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gremlingottoosilly · 1 year ago

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Moo business (monster!Konig x CowHybrid!fem!Reader)

Promotion to colonel has its perks. Having your own caretaker with fluffy cow years and a nice pair of...additions is one of them - and Konig is about to enjoy his new rank.

Content warning: Hybrids, Konig is a huge pervert, naive cow hybrid reader, slight dub-con, power imbalance, and inappropriate work behavior, lactation kink. Implied big chested!Reader

Humans have learned to live with monsters. Obviously, having dangerous, much more powerful neighbors in this tiny green planet, didn’t allow humans to actually thrive and succeed – the power dynamics were shifted ever since the first monster decided, that wearing a collar and identification badge doesn’t really go with their style. And humans would be much more suited to wear it.

Unfortunately, monsters aren’t created equal – while most of them are killing machines with little to no regard to the danger of real life, there are some particularly fragile hybrids with no use in fights or even normal life. House cat hybrid girls, almost no claws and all purring and laying on their backs to let humans and other monsters pet their bellies. Sheep hybrids, all fluff and tiny, rounded horns that would never hurt anyone. Cow hybrids, adorable and silly, no use in the fights except for moral support.

Which is exactly why König was fucking pissed.

— G…good evening, sir. I will be your assistant for the day. I mean, every day. As long as you’re having me.

You smile nervously, munching on your lips. When the only way up the social ladder was working in the army as an…assistant? Moral support? Waving your nurse training like you’d be able to safely secure a monster’s health when he is twice as big as you?

Being a colonel in the army has its perks – better gear, better paycheck, better chunks of meat that he can bite off the enemies without higher-ups whining about war crimes and rules of war. Having a cute lil’ assistant with fluffy ears and a chest that physically can’t fit into the uniform, forcing you to wear permanent cleavage and just let a bit of chubbiness roll on the tight fabric is also a perk. For a pervert, maybe, but not for König who is already sworn to never deal with anyone who is this sensitive, this soft, and this…adorable.

He thought he was quite certain in his wishes – if higher-ups really need for him to take a fuck toy, he wanted it to be resilient. Maybe a dog hybrid, maybe a vampire, just weak and hungry enough to overpower with little fights. Not someone like you, who has no idea what she is doing in the army and why her hands are trembling like he is going to devour you alive. Although, looking at the way your chest is swaying every time you flinch…maybe, he can do just that. Teach higher-ups a lesson on why he doesn’t need their handouts.

— Dismissed.

He doesn’t even look at you. Honestly, you’re a bit hurt – honestly, you almost want to yell at him or scream or tell all of your higher-ups that the colonel is a huge jerk who clearly doesn’t need a little cow darling to make him coffee and tend to his needs and be a huge moral support because they can’t take another fucked out recruit when the dangerous hybrid is in heat again. You feel like a glorified whore – the one that he doesn’t even want.

— B…but…

You pout your lips, a billion questions raised in your mind – why is he like this, what is his deal and you should even look at him if he clearly doesn’t want you…and that look on your face, helplessness mixed with a bit of deliciously sweet anger, combined with your soft, doe features…

Colonel has a problem.

He thought he knew what he wanted – a strong partner, someone resilient and fiery, someone who can take his cock anywhere without whining. Someone who wouldn’t require a lot of attention and softness, someone who knows their place. Now König looks at you, your floppy ears and trembling lips, and his gaze darts lower, his nose getting milk fragrances even under all of those layers of fabric.

It doesn’t take a genius to know why they sent you. He doesn’t need a secretary, he doesn’t need an assistant and even if he needs help with something, there are always lower ranks ready to do whatever he says. You’re useless to him, on all levels he can imagine – and yet, he can’t find it in him, to truly dismiss you. To hate your trembling lips and obedient stare – no thought behind those pretty eyes of yours. He always thought he wanted someone strong, someone who is hard to break and resilient to any advances.

He looks at you and, for the first time in forever, has this wild urge to protect.

— Sir? Is everything alright?

You tilt your head to the side, that naive stare you has makes his cock twitch in his pants. It was a long time since he had sex with anyone, especially that adorable. Some hybrids look like they are made to be fucked and loved and used in all of those delicious ways – he knows it’s problematic, he knows that having that view on fellow monsters isn’t right for someone as strong as him, but he wants to devour you. Wants to see that pretty eyes wide from desire – he knows you’d feel the urge too, it’s in your blood, to present your soft belly and even softer tits to a larger predator.

Indulging on you would mean giving up on his attempts of constantly undermining the higher-ups – it would also mean that he would finally receive a partner for the extensive mating seasons that clash with his work and make his skilling rate go up – and not just for the enemies. Private Halseen, you will be missed. Your ass probably wouldn’t.

— I thought you’d heard me the first time.

— But I brought coffee.

— They make coffee machines in cows now?

— Sir! I was just trying to…break the ice? I’m your new operator, or, um, assistant, I have nurse training, and I…

— What are you going to do with an injury? Lick it away?

— M…my saliva has healing properties, so…

— They really sent me a magic cow, ja?

— That’s a very…special way to put it, colonel.

You are surprisingly stubborn for someone who isn’t a confident killing machine. You balance the little tray with a cup of coffee – a big one, seems like you did your homework on that one – and he can’t help but imagine your hands gripping something else this tightly. Your body is trembling, your face switches between a sad and a surprised expression as he slowly emerges from his table to get a good look at you.

You’re a cow hybrid – they are naturally adorable, naturally soft, and naturally made for someone like him to tower over. He is good over 7 foot, even in mostly human form, and his monster height would be almost twice your size – he'd love to take you like this, raw, bully his giant cock into your, no doubt, tight pussy, and make you squeal from the stretch. Maybe, he can help you with milk production – put another hybrid into you, make your belly swell from his cum. Keep you locked away in his room like a perfect little treat, using your soft body as a perfect pillow.

He can’t help but lick his lips in anticipation – saliva collecting in his mouth as the thinks of all the ways he can use such a pretty secretary. There is no way you don’t know why they sent you here – no way you think that your self-worth is something more than being his obedient pet, beloved toy. König never thought of settling down, the bloodshed is his one and only partner – but he looks at your rounded horns, at your twitching ears and pouty lips – and he thinks about putting his earring right into your floppy ear. lick away all the blood and calm you down as you’d squirm under the pain, soothe your panicking cow brain as he would bully his cock even deeper, claiming you as…

Ah, shit. You’re still here, waiting for his answer – your eyes are shocked and afraid, anticipated a little bit because of course you’re aroused, his pheromones are too overwhelming for a thing like you – you stare at the bulge in his pants, at nis, no doubt, hard cock – and he can almost see gears in your head turning slowly. God, you’re adorable.

— You forgot the milk.

