-shuffle. "Will you do something for me?" She purred. "L-Looks like neither of us are getting out of this, my gem... I-I need you to end it for me, my girl."

But she growled.

"Dracarys, Kasta," you sobbed through your pain. "Please, Kasta! Dracarys! Do not make me suffer, please, dracarys!"

But your dragon's head lowered to the bloody ground, belly and throat left slashed open from Vhagar, and as if in sync, you both breathed outward for a final time. Just as you came into this world with a bright, emerald green dragon egg, so you left this world with the soul of that very same dragon.

Exactly as it all started, it all ended.

Rumors swirled around the country regarding the demise of Rhaenyra's eldest child, Princess Y/N Velaryon, now Princess Y/N Targaryen - devoted and beloved wife of Prince Aemond. Some say she went mad with grief from losing her brothers and children, some say it was self-inflicted. But the thickest rumors reached Daemon's ears about how it was Vhagar and her own husband who killed the Jewel of Westeros and the Great Emerald.

Aemond could not deliver the final, fatal blow; leaving her there to bleed out from her wounds in a pool of Kasta's blood. Aemond refused to sit with the absolute, infinite knowledge that he killed his wife, and instead of manning up to help her from the pain he inflicted, he only turned away from her.

He left her.

He had prayed Kasta would end her suffering but rumors reached his own ears about how she was found - fully intact - in her dragon's cradle. Kasta's head was claimed for the Green's and sent to King's Landing for trophy-keeping, and years later, was one of the skulls Robert Baratheon smashed to dust during his Rebellion. Aemond did not know pain like this, and on Daemon's fourteenth day of waiting, Aemond arrived at Harrenhal. Both were enraged by their grief, both feeling the sting of loss...

Daemon, over his beloved step-daughter as his own seed, and Aemond, over his sweet wife; both mourning the same loss, but refusing to see eye-to-eye.

"Is it true?" Daemon demanded when Aemond faced him. "Is it true that you killed her? I deserve to know what became of my child."

"It was an accident," Aemond tried.

But Daemon snorted, "Then this is where it ends. You and me, nephew."

"To the death?" Aemond checked.

"To the death, Kin Slayer," Daemon growled - sending both men to mount their dragons and to the skies.

Yet, in the end, legend has it that neither survived. Historians know Aemond Targaryen died that day after discovering the bones of Vhagar in the lake's waters with her rider still chained to her saddle. The skull still had Dark Sister driven through an empty eye socket. Though, Caraxes was found dead on shore, her rider, Daemon, never was.

Nobody knows for sure what happened, but from your place in the Heavens, you watched with Aemond back in your arms as Nettles came to rescue your severely injured step-father. They stole away on Sheepstealer, and made a new life across the Narrow Sea - the life you and Aemond should have had, but fate never allowed.

But in the clouds, you were reunited with those you loved and lost; spending time with your eye on land, watching how the war ends as your husband's arm remained snug around you. When the end of the war finally reigned and (most) of your loved ones joined you in the Kingdom Above, you and Aemond stepped back from the clouds, and together, with your hands locked together, fell back into eternal rest.

🍒 fin

[ part one ]

[ alternate ending two: Sweetest Devotion ]

[ series masterlist ]

#aemond targaryen #prince aemond #aemond the kinslayer #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x fem!reader #aemond targaryen imagine #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd imagine #hotd x reader

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courtforshort15 · 2 years ago

Text

Chapter 3

Pairing: Matt Murdock x fem reader

Word Count: 6,200

Summary: It's a Wednesday when the sky quite literally opens up above you. The Battle of New York rages around you, and the only thing that gets you through is the stranger standing next to you. Matthew Murdock is more than he seems, keeping you safe in a city that is literally crumbling around you, and even once the dust settles, his hand is the only thing you don't want to let go of.

Trigger warning: none really, just some references to violence, some ableism

Chapter Index

When you were younger, you'd spend a few weeks at your grandparents house during every summer break.

It was something they always did, taking in all five grandkids for two weeks, letting them run wild and celebrate the end of a successful school year, releasing all the pent up energy that came from nine months of sitting at desks and memorizing various facts and figures and historical dates. It was a win-win-win for all parties involved, really. Parents got to have peace, quiet, and alone time with their spouses; grandparents got a few weeks of spoiling their grandkids rotten; and kids got to spend time with cousins at the lakehouse.

You'd loved it, and it was always extremely difficult to leave, trading open, non-fenced back yards for a cookie-cutter house in the suburbs.

You were an only child, and existed smack dab in the middle of the five cousins with two older and two younger. And before the two older kids had reached their teen years and suddenly thought they were too cool for the younger ones, the five of you would spend countless hours playing hide-n-go seek across the property.

Katie, the oldest, was extremely smart and observant, always seeming to know exactly where each kid had gone when it was her turn to seek, a master in knowing her cousins well and their favorite places for hiding. The game always went fast when it was her turn, quickly and ruthlessly hunting down the younger kids with no sweat.

You were no different than the other kids, usually sticking to the same sorts of places; the types of places you could get in and out of easily, places that were difficult to see into. Dirt crusted on your fingertips and shoved under your fingernails as you hid under the porch, trusting the shadow to keep you hidden. Splinters forcing themselves into the palms of your hands from wrenching open the shed and squeezing yourself against the wood paneling inside, kneeling behind various boxes and tools.

The shadow was home to you in these instances, trusting it to keep you hidden from your cousins, but your habit was well known to all, so it had never lasted long.

Today, darkness was once again keeping you hidden, keeping you away as much as possible from those that would do you harm. Gone were the days of games with your cousins, replaced gradually with the presence of adulthood, and now viciously tossed aside for something that quite literally could keep you out of reach from your family for good. This time, there would be no laughter as Katie or another cousin pulled you from your spot, no giggles to tell you that you lost and it was your turn to seek, no snicker as they remind you you're too predictable.

No. No, not this time.