— Sergeant Horangi didn’t say anything about milk.

So, Horangi was the one to set you up. Of course, tiger shifter probably got his hots on you – pretty prey, perfect for every hunter nearby, but, just as a good officer, he let you go to his colonel first. You talk back with a surprisingly fierce tone and König appreciates the way his mask covers up his whole face – you couldn’t see his smile, the way corners of his mouth jerked up at your pout. Continue like this, and the colonel will do more than just smile at your antics.

— Probably because he knew that our milk is shitty.

— If…if you need me to bring you something else, I will do it right away, sir.

— No need, Kuhen. I think you have what I need right here.

His cock twitches in his pants again – your eyes are locked on his bulge, you slowly push the tray to the table. You’re naive, you’re cute, and he knows that KorTac probably pays you triple for being this adorable and playing dumb like the good girl you are – bastards probably know that if you’d be upfront and pushy, he would just set you away from his office.

But standing here, munching on your lower lip, your soft, pink tongue disappearing in your mouth only to reaper to lick your lips again, your face not ever betraying the emotions you, no doubt, are feeling – König can smell your arousal, can almost see the way your pussy is glittering with juices flowing right into your soaked panties. They send a lamb – a cow – to his chambers and they know that he would never resist a good hunt. You allow him to cut through the chase, to just pin you to his desk and take what’s his – but anxiety, that stupid fucking worm eating his brain over the tiniest facts, is making him question everything again. He knows he thinks too much, he knows it’s not going to do him any good – still, he wants to be sure that you’re not too dumb to understand his advances. Still, he wants to play a bit more. Delay the moment of sex because his doubt can eat him alive otherwise.

— Take off your shirt, Schatzen.

He doesn’t even look at your chest, bouncing from the tight shirt you were wearing – poor buttons holding on for dear life, barely containing your soft flesh – he drinks up your expressions, embarrassment, and poorly hidden curiosity. You saw the job requirements for an operator, saw his profile – high risks, high aggression, can be very, very violent – and you decided that you can take him, for the right pay.

— You want me to…take off something else, sir?

A smart girl would run the fuck away from him – but you just lock your hands in front of you, not even bothering to cover your chest. God, he wants to be with you forever – just for that little look on your face your nervousness. You’re standing in front of him, only wearing pants and your bra – and you’re afraid that he isn’t going to like what he sees.

Just for this expression, he might as well push a ring on your finger already.

— Ja. Bra is next.

You nod like you expected this. You probably did – for a prey hybrid, you’re surprisingly smart in understanding what he needs. Your bra is lacy and cute, white, with little flat roses printed – surely not something he expected from military personnel, even if your duties are laying in under him, not with your belly in trenches and your cute hands squeezing the trigger.

Your breasts look even bigger without a bra to keep them close. You place a hand under your chest, feeling a bit awkward with your colonel just standing here, looming over your form. You lick your lips – he cocks his head closer to you. You can hear something shifting under his hood – you don’t know what his face looks like, rumors were opting for either a bunch of tentacles tucked neatly inside of his hood, the head of some mythical animal, or a normal, but disfigured and burned human face. You don’t know which option you prefer – even the files you were reading before choosing this job didn’t give you an answer. There is something stirring inside of you when you’re thinking about tentacles, though.

— Braves Mädchen…good girl.

You smile, feeling the knot in your tummy getting even tighter at the praise. You like him – despite his rough exterior and the obvious arousal, you like being liked, wanted, and devoured by a much stronger predator. Not having any supernatural powers, your only survival option in this world is to appease the strongest – and it looks like you just got a really juicy target.

Suddenly, König grabs your waist and lifts you to his table – documents go flying around and you put a bit more, thinking of how long it would take to put everything back together. He doesn’t care for your concerns – the next thing you know, you are pushed ever further into his table, and the colonel lifts the end of his hood just enough to envelop his mouth on one of your nipples.

— S…sir! Please, a little warning next time…

He laughs, his hands pressing small, sweet bruises into the curve of your waist. His mouth feels cold at first – then he flicks his tongue at your hardened nipple, and it feels like an oven. You moan you squeak, you squirm under him – all those documents and transferring and half a dozen Suits trying to tell you of how dangerous your work is going to be, how unstable and irritated the colonel is, how he is probably going to shoo you from his office the first two weeks – all of this comes flying right out the window.

— You already think of the next time, Schatzen?

König never tastes something as sweet, as silky, and smooth as your breasts. There is something deep, primal, wild in the way he sucks and bites at your nipple – he devours the taste of your skin and it feels like he can come to his pants just from the feeling alone. You’re squirming in his grasp, poor thing, probably aren’t used to sensation – he closes his eyes and allows his monster to take over, to take what he wants from you.

He shifts to your other breasts, warming and cooling them at the same time. He isn’t an expert in that weird kind of massage, but you don’t need an expert in boob sucking when all of your cow instincts telling you to spread your legs and allow him to put babies in you, to breed like the prey you are, to take care of you outside of this stupid job. You’re terrified that his sharp teeth can draw blood and arouse at the way his tongue clicks at your nipples so perfectly, so naturally, like he was doing it his whole life.

You moan, whispering little begs and praying to deaf ears. Your hands are going to hig his neck, to just kind put your fingers on his hood and just keep it here, not daring to try and direct the movements of his tongue. All of those days of constant preparing for the worst, long nights of studying the psychology of hunters, of predator hybrids, didn’t leave you much time to milk yourself in the past week – you might just be a hybrid, but it doesn’t release you from the endless burden of constant lactation.

— S…so embarrassing…please, sir, we need to stop or I will…

— Ja, meine Kuh? Did you want to say something to your colonel?

— Please, I’m going to…fuck, this is embarrassing…

— Language.

He closes his teeth on your tender bud, making you moan his name – his callsign – loudly. He grunts from satisfaction, finally tasting sweet milk pouring from his body – might be the only thing that makes cow hybrids useful for someone as strong as him.

Your milk is sweet, rich, and creamy, and your little cries only make it tastier. He pushes his tongue deeper, swirls it around your hardened bud, waits for you to moan even more – every inch of your being makes him feel weird, protective, like he already put a baby in that soft tummy of yours and made you his. It’s dumb, you aren’t even connected on the official level – but he sucks your milk ever so passionately, forgetting about every mission trouble he had.

Sucking your tits feels like therapy – giving up all of his powers just to kiss you, to bite you, to drink your milk, and softly massage the flesh until your pussy starts to grind against the round corner of his table. Poor thing, he doesn’t even touch you in any way – you’re too precious for this, and he falls too deeply into your eyes and the swell of your chest.

— Sir! Pl…please, don’t…if you’d stop, I will…

He drinks your milk swiftly, feels the liquid dripping down his chin – always a messy eater, one of the reasons he used the mask to hide his embarrassment. He can’t look at your face, the angle is too far off for this, and it disappoints him – he wants to drink your pretty expressions, wants to know that he is one to make that pretty cow this slutty. Just a few minutes ago he was ready to get your ass off his office – and now he is changing between two of your round breasts, making sure to not waste a drop.

Fuck, this is far better than any milk the base kitchen can provide.

He sucks a little bit more, pressing his tongue against your swollen, abused nipples. You whine at the sensation, poor little hybrid isn’t used to his teeth and his mouth – he’d have to make sure to repeat this procedure every other day, if possible, to get you used to direct milking. He’d have to spend weeks spreading your pretty cunt for him, teaching you how to milk his cock and meowl like a good prey hybrid you are – but he didn’t become colonel because he was afraid of challenges.

He stops sucking with a little pop, final droplets of milk falling to his lips as he licks it, groaning from pleasure. His stubble made the soft skin around your nipples irritated and you tremble when the cold air hits them – you feel fragile, used, your pussy is twitching around nothing, the pulsation forcing you to grind against the corner of his table like a bitch in heat.

König made you like this – half-naked, trembling, so fucking horny that you can’t even look at him without dropping to your knees, and it almost made you want to run away. He squeezes your tits again, enveloping the soft mounts in his large, rough hands – you whine a little bit, still all too sensitive after this pleasurable torture he created.

— How do you feel?

He sounds…weaker now. Almost embarrassed at his little outburst, he picks up your bra and helps you get dressed – you both want more, to check if his table is really as sturdy as it looks, but König has a training session in 30 minutes and you have König’s training session, standing behind his shoulder and watching him yelling at the recruits. It would be hard to get scared at him again, when every time his cold gaze darts to your face, he softens. When you look at him and can only imagine milk dripping down your chin – your milk, no less.

— I’m…empty. In a good way, I mean. Thank you, sir.

You feel weird when he gently helps you get into your clothes, his fingers are simply too big for the buttons – he presses his head against your shoulder, trying to concentrate, and you awkwardly hug him for stability. He chuckles.

— My pleasure, Schatzen.

You stand here, awkwardly – your neck enveloped with a collar, with his name on it, and he can’t pry his eyes away from it. God, he never knew that being a colonel would allow him such a cutie as a bonus. KorTac didn’t seem like an organization that would give away wives so easily, but König isn’t going to complain.

He just has to make sure to keep you chained to his table, that’s all.

#cod #yandere konig #konig x reader #cod x reader #call of duty #cod x you #konig mw2 #reader insert #yandere cod #yandere x reader #konig #konig x you

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moonlightcycle571 · 11 days ago

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Lmao I just had a fantastic vision.

The JL fighting a multiversal threat, and the for keeps disappearing into different universes/worlds. While everyone is coming up with ways to travel to apprehend the foe, Captain Marvel has an idea.

Batman: so far, our current multiversal technology is subpar and unable to go at the rate the villain is going.

Flash: while I can travel through universes, it’s going to take a while to l’acte which one they’re on, and even then, they can leave before I even do anything.

Superman: we need a reliable tracker and transport system. Both being crucial elements we don’t have

Captain Marvel: I have an idea.

Cue to the JL all on a random sidewalk, with the clear instructions to ‘wait until they arrive’ and to ‘not move or interfere in any way shape of form’.

Random Truck: *appears out of nowhere, hitting a random pigeon*

JL: huh

Marvel: well that’s going to be an interesting story. Anyways, there you are! Guys, meet Truck-kun!

JL: excuse me???

Truck-kun:

Marvel: Their a bit shy ��️

JL: …

Truck-kun: *blushes*

JL: how is that even possible??!??!?

They proceed to go in and go through some weird interdimensional car chase, passing by random worlds, spawning through random streets (for some reason, most of them are in Japan), and more importantly, hitting A LOT of people. Old, young, middle aged, animals, even a vending machine at some point. It’s just a slaughter.

The JL is horrified, and Cap is just sitting in his seat, all chill.

Green Lantern: DID WE JUST HIT SOMEONE

Marvel: yup

Superman: AND YOURE DOING NOTHING TO STOP IT

Marvel: nope

Batman: Captain that kills people

Marvel: it’s not killing, more like transporting them into a different universe that is more suited for them. Had we not hit them, they would have died either ways within the hour. Now they get a second chance of life.

JL: *existential crisis*

Even after the villain is apprehended, they found out they only managed to get this far is because they had a magic car*

Hawkwoman: *stares at the car* how does one come across thee vehicles

Marvel: well I met Truck-kun cause he’s besties with my magic Train. Train-chan told me that Truck-kuns little brother Car-kun got abducted, which is why Truck-kun was so willing to help.

JL:…

Flash: I’m going to go lie down.

Batman: *mentally adding magic vehicle community to his conspiracy board*

Bonus:

Green Arrow: *retelling what happened* -and then some random Truck pulls up

Conner Hawke: lmao you met Truck-kun

Green Arrow:

Conner:

Black Canary: … how do you know that name?

Conner: w h a t

Bonus 2:

Naturally Conner tells Damian, who tells Jon, who tells Kon, who tells the Titans and basically the whole thing spreads.

Red Robin: YOU MET TRUCK KUN! THE GREAT ONE HIMSELF

Spoiler: THE ALL MIGHTY WHEELS OF STEEL

Cyborg: WHY WASNT I INVITED! CAP YOU LBOW HOW MUCH I LIKE MY ISEKAI

Blue Beetle: JUST CAUSE YOU GASLIGHT DOES NOT MEAN YOURE A GIRL BOSS

Superboy: SHARING IS CARING

Arsenal, lying on the road: TAKE ME

Bonus 3:

Static Shock: next you’ll be telling us you know Archie’s magic bus

Marvel: well I’m not sure I know who this ‘Archie’ is, but Train-chan does have a cousin called Bus-san.

Titans: *explode*

#billy batson #shazam #dc captain marvel #dc #Truck-kun #and other magica vehicles #jl #the older heroes are horrified #the younger heroes are secretly all otakus #they need the escapism #now Billy is being hasseled cause they want that isekai travel #I mean who doesn’t want to go pet dragons and go enter real life dungeons #Diana: that dwarf forged bracelet now makes a lot of sense (I knew I didn’t recognise the runes)

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rocknrollsalad · 10 days ago

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rating: t cw: hook up, mentions of sex, nothing on camera but it's implied, steve Harrington has bad parents tags: no upside au, reconnecting later in life, rockstar eddie, regular guy steve word count: 779

written for @steddieholidaydrabbles prompt "star gazing"

Eddie had come back to Hawkins for the only reason that could ever possibly drag him back to this cesspool of a town; his uncle. The unspoken assumption was that it'd be for Wayne’s death, but Eddie was fine with being wrong about that. Even if it meant one more trip back than he wanted.