This time, your reluctant exit will be met with a sight you'll have nightmares about for weeks, and without the childish laughter or your grandmother's voice calling you in for dinner. For once, you're trapped in a sense of darkness that is suffocating. The irony doesn't escape you, being afraid of the dark next to a man who has no choice but to live in it.

The bathroom is eerie with nothing more than a glowing exit sign and a sliver of daylight creeping in from underneath the door, offering a pathetic attempt to provide you with any light. It's not nearly enough to give you a solid visual of the counter and stalls, but you suppose you're not in here for the scenery. It seems odd to you that such a tiny bathroom would even need an exit sign, though you certainly aren’t going to complain. Odder still is the fact that it’s even working when flipping up the light switch had done absolutely nothing.

You suppose you don’t get to be the one to decide what things will work and what won’t work during an alien invasion. It’s beyond your pay grade, apparently.

Both beside you and pressed against you, Matt pants heavily, though it's less from exertion and more from the adrenaline of almost dying, you're sure. His arm is wrapped around your shoulders tightly, and you're incredibly grateful that his strength is holding you up because you're not sure if the muscles in your legs would be able to support you with the way they're trembling. He drops your hand to brace it against the wall behind you, and he shifts so that he leans against it slightly.

He could easily release his hold on you, easily move you so that you're balanced against the wall instead of on him, but he doesn't. Instead, he’s somewhat bracketed you in, large frame angling you so that his back is to the door. Without you noticing, he’s once again placed himself so that he’ll take the full force of whatever could come at the pair of you. And once you’re aware of what he’s done, you move to shift away, not liking the idea of him being the one to take the pain first, but his grip tightens just enough to make it difficult to move.

You don't fight him on it, your frame trembling too hard to have any chance against him.

Matt lets out a loud exhale and leans forward to lay his forehead against the wall, resting it there while his lungs struggle to calm down. You're not doing much better, one of your hands reaching up to cling to his suit jacket, and the shudder that wracks through his body is only mirrored by the one that seethes through yours.

“Are you okay?” You ask quietly once you’ve caught your breath, chest still tighter than you would like, but unable to relax enough to let your breathing settle completely.

“I’m fine,” he whispers, and his voice in your ear is almost as close as it had been when he’d placed himself on top of you when the window had shattered. “Just some cuts, I think. Nothing major. You?”

Your head is nodding before you answer. “Same. My hands and knees are nicked pretty good, but I think that’s the worst of it.” You’re trying to ignore the stinging, you really are, but even in your fear and heightened adrenaline, your palms and knees hurt.

Matt finally pulls himself away and off of the wall and drops his arm from your shoulders, apparently having regained some of his composure, but he doesn’t step away from you, nor does he move enough to keep you from being shielded from the door. He still stands in front of you, though he’s straightened his spine, and somehow he seems both taller and broader than you had originally thought.

“Give me your hand,” he orders suddenly, brow furrowed from what you can see in the low light.

You can't help the confusion that flits across your face, or the way it colors your immediate question. “Why?”

“Just–just give me your left hand,” Matt says again, and though the tone is almost urgent, it’s not necessarily impatient. You consider him for just a moment, curious about why he’s asking, but you ultimately decide you have nothing to lose by placing your hand once again in his. He wastes no time in cradling your hand in his own left hand, and you can’t help but look down as he tentatively brushes a finger across your palm, directly over one of the cuts you’d sustained while clamoring to your feet in a mad rush to get to the bathroom. With a hiss, you try to yank your hand back, but he doesn’t let you, other hand tightening around your wrist.

“This one is going to need stitches,” he says quietly, fingers still running lightly around the cut in question. “It’s pretty deep.”

“How do you even know that?” You ask, hand throbbing in his, palm trying to instinctively curl in and push his fingers away. Matt finally lets go, allowing your hand to slowly pull away from him, and you immediately find yourself cradling it against your chest. Multiple parts of your body sting, including your other hand, but how could he possibly know it’s worse than the other cuts?

Matt’s head tilts in a question you're unsure he even wants to ask, but he does so anyway. “You said you trusted me, right? Did you mean it? Will you…trust me to keep you safe?”

You can’t help but frown at him. There’s not a single inch of your body that doesn’t want to keep clinging to him, to beg him to see this through with you, no matter where the horror of this Wednesday leads you. But the more you think about it, the more you come to understand that it’s not fair to put that on one person, to make your life their responsibility.

“Matt,” you begin slowly, eyes searching his face as best as you can in the limited lighting, this beautiful stranger who had placed your hand in his on that door step before immediately taking control of the situation in an effort to save you both. “That–that’s a lot to put on you. I can’t ask that of you, it’s…it’s not right.”

He’s shaking his head before you finish. “That’s not what I asked. Will you trust me?”

“I–”

“It’s a yes or no question, do you trust–”

“Yes.”

The bathroom is quiet for a moment after you finally answer his question to his satisfaction, even while the sounds you’d rather not think about continue to rage outside. The tile of the bathroom carries the word for just a moment longer, as if the word yes needs to be heard more than once for it to really settle in. It had only been one word, one single syllable, but for some reason, you think the word has never been more heavy, more resolute than anything else you’ve ever said in your life.

You can’t help but think that it’s tied you to the man in front of you more concretely than a rod of steel that's been welded to another, and it’s a tie that will last long after the dust of New York City has settled.

Matt inhales sharply as your lips finish forming the word, and his reaction is immediate. His shoulders square and stiffen, and he takes a sudden step around you, feet carrying him to about a yard away towards the counter you can faintly make out. Confused, you turn your body so that it still angles his, and you see the vague outline of him reaching for something. It’s only a split second before the sound of water trickling out of a facet fills the air. With a small gasp, you take a step towards him, hip bumping into the counter, suddenly desperate for a sip. You move to cup your hands to form some sort of makeshift cup, but the sharp sting in your left palm flares back to life.