A cut and dry visit to look at houses turned to drinking and, in the biggest surprise of all, going home with the king of Hawkins High. Something Eddie had always dreamt of, he was secure enough in who he was now to admit it.

They were, oddly, both in town for similar reasons. Eddie was getting Wayne a new place and Steve was selling his parents' old place. Leaving them both to revisit things they hadn’t for the better part of a decade. Even better, it granted Eddie the chance to see Steve’s high school bedroom, to play like they were sixteen again.

Drunk enough to not make it weird, they fooled around on the twin bed. Nothing more than a bit of fun and quick orgasms but healing all the same. Something helped by them squeezing together on a mattress meant for one, in just their underwear, after cleaning up. Not quite cuddling but a closeness Eddie wasn’t used to from his hook ups…or maybe conquests was a better word here.

Everything was silent, no hum of machines or buzz of lights, just a vacant house Steve had slept in last night and was looking to wipe his hands of. Wayne would never go for a place like this or they could kill two birds with one stone.

Still, the quiet was nice. Far better than talking about how they’d changed or Eddie admitting all those gym classes he spent staring. All they had was each other’s body heat and the familiar glow of neon green from the ceiling.

The longer Eddie looked, the more he recognized in the layout of stars until quiet wasn’t an option. “Is…is that Orion’s belt?” he asked, pointing to three stars in a row.

“Well, I mean, it’s the whole thing,” Steve answered, tracing the path of neighboring stars.

He was so much more subdued than the version of him in Eddie’s head, that one perpetually in high school. The calm voice, almost shy, had Eddie wanting to curl up on top of him. Stake a claim for more than a night.

“Okay, so did you do that?”

“Yeah,” Steve said with a grimace Eddie could hear. “It’s like how people were really obsessed with Egypt and the pyramids? It was stars for me.”

“Apparently, those things are connected,” Eddie joked.

“My grandpa gave me this book and it was like I couldn’t read enough. I spent a whole winter break up here mapping this out. Mom loved it, I’d never been so quiet, but, I don’t know, probably a waste of time.”

“No!” Eddie fought the urge to pounce on Steve and scream that this was the hottest thing he’d ever learned about him. A bold statement given the short shorts and that time he watched Steve tell off a teacher for picking on a kid. “But it’s me talking. I made a career out of really, really loving weird shit.”

“You did it even when it didn’t pay.”

“Hey!” With a half-assed swing in Steve’s direction, Eddie didn’t make contact but feigned annoyance. “So how much do you still remember?”

“Well, it’s a good party trick to pull out when you can see the real stars. It’s…”

“Oh my god, you can even use the stars to get laid?” Eddie whined like it wasn’t totally working on him.

Steve shrugged hard enough to shake the bed.

“Alright then Magellan, what do you got?”

“So Orion is this way, right? The shoulders, the bow, all that. If you follow the other hand, in that area is Gemini. See the two bodies?”

Eddie followed Steve’s finger across the ceiling and stopped fighting the urge to pull closer. He already knew how to identify Gemini but that didn’t matter right now. Possibly ever. With a nod, he told Steve he followed. Eddie gave the man the floor and let him talk.

And talk he did. For hours, Steve pointed out constellations gave explanations, and told stories. He’d retained the information and not just to get laid. Which was good because, in a secret that couldn’t be tortured out of Eddie, this was way better than the sex.

As he dozed in and out, Steve ran his fingers through Eddie’s hair and told him about how hard it was to get some of the more line-like constellations right.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #written for: steddie holiday drabbles 2024

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peppertoastuniverse · 4 months ago

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more than a late night snack: – gojo satoru chapter 3: green tea

contents: gojo satoru x reader, tw!ptsd, swearing, FLUFF FLUFF FLUFF, satoru being down bad and not knowing it yet, satoru not being good at feelings summary: after trying to cheer you up after a bad day, gojo starts to wonder what these growing new feelings towards you mean.

wc: 2.5k

oh no. were you crying? did he make you – now gojo really didn’t like this, he’s almost panicking, heart racing to an unfamiliar rhythm. he winces, “shit, babe.” refusing to meet his eyes, you wordlessly shake your head.

previous chapter ll master list ll next chapter

you will yourself to unclench your jaw as you rustle into your pockets to fish out your loose change. today was just not your day – after a week of decent sleep you had your first setback in the form of a vivid nightmare that frustratingly did not allow to you go back to sleep. sighing, you add some coins into the machine and press the buttons on the right side to select your favourite bottle of green tea.

grinding your teeth while you shake off the residual panic that’s rooted within your subconscious waiting at the vending machine for your drink to dispense. you were making progress – the nightmares weren’t happening as frequently but you were getting frustrated at your slow progress. sure, other students had nightmares but never as bad as yours were. were you that weak that you couldn’t fight off your own imagination? if only you had moved quicker, fought harder … maybe everyone wouldn’t have died and you –

you shook your head at imposing thoughts and impatiently rubbed your temple to calm down the consistent migraine you had. at least the green tea would awaken your drained head and provide some relief from your racing thoughts. you breath hitches as you watch in slow motion as your bottle of green gets jams against the glass of the vending machine.

you blink, biting your lip. luck was not on your side today.

you sighed heavily, feeling tears at your waterline. oh god, you were going to cry. okay, okay. that’s okay, you just needed to recollect yourself, right? no biggie, it happens, it’s not the end of the worl–

“ooooooh fuck, babe that’s unlucky,” says a sing song voice from behind you.

not this, not now, not gojo.

you unfortunately hear his cheeky smile before you see him. if you were having a bad day and satoru gojo showed up, it was just about to get worse. creeping into your peripheral vision you see messy white hair, dark sunglasses and an infuriating grin. if you turned around you weren’t sure if you were going to yell at him or burst into tears, so you clenched your fists, shut your eyes and hoped he got the hint to leave you alone. you at least hoped that geto was with him, at least if his trainer was there the blue eye beast would be more tolerable.

but luck was not on your side, only hearing one set of foot steps drawing closer and closer, you hold back an audible groan. you shut your eyes tighter around the sound of his voice, hoping that the darkness would smoother his presence. if you cried here – in front of him – you would die of embarrassment. you knew that he would never let you live it down. he still teased you that time you cried when you ate something too spicy after a mission with ieri and geto 4 months ago.

“- last time, it took like 6 colas to unlodge my original cola from this piece of shit. suguru practically died laughing. this one’s the worst,” he said banging his fist on the side of the vending machine hopelessly. “ya gotta go to the one near the gym, babe! that one is waaaaay newer and better stocked too, but i mean shoko keeps hogging all the strawberry milk. i mean… i guess– we could also just break on the vending machine if-“

yikes. how long had he been talking?

you sigh and finally open your eyes to find him animatedly talking, hand on his hip, other hand on his chin, looking closely into the machine - nose almost touching the glass - trying to figure out a plan to get your bottle of green tea out. if you were stronger or if you had less pride you’d admit that it was almost endearing.

“- or I could- hey? babe? how come you never listen to me???” gojo turns to look at your vacant expression, his lower lip jutting out exaggeratedly, blue eyes burning bright with a tinge of annoyance.

shit, he caught you.

you sigh trying to drain the increasing flow of water in your eyes. “im just having a bad day, gojo. sorry,” you say sheepishly.

gojo eyes widen to take in your appearance, you slightly hunched shoulders, cheeks flushed at being caught. wait.. were your eyes more watery than usual? rims with a tinge of red, eyebrows downcast, you were fidgeting with your fingers unable to look at him in the eye. something explodes in gojo. did.. did he make you upset?

oh no.

the thought of him being the cause of your sadness almost made him want to throw up. he did not like this at all. but.. why was he feeling this way? maybe he needed a cold drink too. or- or maybe.. was it the tea that was the cause of your reaction? oh god, did he have to fight a bottle of green tea? he was one of the strongest he could do it; he’d definitely break the machine in half to get it for you, he would if that’s what you wanted. is that what you wanted? hell, he’d buy you green tea everyday - he’d buy out every store in Tokyo for you if it meant you’d smile.

he was a good friend - he’d do the same for Suguru or shoko, right? he just wanted you to be happy. but when you turn your back to him, gearing up to make an escape, he feels something else drop in his stomach.

“hey - hey it’s okay! i’m not mad, i swear,” he says moving closer to you, awkwardly bumping your shoulder with his.

perhaps it was the combination of his unusual sweetness and the acknowledgment of your fragile state, you feel your eyes grow misty once more. why was he so infuriating? you didn’t want to deal with him, you didn’t want to hear his taunts or his obnoxious comments. you didn’t have the headspace to come up with a witty response or to roll your eyes at him right now. but luck was not on your side today.

attempting to save yourself from the embarrassment from him seeing your threatening tears fall, you begrudgingly lean your forehead gojo’s shoulder, nose facing his arm conveniently hiding your face. why did embarrassing moments always happen when he was around? you hated it but the need to hide, to disappear was far greater. you sniff softly.

realisation widens his blue eyes. oh no.

were you crying? did he make you – now gojo really didn’t like this, he’s almost panicking, heart racing to an unfamiliar rhythm.

he winces, “shit, babe.” refusing to meet his eyes, you wordlessly shake your head.

c’mon keep it together. gojo can’t see you like this. “i-is this about the green tea- like it’s not your fault! the machine does that all the time, you didn’t break it or anything! it’s just like – “ “c-can you just.. just shut up for a sec.. please,” the weariness and fatigue coating your words. you sniff, fully succumbing to your bad day, hands moving quickly to rub the tears that lightly fall from your heavy eyes. gojo immediately quiets – a rare sight. fidgeting with his hands, he’s at a loss for what to do. you’re so close, so willingly close to him. your skin is comfortably warm and he’s surprised at how pleased he is that you’ve chosen to get close to him.

he raises his hand and pats your head as he listens to your breathing, trying to offer some semblance of comfort to you even if he knew that you wouldn’t fully accept it from him.

your eyes shut, unconsciously you lean into his soft touch. it felt nice, almost reassuring. “..what’s going on, babe?” he asks quietly, not wanting to upset you more than you already were.

“im.. im not babe.” he hears you muffle against his shoulder, voice still raspy with an abundance of unshed tears. “ and .. my head isn't for patting.”

gojo snorts and makes a point of fluffing your hair to your annoyance. “yes, you are,” he mumbles, uncharacteristically gentle, his hand stilling on top of your head.

“are you… are you okay?” he asks, concern in his voice. this new sense of helplessness from you was strange to him. even that night when you made udon together, you were out of it but you were still composed albeit exhausted. you’ve always had a bit of fight, but today your meekness and defeated tone started to make him worry.

“i.. i’m just…” you say as you struggle to find the words, unwilling yourself to vocalize your weakness to him. “..i’m not sleeping well," you put simply.

“how come?” he takes his large hand off of your head, instead moving to unconsciously play with a lock of your hair.

“… thinking too much, i guess.” fragile voice threatening to crack. you clear your throat swiftly. “i’ll be fine.”

gojo’s hand settles behind your neck, his warm hands offering a strange and new comfort. he stares at you with a look that you don’t understand, his blue eyes shining. was it understanding or knowing gojo.. pity?

you flush. you detach yourself from him and turn your back swiftly to hide yourself from him. hopefully you’d disappear if he didn’t look at you.

“y’know you don’t have to do that, right?”

you turn slightly angle your head to look back at him with a questioning stare. what is he getting at? “well.. you always hide.“ he states plainly like it was the most obvious thing in the world, “you don’t have to hide with me.”

you blink, red rimmed eyes not looking at his face, instead choosing to focus on the ground beneath him. you weren’t used to gojo being like this towards you, but maybe –

“..and ‘member, babe? six eyes i’ll catch it anyway, so don’t even bother trying- ” yeah he ruins everything. you shoot him the most murderous look you could muster.

getting the hint, he backtracks quickly “..uhhh I just mean, i'm – we’re here for you, you know? shoko, suguru and me. but since i’m the best -“ “nope. you’re at the bottom of that list.”

“wha- the bottom?” he gapes at you disbelievingly, hand over his quickly beating heart. “nuh uh! wait whose at the top then?! don’t tell me that it’s sug-“

you chuckle at his playfulness, you found amusement in seeing him all worked up. his eyes would blaze brightly, slender nose scrunched up, plump lips sculpting into a pout.. he was ridiculous. tilting your head up, your eyes finally meeting blue.

there was so much you wanted to say to him, but you settled on something that nicely encompassed everything:

“you’re so dumb, gojo.”

gojo slowly blows air out of his nose, he swallows his whines and instead pouts slightly at your comment. good this was good, if you were being mean to him then things were getting better - you were feeling better. calling your name he gestures you closer to the vending machine. you follow slowly, unsure of his intent. he inches closer to you, so close that you could feel the warmth radiating off his lanky frame and the fresh smell of his shampoo.

did this guy know the concept of personal space? why was he so close?

“i’ll get your tea out for you. i can blue the machine if you want! or-or I can –” he says with an easy grin.

your cheeks twitch up, threatening to smile. “you’d blow up my drink then you idiot,” you say voice infinitesimally stronger now, tone more playful.

“yeah, but if i were you i’d want revenge!”