His body twists towards yours, and a hand settles on your wrist. “Let me wash my hands, and then I’ll help you clean that cut out.” You wince, but you can’t really argue the idea of trying to clean the cut, especially if it needs stitches like he says. Nodding and sighing hesitantly, you listen as he washes his hands. When he’s done, his hand gently grasps your wrist, and so you reluctantly let your hand be led under the cool water.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers quietly when you hiss and jerk your hand back instinctively, but he doesn’t let go, just helps you hold your hand in place while the water runs over it. The smell of soap hits your nose before he adds it to your hand, and you turn your head away with another wince. He helps you clean your other hand, rubbing soap into the other smaller cuts, before he turns off the water.

You bring your left hand up to you for inspection, sighing when you see in the low light that it’s still bleeding sluggishly. He’s right, you think. It will need stitches.

Nose scrunching up slightly, you glance up at him. “I think…I think I need to wrap it. Can you help me tear a strip off of my shirt?”

“You can use my tie,” he answers instead, quickly removing it from around his neck, the fabric smoothly sliding against the collar of his shirt. A single second later, he’s reaching for your hand again, and you're able to catch a quick glimpse of the tie, barely noticing the blue with flashes of black, as he wraps it around your hand quickly. The fabric is too thick for him to tear, so he tucks the end of the tie underneath the layers. It’s bulky and feels strange, it doesn’t allow you to fold your hand in much, but you’re hopeful it’ll keep things from aggravating it further.

“Thanks,” you whisper, the sound barely traveling.

“You’re welcome.” Matt’s head shifts slightly, the sounds of outside momentarily drawing his attention. The sound startles you, too, having been focused on the man who had been working on your hand so tenderly, and you can’t help the way your heart speeds back up as you're reminded of the death and destruction that's wreaking havoc on the other side of the building's walls. Jumping slightly, you glance up at the man, seeking the face that's managed to bring you comfort in moments of terror, and it just so happens that the light from the exit sign catches the skin of his forehead pretty clearly. Eyes wide, you notice for the first time the large cut just past his hairline, one that has caused a trail of blood to trickle down the side of his face.

“Matt,” you say in rapidly rising concern. “Your head, it–”

“I know,” is all he says, his shoulders vaguely shrugging. “We can take care of it later.”

You shake your head quickly in disagreement. “Uh, no. Let’s take care of it now.”

“It’s not necess–”

“If you’re honestly about to tell me it’s not necessary when you have a giant gash on your head, then you can just find a way to deal with me cleaning it anyway,” you tell him, already moving to turn the water back on. A wad of paper towels are in your hand a second later, and you wet them before he even responds. When you turn back around, Matt’s still directly behind you, hands on his hips.

“Tilt your head down.”

“It doesn’t matter, I’m fi–”

You can’t help but snort, despite the situation. “I told you to tilt your head down, Matthew. I let you clean up my hand, and now it’s my turn to clean up your head.”

Instead of tilting his head down, he lifts up his chin and tosses his head back in something resembling defiance, sighing loudly . His shoulders are still stiff, every inch of body seeming untouchable, unwilling to accept help. Normally, you might have kept your distance from a man like this, someone who would fight you every step of the way to have someone take care of them. You’ve dated enough men who were closed off, men who pushed you away when they were hurt or scared, desperate to save face, as if experiencing such emotions made them less.

But this isn’t a man who seems afraid to accept help, but rather one who perhaps believes his pain wasn’t worth the trouble. So, respectfully and as calmly as you can, you take a step further into his space, thread your fingers in his hair as best you are able to, and pull his face down to yours.

He makes a sound of surprise in the back of his throat, but keeps his mouth shut otherwise. Without a word from either one of you, you maneuver your fingers around his glasses and carefully wipe the blood from his face with the wet paper towels, grabbing new ones and wetting them as needed, until his face is as clean as it can be. His face is still hardly lit up in the dark of the bathroom, but you can't help but notice the small winces he makes every time you get closer to the cut, and the tongue that darts out to wet his lips.

Frowning, you grab one last set of paper towels and press it gently to the large cut that stretches an inch or so just past his hairline on the left side of his face, causing hair to be sticky and matted down slightly. He hisses, but unlike you, he stands still while you clean it, and it only lasts a few seconds before you are done.

Outside, the isle of Manhattan continues to collect a large number of gashes and bruises and fatal hits to its infrastructure and population, but nothing is more important in that moment than the man whose face is just a foot from yours.

Eventually, you sigh and take a step back, throwing the bloodied paper towels in the trash can, and Matt straightens, face clear of the blood that had been violently decorating his fair skin.

“Uh…thank you,” he tells you haltingly, shifting somewhat awkwardly. He steps around you, once more settling his body between yours and the door, as if attempting to act as some sort of shield should anything come barging in, before turning back to you.

You shrug lightly, almost helplessly, wishing you could convey the thought that his pain, his body mattered, even as he all but offers himself to go first in the battle that is raging outside. “You did the same for me.”

“Yeah, but—”

Matt doesn’t get to finish his sentence, not when the building suddenly rumbles and shakes, the walls creaking and groaning loudly. The sound is as terrifying as the actual vibrating and trembling of the building, and it causes your heart to drop to the floor.

Once upon a time, you’d lived on the other side of the country in San Francisco. The apartment you’d tried to make home was small and in a gross part of town, but you’d done your best to make it work in a city where the cost of living was almost as bad as New York. You hadn’t stayed long, only a year or so, having moved there for a man you thought was worth the abrupt change at the time. It hadn’t worked out, for multiple reasons, and though you’d learned many lessons about what you wanted and deserved in a relationship, in this moment, you can't help but think that the best lesson you ever learned was what to do in an earthquake.

The collection of sinks to your right sits on top of a counter, but from what you can see in the dim lighting, it's one that doesn’t have anything underneath it, just a few twisting pipes and a stack of unopened paper towels. It’s not a great solution, the pair of you will have to make yourselves as small as possible, but it’s better than nothing should things really start to fall.

Matt had grabbed you and done his best to shield you from the glass, but this was something you perhaps had the leg up on, so you waste no time in yanking him forward and pushing him underneath the counter, making sure his head doesn’t knock against the stone. You’re not standing for much longer, shoving yourself beside him, covering your head with your sliced up hands.