“what, on the machine?” your eyes roll before looking down at your green tea bottle still hopelessly stuck. just like you were.

“dude of course! the bastard stole your green tea! let’s fuck it up!” his eyebrows wiggle, bright blue laced with mischief.

you snort. “you’re crazy, gojo. if you want to burn some energy go spar with suguru!”

“what, him?” his nose wrinkles at your first name basis with his best friend – and not him. “why ask him when you’re here already? but y’know, i feel like we’d make a good team don’t ya think? we could do some damage together!” if you didn’t want to tell him exactly what was going on, he could take your mind off whatever is making you upset, it’d be a win. and he always wins.

“i’m not fighting the vending machine.” you deadpan, fingers coming to pinch your nose bridge, exasperation eclipsing sadness.

“what, babe? you don’t think I’d win???” gojo incredulously whines.

“are you seriously asking me that question right now?”

“all im hearing is that you don’t think i’d win against a cheating vending machine!!” gojo huffs dramatically, crossing his arms and turning away from you.

you fully laugh. his ears perk up happily at the noise, he bounces on his feet while mentally patting himself on the back. he made you laugh – perhaps luck was on his side today.

he claps his hands suddenly. “right then babe, let’s go!” gojo practically shouts. giddy from his win, gojo quickly grabs your wrist and drags you behind him, the pathetic bottle of green tea forgotten still suspended, leaning on the glass. your eyes widen as you feel the warmth of his hand around your wrist.

“he–gojo! HEY! where are we going?! gojo, slow down, why are we running?!” you ask jogging to keep up with his long stride. "hey!" you sharply shake wrist connected to him to get his attention. “we’re going – oh sorry!” he turns his head, white hair catching the light as he notices your increased pace, he slows down to accommodate your shorter stride. “we’re going to the convenience store to get some green tea, duh. oh my god, can we get some cake too? oooOOOHhH, let’s get the new strawberry cream cake they have! can we??”

“okay, but you’re paying.” you say amused at his excitement. gojo grins happily, “you think I’d let you pay? c’mon!” shaking both of his hands excitedly, jostling your whole arm when he holds your wrist.

“you can let go now, gojo…” you say, barely noting the way that his grip on you grows a little tighter.

gojo blinks as he hesitantly drops your wrist. quickly recovering, gojo exclaims, “awwwwwww, i thought we were just starting to get alon -” offering you a teasing smile.

“oh my god, let’s just go.” rolling your eyes. taking large strides to walk past him before turning back in a huff annoyed to see that he wasn't following you.

you sigh dramatically, “I’m going by myself if you don’t –“ he quickly falls in line with your steps. “im coming, im coming! jeez babe, you’re so demand–“ you slap his arm sharply, eyes blazing, all previous sadness forgotten, suspended for the time being. gojo laughs loudly at your expression.

gojo’s day just got better and judging by the pep in your step, he smiles to think that yours did too.

A/N: i loooooove him, he's such a lil puppy here. -- head image credit: unknown! credit goes to the rightful artists dividers from: @/adornedwithlight

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phecdasolar · 4 months ago

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Tumblr I need your help I am in dire need of feral/unhinged Disaster Twins fics pleaseeee (and maybe Mikey as a bonus) I’m just in love with the idea of Raph being the impulse control for once with this iteration, and just the second he’s out of commission the other three go insane.

Weapons of War, Bioengineered Killing Machines, Manufactured Supersoldiers Rottmnt turtles my BELOVEDS

And maybe just like,,, set Leo and Donnie loose on one of the other dimensions and have them absolutely horrifically annihilate their counterparts’ villains while they watch on in horror

(B.E.A.S.T. was SUCH a good fic you guys oh my GOSH go read it I’m begging you-)

I NEED to have it addressed in fic form that the Rise turtles are fundamentally different than all their other counterparts, because their counterparts? They were accidents. Just a couple of turtles splashed with mutagen and oh look now they’re people but Green. (Huge oversimplification I’m aware but hear me out okay-)

But the Rise boys were created. They were specifically designed to be weapons of mass destruction. They were built with the intent to cause harm which means they were bioengineered to be stronger, smarter(?), faster, to heal quicker, to have the capacity to take hard hits while dishing out even harder ones, they were literally forged with a purpose to kill.

Add on their mystic powers? Then their unlocked Ninpo? You can’t honestly tell me that these four aren’t the strongest and potentially deadliest version of themselves out there.

Yes they still had to learn things, as did the other iterations, they weren’t immediately good (that much is obvious, like c’mon it’s IN the name) but I don’t think the other iterations possess the same instincts as these guys do. They’re just so. Unhinged. They’ve all had their moments in the show I think where it’s obvious they’re not really,,, stable. I love them.

In a plain fists only, maybe weapons, no powers fight, I do think some of the other iterations would win, but purely because they have way more experience than these guys do. (If I did any crossovers I’d say 2003 and 2012 are definitely older than these guys, especially if we’re basing this at the end of their shows) But put them against each other when they’re still at the same level? Rise is whooping butt, I know where I’m placing my bets. It’s called RISE of the TMNT for a reasonnnnnn they’re not there yet but they WILL BE, and as of the end of s2 and the movie I say they’re finally THERE.

I have no idea how this turned into a headcanon rant this was just supposed to be me asking for fic recs hsgdjdjdk it’s almost 3 am tho so whatever sorry if none or only some of this is incoherent o7 o/

Editing this with a list of fics I have been graciously recommended below the cut:

Firefight by remrose [43/43 chapters 222k words] (edit: JUST FINISHED READING ch38-42 WATCH ME BAWL MY EYES OUT I was rotating them in my brain all morning at work) less on the feral side, more on the gut-wrenching angst side, still Disaster Twins and still super good

In Which Donnie and Leo Make Themselves Everyone Else's Problem in an NYC That Isn't Even Their Own by YukiSkyes [7/? chapters, 18k words] the CLASSIC “the Disaster Twins are unapologetically causing chaos” fic, always a delight to read

The Lemon Leak by TurtleSoupSwimmer [27/37 chapters, 143k words] I’m being told it’s very true to the theme here, and it’s very angsty, a suspenseful psychological thriller, and will make you scream at your phone. I for one am very intrigued

Eschatology by aenor_llelo, Alderous, ConcoctionsFromHell, izziel_galaxy, Jaybird314, Otakuforlife19, and Rocket999 [17/17 chapters, 344k words] “HEAVY on the boys being biologically engineered to destroy the world, it also delves into so much character building and worldbuilding that we never got in canon, and it gives even super minor characters the chance to shine” Sounds intriguing, AND it’s a BNHA crossover which I am a big fan of :D

The Hunter’s Bible also by TurtleSoupSwimmer [2/2 chapters, 15k words] Rated Mature, contains themes of SA and c@nnibalism so PLEASE keep that in mind!! Not a fic for the faint of heart this is a Dead Dove: Do Not Eat! The SA is only attempted, and never shown, only implied, and it’s only in ch 1, but the other stuff is fairly descriptive and takes place in ch 2. All that being said, flipping UNHINGED, just about lost my mind in ch 2, it was entertaining in a surreal kinda way if you get what I mean. Funky little feral creatures

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malfoyfarms · 2 years ago

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She Wanted You

JJ Maybank x Routledge!Reader

Word Count:1.4k

Warnings:none

A/n: angst bc im boycotting watching season three LOL, not my gif

“What do you mean she left?” JJ questioned, dumbfounded. He didn’t realize it, but he was walking into a war zone. The Chateau no longer had the same feel. It was like someone sucked the air out, and pumped smog in.

With tears in his eyes, John B pointed towards his sister’s room. Sarah and Pope were lingering in there, but JJ had no idea why. The room was oddly neat, incredibly out of character of the girl who resided there. Her closet was emptier than usual, the three picture frames that once had pictures of her with her family and friends were empty. What caught JJ’s eyes next, made his mouth go dry. His breath was no longer there. The navy sweatshirt he had given her years ago was folded, on the bed, next to the pillow he always claimed during their relationship. Atop the sweatshirt was a ring from a gumball machine, an orange and green friendship bracelet made of paracord, and a pile of notes written on scraps of random papers. Every other personal belonging was missing from its spot.

JJ tore through the girl’s nightstand, and when he realized the box of her life savings was gone, he let out a string of colorful words and kicked the stand.

“Here, you should read this.” Sarah handed him a neatly written note. By the tear stains on Pope’s face, the somber tone from the kook, and JB’s raging anger, it was a farewell.

He took a deep breath, and swiped the letter from Sarah. The familiar handwriting was already pulling at his heart.

I’ve rewritten this letter four times already, and I still don’t know how to put my thoughts into actual words. Firstly, I love you. I love you until the waves stop coming in. I love you so much that I knew I needed to leave. I’ve known since you wandered home with John B in third grade, and gave me all the answers (even though they were wrong) to my math homework that if there was going to be another boy in my life, he was going to have to fight you for that spot. From 7 years old, I only ever wanted you. But over the last two years, I can see that I’m not the one for you. And that is why I’m leaving. One of the only things that got me through my day was seeing you smile, but I understand that there is someone else who causes those crinkles by your eyes.

I have to leave because it’s too painful. I need time to have all your kisses leave my body, I need to leave because I can’t smell the ocean, listen to Akon and Konvict, or even wash my fucking clothes without thinking of you. I see you in body language, in the waves, in every damn aspect of my life. Not only are we ingrained on this island, but you are ingrained in me. If I’m ever going to come home I need to remove every trace.

I told you last week, I’d always be on your team, even from a distance. I need you to pursue Kiara because there is nothing more I want for you than happiness. Deep down, I know it will always be her. While that sentence feels like a shot, I’m coming to terms with it.

Don’t try to come find me, either. I won’t be going to any of the places we’ve ever talked about, I do have my secrets still. Not Yucatan, not Tybee, and certainly not Jekyll. Take care of my brother.

All my love,

Y/N

“When did you and Y/N break up?” Sarah asked. JJ couldn’t even think straight. Y/N and the boy broke up about a week ago, for that specific reason, JJ thought there was something there with Kiara. He didn’t think the girl would pick up her stuff and bolt. Leave her brother, her best friends, and the life she claimed to love.

“I, uh, initiated it last week or so,” he stuttered, “it wasn’t definite or anything, but it was insinuated I guess. We had a conversation about it, but I don’t think I ever could have said it out loud.”

“Oh,” she thought. “You know she really loved you with every bone in her body.”

He sucked in a deep breath to try to keep his tears at bay. How could he walk out to the front room and face John B. He was the reason the youngest Routledge had left. With Big John gone, she was all he had left. Hell, with Luke gone, she was all JJ had too. In some form he robbed his friends of a family member.

JJ laid down on the neatly made bed and latched onto the sweatshirt that smelled just like her. His memory flooded with images of Y/n in that sweatshirt. From it covering her bikini when they went night swimming, it being the one sweatshirt that was specifically for after she came home from school, the one thing that grounded her when she was having a rough day. JJ felt his chest start to tighten, and his hands were clammy and shaking.

“I thought you said you’d never break her heart!” JB screamed. Impeccable timing.

“John B don’t–” Sarah tried to interject.

“No Sarah, he promised. He promised me almost three years ago that if I gave him permission to date Y/n, he wouldn’t hurt her. He knew he’d be breaking more than just her heart. And now I can’t even help her pick up the pieces. I can’t fix my baby sister, the way she fixed each and every one of us!”

“Bro, you think this is what I wanted? I had a conversation with her. Nothing was definitive. It’s not my fault she took her shit and ran!”

“When has Y/n ever not taken her feelings and ran? Name one time!”

JJ sat there in thought, and there had been one time she didn’t run, and he had promised that he wouldn’t tell. He was going to anyway.

“When you disappeared. I held her while she cried herself to sleep for nights on end. So don’t act like I never treated her right. You know I did.” JB ran his hands through his hair and left the room.

“Until you decided you may have feelings for the girl who is like her big sister.” That stung.

“What’s going on?” Kie asked.

“She’s gone.” John B said. “‘Cuz JJ’s in love with you.”

JJ sat in the hammock, wearing the navy sweatshirt he hadn’t worn in years. It smelled just like her. He could even feel the marks of where she rolled the sleeves and dug her thumbs into the side.

He barely remembered last week’s conversation about Kie, but never did he think that it would cause you to disappear. Y/n was so incredibly loyal. She wanted him. Every. Damn. Day. She wanted him when the clouds were out, and the usually blue sky was gray. She wanted him when he was bruised and beat up, she wanted him when he was crabby after a 14 hour shift, she wanted him at every hour of the day in any way she could have him.

It was just a conversation, he thought. He never flat out said that he was leaving her for the tanned, wealthy kook.

He felt so fucking stupid. He felt so much self-hatred. He remembered when they were 12 and 14, and Y/n wanted to walk to the gas station a few streets over, but John B wouldn’t go with her. He remembered what she usually bought. Peach iced tea, sour straws and a bag of munchie mix. Every single time.

He remembered when the girl got drunk for the first time and dialed him to come get her. God, she was so inebriated. She clung to the boy, giggling profusely. That was the first night she ever told the boy she loved him. Y/n never knew it, but JJ kept that memory locked in his head.

He pondered the time she was ready to give him her virginity. He remembered how nervous she was, but how much she trusted him.