You’re not quite sure how long the building shakes and rumbles, but then again, the rest of the terror-filled moments had seemed to last forever, though in reality it had only been seconds. Matt’s breathing is loud and harsh in your ear, his head not too far from yours, one hand covering his face, the other forcing you further against the wall. You want to struggle against him, want to tell him that he needs to worry about protecting himself, too, but you can’t quite get the words out.

The building lets out a raging groan, shaking the walls loud enough that you can hear books outside crashing to the ground, rattling the glass that is already littered across the floor. With a groan of your own, this one filled with pure terror, you smash your face into your hands as roughly as you can, wishing for nothing more than your death to be a quick one, one that knocks you out hard enough that you just don’t ever resurface from the dark.

It’s incredible how quickly your life flashes behind your eyelids, and you want to laugh at how cliché the whole thing is. Your mind sifts through memory after memory, brief pictures of family members and old friends, thoughts of every heartache and accomplishment. A lifetime of moments all summed into a three second montage, and it leaves you feeling…unfinished.

No, you won’t die here. You’re not done, you can’t be done.

Eyes flashing open, you reach for Matt’s hand, pulling it away from where he’s attempting to cover you as best as he can at the awkward angle, and instead grasp it tightly in yours. His grip is bruising as it locks on, he’s only indication that he’s perhaps as terrified as you. But his fear doesn’t stop him from offering a level of steadiness you hadn’t thought possible in this moment. It’s almost as if he takes the small bit of comfort and determination you had been trying to convey, and somehow manages to return it tenfold.

Earlier, you’d told yourself that you’d met men like him. Men who hold things in for the sake of appearances, not wanting to appear weak, doing their best to come across as impassible and in control.

But you’d been wrong, as he had already shown you. There are no men like Matthew Murdock, and you have a feeling you’ve only scratched his surface.

The shaking suddenly comes to an abrupt end, and you’re left reeling at the sudden quiet that spreads throughout the bookstore. The calm only lasts for a second, though, before the sounds of sirens and explosions creep back in from underneath the door, your moment of peace vanishing as swiftly as a strike of lightning.

The tension seems to drain from your body, but it doesn’t completely disappear. Your head rests against the wall, and you take in deep, gasping breaths, lungs still on edge but slowly regaining their ability to fill up completely rather than being all but frozen in your chest.

“I think…I think it might be over,” Matt says softly after a moment. “Something–something large landed on the building, but I don’t hear anything else.”

Nodding slightly, you squeeze his hand, acknowledging the quick reciprocal action with a small smile you forget he can’t see. “Do you think it’s safe for us to get up?”

Matt’s close enough to you that you can see the way he licks his lips as he pauses, some action he must do when deep in thought. He nods, or tries to seeing as how his head is all but crunched up next to a pipe, but the motion is enough for you to understand what he’s saying. With a shaking breath, you let go of his hand so that you can push a lock of hair behind your ear so that you can see better, and then steel your spine and force yourself to move.

Because you’re the one who sits slightly in front of Matt, the one who had pushed him underneath before clamoring in next to him, you need to get up first before he can join you. You find a way to get on your knees so that you can crawl out, doing your best to avoid putting pressure on your left hand. When your head is clear and runs no risk of banging against the counter, you awkwardly pull yourself to your feet and step to the side so that Matt can come out as well.

His exit from beneath the counter is much smoother than yours, untucking his long legs and standing a split second later, broad frame solid and bold even in the dark. You roll your head back and around, trying to shake out the stiffness that had set in from sitting so awkwardly, even though you hadn’t been underneath the counter for long. Matt does the same, rolling his shoulders as well, grimacing as he does so.

“You alright?” You ask as you fiddle with the hem of your shirt. It had ridden up uncomfortably when you’d dove underneath the sinks, causing the skin to scratch on something.

“Yeah, I’m good,” he replies with a loud sigh. “Hit my head against the wall at some point.”

You can’t help but wince. “I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault,” he says easily, still sounding slightly out of breath. “Thanks for pushing me under there. I’ve never…I wouldn’t have known–”

The huff of laughter that comes out is less from humor and more from a sense of shock that hasn’t left your body since the second you looked up and saw the sky being slashed open. “I lived in California for a small period of time. Small earthquakes are just a part of life over there.”

From what you can make out in the dark, his face appears to be one of incredulity. “That felt small?”

This time the laugh that comes out is a little more genuine. “Well…no. But you get used to knowing what to do when one happens, even if it’s small. The shaking of the building just…triggered something, I guess.”

“Gotcha,” is all he says in response, placing his hands on his hips. He takes a few more large deep breaths as if trying to orient himself. You move to take a step back, trying to give him the space you think he might need, just in case he needs a moment to reset himself without someone being so close to him. But before you can shift completely away, his hand snatches out and wraps itself around your wrist, halting your movement.

“Trashcan,” he says quickly in explanation, dropping your arm. “Careful, there’s a trashcan right behind you.”

Flushing, you step to the right and then take a step back. “Thanks.”

Crossing your arms over your chest, you watch as he pulls himself together. He’s held it all in pretty well, this man who has somehow become your rock in this. But you see little nicks in his armor, little pieces of damaged steel decorating his form. You can only imagine what a man like him looks like when he falls apart, some sort of wilted frame that only sinks when no one else is looking. You can’t help but be immensely grateful for his strength, but there’s a part of you that wants to be around when he plummets, if for no other reason than to repay him in kind.

You find yourself leaning back against the tile next to the door in sheer exhaustion. “So…what next?”

Matt tilts his head. “As in, what should we do next?”

“I–yes,” you rely, hands twitching at your sides. You can only imagine what the rest of the bookstore looks like, can only imagine what the street directly outside looks like, and you can’t help but think that you’d happily wait inside the bathroom until emergency services came and got you.

But...what if they never did?

You try not to think about New York City being completely wiped out by whatever had come into the atmosphere from the gaping gash that had been ripped open over Stark’s tower. The whole time, you’ve been operating on the assumption that things would end, that Iron Man and god knows who else would be able to fix it. But what if they aren’t able to?

What if…this is just the beginning?

Matt exhales loudly and it pulls you out of your head. “Honestly?”

A garbled laugh gets caught in your throat. “No, I want you to lie to me.”

You’re still standing close enough to see the way his mouth twists into a slight smirk before it drops back into something more grave. “I think…I think we need to leave.”

You wish you could say you were surprised, but you’re really not. And while it certainly doesn’t mean you’re happy about it, you seek to understand his reasoning. "Why? Tell me why you think that. Why do you think we should–"

"I just don’t think it’s a good idea for us to stay here," he tells you, and his words are rushed and loud, as if trying to leave no room for argument. "I know what I said about us staying, but I really don’t think it's safe here. Not with the Hulk so nearby."

You can't help the way your eyes widen in alarm. The Hulk had been larger than life, bare feet digging into concrete and glass and God only knows what else on the street outside, muscles rippling in aggression, but he hadn't taken a single step towards you. "Matt, he was fighting them, he was on our side."

He runs an aggravated hand through his dark hair. His fingers catch on the tangled strands, which clearly makes him more irritated, and he drops his hand quickly. But you know that irritation is just a distant cousin of panic, and you can see it lurking on a face that is more expressive than he probably thinks. "Are you from New York?"

"No–"

"But did you hear about what happened in Harlem a few years ago?"

"I–yes."

"Then you know what he's like when he's out of control," he says, his voice suddenly taking on a tone that sounds a little breathless, as if trying to keep some sort of panic at bay. Matt begins pacing in the small bathroom, the dark form of him difficult to trace, though he manages his steps and turns expertly. "He wrecked entire city blocks. It doesn't matter who he was fighting, it was a disaster. Things are only bound to get worse here."

Shaking your head, you try to make sense of what he’s saying. You know what happened, know the destruction Hulk had left behind a few years ago, know the mess and disaster he’s likely causing right at this moment, even if it might not be intentional and might actually be in service to the people of New York. "He protected us. He made eye contact with me and didn't come towards us," you argued, unable to think of much else to say.

"It doesn't matter," he replies tensely as his hands settle on his hips, voice still sharp and pushing back against your objections as hard as he can. "Even if he’s going against them, trying to help people, he’s still in this part of town going after them. And if he’s in this part of town, it means we're still far too close to the action, and we need to leave before things get worse."

Your mind is taking too much time processing the words, and you struggle to breathe through the anxiety. Nails digging into the palm of your hands, or as best as they can with the tie wrapped around your left hand, you stand there quietly for a moment, brain sifting through the situation and doing your best to acknowledge the fear before forcing its way into some sort of clarity.

Yes. Yes…you did need to move.

Fuck.

The idea is terrifying, but so is staying here and doing nothing, just praying that the building won’t collapse on you from the weight of whatever has apparently landed on it.

"Okay," you say, finally relenting and taking a deep breath, nodding your head at the same time. "Yes, let's go. Where to?"

Matt stalls, and it's clear that he had been clearly expecting you to push back again, but the agreement causes him to pause briefly. He rubs at his temples in a sign of anxiety and frustration, though he stops his pacing altogether. You watch as he turns his attention to thinking about where to go, and you wrack your brain, too.

"North. Definitely north."

The words have no sooner left his mouth when your head snaps up, an idea occurring to you. "Do you know where the nearest subway station is? It might be a good place to get to. It might–it might offer some real shelter, something more solid than here. No glass like this."

Matt freezes, as if a light bulb goes off in his head. "That's uh…yes, that's a good idea. There's one on 50th. Just a few blocks north."

"Do you think we'll be sitting ducks down there?"

He seems to think about it, head tilting in consideration before he answers. "We're going to be sitting ducks anywhere. At least there we won't have to worry about anything collapsing or falling on us."

“Ok,” you say with a loud gulp. Your hands twitch at your sides, and your lungs inhale with a full, heavy breath, resigned to leaving the space that’s been a safe haven until now. “I think…I think that might be our best bet. What do you think?”

Matt’s nodding before you even finish speaking, his dark hair momentarily lighting up from the glow of the exit sign. “Yes, I think-I think that’s what we should do. It’s, what? Four blocks north. We should be…we should be able to make that.”

Your feet shuffle on the ground loudly, and you let out an equally loud groan as something else occurs to you, this one not as beneficial as having an idea of where to go. Instead, what’s occurred to you is quite detrimental, and your shoulders sag. His head tilts towards you in question as if he already knows you have something negative to say.

You blow out a loud breath. “Matt, I’m wearing heels.”

He gives a curt nod. “I know.”

How could he…? No matter. Not the time.

Your spine straightens even as you glance down at your feet, hating your shoe choice for the thousandth time that day. “I can’t–I can’t take them off because of glass and everything,” you say quietly. “But we need to move quickly and I don’t know if I’ll be able to in these fucking shoes.”

“But you were able to make it when you ran with me,” he tells you, sounding vaguely curious but mostly concerned. “And when you ran to the apartment stoop.”

“Yes,” you agree, because you had, and you even have the popped blisters and torn skin to prove it. “But that was only a block or so, and with you it was only across the street. But four blocks might be…difficult. It makes me nervous.”

“Ok,” he says with a sigh, lifting a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. His pause is extremely brief, his moment of quick contemplation over before you had realized it had even begun, and he suddenly steps into your space, raising his hands to rest on your shoulders. “We’re going to do the best we can. If you trip, or lose a shoe, we’ll figure it out.”

Your lips twist into a wry, self-deprecating grin. “I wouldn’t blame you if you left and saved yourself.”

The dark frames of his glasses seem to flash in the limited light of the bathroom, his face almost like stone in the way it leaves no room for argument. “You know I wouldn’t do that.”

Your eyes land over his shoulder in some sort of defiance, though you’re not exactly sure in defiance of what. Perhaps it's the idea that someone would find you worthy enough to save. “But still–”

“I’ve been with you and holding your hand since you walked up to me and grabbed it,” he says quietly, and despite the war raging outside, it’s all you can hear. “What makes you think I’d let go now?”

It's exactly what you need to hear, even though your heart can't help but ache again, realizing this man was willing to do whatever he could to help you, possibly to his own detriment. They…don't make men like this anymore.

You'd taken one look at him on that doorstep, eyeing the blind man with some sort of pity, thinking that his odds of survival would be smaller than everyone else's due to his lack of sight and lack of anyone offering to help. You'd dismissed him as a vulnerable person, labeled him as a liability even as you rushed towards him, certain that the right thing to do was help a man who seemed helpless.

But this man isn't a liability, he's your greatest strength, your greatest sense of safety on this random Wednesday, and nothing is going to keep you from linking your fate to his when he’s offering it.

Something settles across his face, some sort of understanding from your silence, and wordlessly he reaches for your hand, links his fingers in yours, and pulls you behind him as he opens up the door and steps into the light.

#matt murdock #daredevil #human disaster matt murdock #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock fanfiction #daredevil x fem reader #daredevil x reader #daredevil x you #daredevil fanfiction #avengers 2012 #battle of new york #marvel cinematic universe

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theyhavetakenovermylife · 10 months ago

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Hi there, I just stumbled upon your posts and I’m in love with the Sons of Leonardo one! 🤍 can you write more about Leo and his family, maybe about how his brothers get along with their nephews and niece? 💙💙💙

Plz and thank you!!

Love Of Uncles (Fluff)

Bayverse!Leonardo x reader

A/N: I most certainly can! Hope you didn’t wait too long💙 I’ve had this idea, that even when the guys get married and have children, they would still live together as a sort of collective, each with their own area/rooms where they, their partners and the kids sleep. With that being said, they see their uncles, aunts, grandpa and cousins everyday, making them pretty close💙

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Warnings: Spelling💙

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“Are you sure you got her?”, Leo asked in a worried tone, watching as Donatello hugged Valentina closely against him, the 2 year old happily resting her head against her uncle.

“I got it, Leo”, Donnie answered, leaning his head towards his niece, causing the young girl to giggle. “I have twins. I know how to take care of a child”.

“I know, I know”, Leo said with a sigh, the worry still clear in his eyes. “But if anything happens-”.

“Nothing is going to happen Leo”, you said, cutting your husband off. “Like Donnie said, he got her”.

Leo looked at you with an almost pained expression on his face. He had never been a big fan of leaving your kids behind in the lair, without at least one of you to look after them. Especially not while your youngest was still a toddler. In the two years that had made up Valentina’s life so far, Leo had gone up an extra step in his protectiveness, both him and your sons making sure that there was nothing that could harm her in the slightest.

You and Leo had finally decided to go spend some couple time alone in April and Casey’s cabin. It had been his brothers’ idea, seeing how having four kids at very different ages was starting to take a toll on you. Sure, you had 18 year old Romeo to help out, but with his new found freedom and enjoyment for the world above, you did not want to force him into staying in the lair and taking care of his siblings.

“Don’s right, Leo”, Mikey said, walking by carrying Luis and Gerardo under each arm, the 12 year old cousins laughing and having the time of their life, as 10 year old Ragnar followed behind, poking at their feet. “We got them, like we always do. Isn’t that right, Raph?”, Mikey called out for the turtle in red.

“Sure we do”, Raph said, watching with a proud smile as Joan and Marcello showed Minerva how to punch a punching bag, exactly the way he had taught them.

“I’m still not too comfortable with it”, Leo sighed, already imagining all the ways things could go wrong while he wasn’t there.

“Leonardo”, sounded Master Splinter’s voice from the entranced to the dojo, 16 year old Galileo and 18 year old Romeo’s heads poking out of the door as Splinter made his way over to his oldest son, making sure he did not step in Dorothy, Marie and Sunny’s little get together at the end of the staircase. “There’s no reason to be worried. You and (Y/N) can safely go on your trip while we look after the kids”.

“Not that we need any looking after”, Marcello called out from the other side of the lair. “Last time I checked, it was only Valentina that still wore a diaper”.

“Hey!”, Romeo yelled out from the dojo sliding doors, his attention directed at his younger brother. “Be nice!”

“I did nothing!”, Marcello yelled back, starting a loud argument between the two, yelling from each side of the room. Leo sighed loudly and rubbed the bridge of his beak. This was one of the many things he feared would happen.

“Romeo! Marcello!”, Splinter yelled with a stern voice, tapping his cane against the ground with a loud bang, causing your sons to cease their fighting. “No fighting!”

“Sorry, grandpa Splinter”, they both mumbled, looking sheepishly at their feet. You tried to hide your smile as Splinter turned to Leo, a smug smile on his snout. “I believe we got them under control”.

“Well”, Leo said reluctantly. “I guess you’re right…”

“Of course he’s right!”, you said, tossing your bag in your husband's direction, causing him to blink in surprise when he caught it. “Now, let’s go. We should have left 20 minutes ago!”, you continued, pushing him towards the exit of the lair, as he called out the last few reminders to his brothers.

“Donnie! Remember that Valentina has sensitive skin! No soaps with perfumes! Remember what I told you about her sleeping schedule! Mikey! No milk to Gerardo! He’s lactose intolerant!”

“I’ve known that for the last 12 years!”, Mikey called back with a big smile, enjoying the laughter of Luis, Gerado and Ragnar as they hung onto the back of his shell.

“Raph!”, Leo continued, almost playing tug of war with you in order to get him out of the door. “Remember Marcello’s bedtime! He gets grumpy when he doesn’t get his sleep!”

“Dad, I’m 15!”, Marcello yelled back.

“Yeah, but your sleep schedule is still worse than uncle Donnie’s!”, Leo said, causing Donnie’s children to snicker. “Oh! And dad!”, Leo continued, the old rat nodding. “Please make sure Romeo doesn’t get himself stuck in the dojo all night”.

Splinter chuckled as a blush crept up on Romeo’s cheeks. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure of it”.

“We’ll call when we get there!”, Leo called out, before you finally managed to pull the loud turtle out of the exit.

“No we won’t”, you retorted, turning your attention back towards your kids. “Be nice to your uncles while we’re gone, and your aunts when they get home from work. We’ll see you on Sunday. Love you all, bye!” And with those words you pushed Leo out of the lair, hurrying towards April and Casey's apartment, so you could borrow their car like they had promised you you could. That left your kids in the care of their uncles, and honestly, it was nowhere as bad as Leo had thought it would be. The only problem they stumbled upon was Valentina asking for you and Leo with the few words she had, followed by a few minutes of crying. However she was quickly comforted in the arms of her uncle, soon giggling and smiling all over again.

After a few hours, the brothers’ partners returned from work for the weekend, ready to enjoy it with their extended family. With their return, Mikey and his wife went into the kitchen to cook dinner, closely followed by Sunny, Luis, Gerardo and Ragnar, all while Raph was throwing a ball to Marcello and Joan, Mini was curled up beside her mother on the couch, watching television as she knitted, while Donnie and his wife was playing with Valentina and his daughters, and Romeo and Gali was training in the dojo with grandpa Splinter.

Once dinner was made and the table was set, the large family gathered to eat together. No matter how big your strange family got, it had always been a rule that the family ate together. Even though each brother may have a hallway, containing bedrooms for themselves and all of their children, the living area, kitchen and dining area was still common areas, where they all would spend time together.

It was a little strange not to have you and Leo at the dining table, but they managed, talking and making plans for the weekend. You and Leo’s kids would have so much fun, that they wouldn’t even notice that the two of you were gone, bringing you some much needed time to relax.

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icrypop · 4 months ago

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Okay Update: I'm sorry for not posting much! Going through a hard time with emotions and mental health, I'll be okay!! Please send in requests, it helps aloooot!! Please don't fear us, we won't juuudgeee!!!

Here's a snipit of a story for a Platonic/Father figure Master Splinter x Fem! Reader who likes Donnie and needs advice on how to feel

-Writer Icy<3

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Splinter opened his eyes and looked at her with a kind and knowing gaze. "Sit, my child. Tell me what troubles you."

Y/n took a deep breath and sat cross-legged before the wise old rat. "I... I think I've fallen in love with Donatello," she admitted, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "But I don't know what to do. I don't want to ruin our friendship or make things awkward between us."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Enjoy that little snippet! I'll try to update tonight or sometime today if I can!!! Please Request guys🥹🙏🏻🙏🏻

#donnie tmnt #donatello x reader #master splinter #2012 tmnt #tmnt 2012 #donatello 2012

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priestessame · 2 years ago

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A Gentleman's Gamble

💔🎯Diluc X Drunk! Reader

~ Valentines day special ..........🎀 𝒢𝑒𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇 𝓃𝑒𝓊𝓉𝓇𝒶𝓁 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇 🎀.............

ᵒᴼᵒ▫ₒₒ▫ᵒᴼᵒ▫ₒₒFluff! Crack! Oneshot ᵒᴼᵒ▫ₒₒ▫ᵒᴼᵒ▫ₒₒ

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The dawn winery grew warm as the night approached. The summer moths buzzed around yellow flames, their erratic wings sending dancing shadows across the walls of the study. Diluc swatted one away before returning to his paperwork. Although Elzer did most of the accounting and dealings, in strange ways running through them brought him peace. Exactly the kind he needed before bed. It had become a routine for him now, the numbers preparing him for bed the way a bedtime story does to a child.

He brushed past the last page and placed his quill down with a sigh. There were a ton of things to do tomorrow, he had to meet jean with regards to the Ruins at Stormterror’s lair he had come across, and get the adventurers guild to send someone with the carts going to Liyue. The hillichurs were causing a riot, they seemed to be everywhere, the gulli plains, building towers too close to Monstad. They were even splattered across springvale in small groups, behaving more erratic than ever. A grimness settled over his features as he leaned back into the chair. It was no wonder the doing of the Abyss order. But couldn’t seem to figure out their next move. Although them scattering hillichurls was a clear attempt at distracting the knights and the guild from the actual attack, without any leads all he could do is wait in anticipation until the calamity actually struck.

The darkness of the room bore down on him as he pondered over it. Finally standing up, he shook his head trying to concentrate on the present task at hand. Sleeping.

Diluc lived his life in a prim systematic way. At a very early age, he had mastered the art of looking after himself, quite like the art of brewing wine. He had such command over himself that his mannerisms, the faintest of gestures he made towards people, were always intentional. It had gotten him quite a courtly reputation. He wasn’t unaware of all the women and men that swooned over him in Monstad, so he kept his distance always. Nothing but polite smiles and warm words, kind but formal. Ever since he had left the knights, he had made sure he was the one who pulled the reigns of his life. He had a calculated, rational recipe for not only his wine but also to life.

Unfortunately, for Diluc, no matter how rationally he tried to live his life, something erratic would always find a way to weasel in. Quite like the wagon that was striding towards dawn winery right now. Diluc blissfully unaware of the tornado hurling at him was changing out of his day clothes. He pulled the heavy jacket off and hung it on the rack, long fingers curling to loosen the tie around his neck.

As he unbuckled the straps on his waistcoat, a faint commotion rumbled downstairs. He brushed it off at once, probably Adelainde telling off someone. But then the rumble came again. This time louder, stubbornly making its presence known. As he listened, there was a sudden cluster of raised voices followed by a loud splintering noise. That was his cue to walk down, God if it was Kaeya again-

The commotion just grew louder, elusive notorious footsteps up the stairs followed by a gaggle of haphazard ones behind.

“Diluc~” a familiar voice called out. Diluc pulled the door to his chambers open, before the master of the house could completely understand the situation open and a blur of blue clothes crash-hugged into him. Diluc almost lost his foothold stumbling a few steps back.

Your skin was feverishly warm, and the faint smell of dandelion wine clung to your hair. You buried your face in his chest sighing contently. A sudden blush reddened his cheeks, he looked past you to see both Adelinde and Elzer who had apparently chased you up, for some explanation. Adelininde was very red in her face, eyes wide as if she had seen a ghost, Elzer more composed embarrassingly holding your shoes.

Adelinde looked aghast, “You-“ she gasped out, “You just dragged that-” mid sentence she turned eyes towards Diluc, “They just bought that- that thing with them, that godawful creature!”

Diluc frowned, what now?

There was a grumble of strange noises downstairs as if someone wanted its presence known. Diluc’s eyes widened as he realized just what it was.

“You bought a hillichurl?’

You pouted, “Venti passed out so quickly! I needed company” you said averting your eyes, “So I grabbed one.”

“You what!?”

You shuffled your feet like a toddler being told off, “It was walking around close to the city walls, so I just took it.”

Diluc was having a hard time wrapping his head around all of this. “How did you even get it inside city walls? Who let you drag it in the tavern?!” he demanded; he had his reservations against the Knights but this level of incompetency was an all-time low.

“Kaeya did!” you chirped. “He said it was hilarious and even offered one of Lisa’s dresses-

Diluc groaned internally, that bastard of course it was him. He shook his head, “But what in the world did you need Lisa’s dresses for?”

“Well-uh… It’s all dressed up Master Diluc.” Elzer explained through a cough. Blessed Archons. Diluc walked out of his chamber to the end of the corridor, You sheepishly following behind.

Sure enough, as he looked down, at the bottom of his staircase sat a very battered up hillichurl, dressed in a bright violet frock and a humongous witch hat.

Diluc pressed his fingers into his temple, trying to make sense of it all. You had gotten drunk at the tavern, potentially left the half-dead bard there, and wandered around in the dark to find a hillichurl to keep company. Then you had dressed it up as Lisa and sneaked it inside Monstad only to drag it to the tavern and get It drunk too. Kaeya encouraging all of this was the least of his worries right now.

“Elzer.” He said finally, “Please get the hillichurl out of here, just leave it outside Springvale and it’ll wander back to where ever it came from once it is… uh.. Sober.”

He turned to the head maid, “Bring a glass of lemon water to my chambers please Adelinde.”

“And you,” Diluc said finally looking at the storm that had unleashed itself at dawn winery. You pulled your doe eyes to meet him and batted your eyelashes innocently. He cupped your face, fingers squishing your cheeks, "let's get you sobered up."

"Luc" you tried again, "I don't want to be sobered up I want youuu~~~" you whined. Diluc felt himself sigh as his fingers trailed down your arms. “Drink the water.” He told you pulling away.

No matter how much he wanted to cuddle, he had to get your sorry ass sobered up first. You groaned at his words, but took the glass of water in your hands anyways. Plopping down on the bed stiffly, you frowned trying to move your shoulders. You were wearing a leather harness, laced up across your chest. All of a sudden, the garment felt too stuffy. You tugged at the laces, looking up at him.

“Take it off.”

Diluc felt his eyes widen, “p-pardon?”

“It's uncomfortable,” you said, Diluc spluttered, his face turning as red as his hair.

“Oh come on.” you urged, giving the blue ribbon that held it together with a sad tug, "I'll drink the water once it's off." you supplied. Diluc gave you a knowing look, crimson eyes seeing through your weak attempts at enticing him.

"Fine," He sighed giving in, he placed his hands on your torso pulling you close, "But only because I want you to be comfortable."

You grinned at him, "yay!" the haziness in your eyes and the red undertone against your skin proved to him that you were still intoxicated. His long fingers worked on the azure straps diligently, he could see how deep your blush went as your chest rose and fell. The inner was flimsy and made of linen, hardly covering anything. He leaned in for the final strap and you kissed his nose sweetly.

"hmm?" he contested, not pulling away as you continued babbling drunkenly, " Luc~ you're warm~".

You chuckled against him and Diluc felt himself melt, he snuck a quick kiss to your cheek and then another to the brow. You grinned against him cupping his face, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. Your fingers trailed up his neck, touching his ears lightly before burying them in his hair.

“Want to pull it free?” He asked, your eyes glistening warmly, “Can I?” He gave you a soft nod. Your fingers found the band that held his auburn locks together and you tugged it lightly easily pulling them free. They fell around his face like waves on a deep red ocean. You slung your arms around his neck, pulling yourself closer to him. You felt his arms snake down, palms pressed flush against your back, closing the space between you two. Your mouth left soft kisses along his jaw, feeling the warmth of his blush through his skin. He laughed against your hair nuzzling into your warmth.

“You’re so pretty.” you murmured against him, teeth grazing at his skin teasingly. Diluc felt the warmth spread through his body, blood rushing to his core as your hands caressed down from his neck to the tonearms and over his torso. Diluc suppressed a groan, he hated how easily you could make him a flustered mesṣ. As your mouth found his, he let your existence consume him for that moment.

He hated alcohol, but he wanted to get drunk on the lingering taste of wine on your tongue. Your fingers danced down to the edge of his waistcoat giving it a meaningful tug.

Your eyes were glazed looking at him so hopefully, "come to bed~"

He hummed against your ear, “Yes,” he admitted, “But separately. You’re still drunk.”

You groaned in defeat, pouting like a toddler. You plopped down on his mattress arms crossed, “I hate you.” You said finally, embarrassed at how your advances had no effect. Diluc couldn’t help but laugh, he cupped your face, kissing your forehead hard, “After all, it's of no use if you can’t remember all the things I would do to you, is it?”

“So unfair.” You mumbled, there was really no breaking this gentleman, and you might just owe Kaeya a full lunch at good hunter for losing the bet.

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Reposted from my other account~

#diluc x you #diluc x reader #diluc fluff #diluc ragnvindr #diluc ragnivindr x you #diluc x gender neutral reader #genshin fluff

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