It had grown dark by the time he wandered back into the Chateau. He was surprised JB didn’t kick him out, he fully expected to be out on the streets by now. As he stumbled towards the bedrooms, he went past his own, and fully dove into the light purple sheets he had come to love. She’ll come back, he thought. She has to.

#jj x reader #jj outer banks #jj maybank #jj maybank imagine #Outer Banks #outer banks imagine #obx imagine #hms pogue

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veryace-ficrecs · 7 months ago

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can I request some more zosan recs?

Absolutely you can!!

More Zosan Fic Recs

For my other Zosan lists, look here!

Zosan Fic Recs, Zosan Modern Au Fic Recs, Zosan Outsider POV Fic Recs

This list will include all ratings and tags, so read at your own discretion! :)

the blood of the covenant by glassedplanets - Rated E

In the North Blue, there is a roaming kingdom of no land, just a fleet of ships ruled by a king. The kingdom is nothing more than a mercenary force cloned and bred to be expendable and the king is a madman of a scientist. He had a daughter and he turned her into a monster. He had four more sons and three of them ended up becoming machines worse than the monster. And the last didn’t become anything at all until a pirate in a straw hat nearly ruined a restaurant.

A Study in Movement by camembri - Rated T

"Nami’s gaze pins him to the wall. Her brown eyes are narrowed, calculating. “What? You chicken or something? When Mihawk cuts you down – for real this time – are you gonna accept that it’s because you were too shy to ask for help? I refuse to believe that your dream is that superficial.” She’s baiting him, not even bothering to hide it. Still, Zoro’s hackles are raised. “I’m not shy.” “Then prove it. Go watch Sanji cook breakfast or something.”" Or: In the aftermath of Alabasta, Zoro finds himself to be the only person reasonably suspicious of the Strawhats' newest crew member. Should it all go to hell - as it is wont to do, with this particular crew - Zoro needs to train harder, get stronger. The problem lies in the fact that, despite his best efforts, he cannot replicate his ability to cut steel. Willing to go to extreme lengths to reach his goals, Zoro undertakes a new sort of training - the art of observation. Much to his despair, however, the cook seems to be the best candidate available. Zoro's never been one to back down from a challenge, but he wasn't expecting it to turn out like this.

To Brighter Futures by Cherry_Sundae - Rated T

“Well, it’s not Nami, obviously,” Sanji reasons out loud. “You two are like siblings. And as lovely as Robin-chan is, she cannot possibly be your type.” Zoro had phrased it in a way hinting at unrequited love, which means Hiyori’s out too – that woman was practically throwing herself at him every time they were in the same room. “Oh, what was that pink-haired darling’s name? Perona, no? She–” “Cook,” Zoro deadpans, eye narrowed. “If you want to guess sometime this century, you need to stop listing women.” ——— In which Sanji gets captured by pirate hunters, Zoro is in the right place at the right time, and one thing leads to another. You know how it is.

Craving For Your Fragrance To Cover Me by abydos - Rated G

Zoro notices Sanjis new perfume and fights with a realisation.

Desperados by bosephboestar - Rated T

Cowboy au. Need I say more?

Wreck my plans by goldenkiwee - Rated G

He noticed how Luffy immediately tensed up as well, as they watched a blonde, long-haired Marine cruelly step on fallen rice balls. Anger flaring, Sanji was ready to march over to the table. If there was one thing Sanji hated, it was wasting food. However, he watched instead with bated breath as the green-haired bounty hunter scooped the smashed rice ball up with his fingers and ate it. An alternate look at how different things would have been, if Sanji had met Luffy first.

The Printer Guy by LuckyNo3 - Rated G

Zoro knows how to do one thing and only one thing in the office, working the printer.

#veryace asks #roronoa zoro #sanji fic recs #black leg sanji #one piece zosan #zosan fanfic #zosan #op zosan #ao3 fic recs #fanfic recs #ao3 #one piece

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mochiimadness · 1 year ago

Note

Okay so this MIGHT sound odd but, do you think you can do headcanons for a neurodivergent reader giving the turtles (either Rise or 2012, whichever versions easier to write) gifts as their love language?

And what I mean by that is giving them little things that they think they’ll like, for example giving Donnie an old toaster that stopped working for spare parts, or sharing a cool recipe with Mikey, etc etc? And the turtles would be confused until they learn about it being a love language/neurodivergent thing :)

(And btw, I love reading your headcanons!!!)

2012 Turtles x neurodivergent reader who's love language is gift giving

Writing for the 2012 turtles, they need some love ^^

Ack, I missed the last part and had to go back and almost didn't add the confusion part in r.i.p

Also wasn't sure if you wanted this to be romantic or platonic, so it's left up to interpretation ^^

Fearless Leader

He appreciates your gifts so much

You took saw these little trinkets and thought of him????

He's tearing up

He always thanks you and gives you a hug when you gift him anything

Even if on the off chance he doesn't like it as much,

He'll still put it up on his shelf with the other trinkets.

At first,

He was thankful of course, but why were you giving him all these gifts?????

Didn't want to seem rude by not accepting them,

But the more you kept doing it, the more confused he got

Eventually, he just politely asks why you're doing this.

Was he suppose to be doing something specific in return???

But when you tell him it's just your love language

He kinda has a

"Oh!!!" moment of realization

Absolutely treasures anything relating to tea, meditation, or Space Heroes

Oh??? You saw this brand of tea and thought he might enjoy it???

He is savoring every sip (even if he doesn't like the flavor, he can and will drink it all)

Or you had some left over candles and wanted to give them to him for meditation???

He lights them every time, they're his favorite scents now

All the gifts you give him are well kept!

Especially the Space Heroes comic you had found while thrifting

"Hey Leo, I found this comic on sale and thought you might like it!"

He takes the Space Hero comic from you with such gentleness, you'd think you'd just given him an egg

Even long after he finished the show and moved on,

He still held such a fondness for it

It is always near and dear to his heart

So when you gifted him a comic of his favorite show??

He nearly cried

His eyes shine with unshed tears and he brings you into a firm, but gentle hug

"Thank you so, so much."

Donnie-pedia

Gift giving is also Donnie's love language!

Usually, he's the one making and giving gifts to his friends and family

So when you start giving him gifts that you thought he might like??

He gives you one of the biggest, brightest, gap-toothed smile you've ever seen

"You got this? For me?? Really?!"

He's so excited

Already ranting about how neat the gift you've given him is

It could be a toaster or some spare krang parts you'd found (there's always some to be found in the back alleys and sewers of New York) or even a random book

He always finds a way to use or appreciate them

He's not as confused as his brothers about you giving him gifts,

After all, he does a similar thing!

But he does start overthinking

What if you're expecting a gift in return?????

What if it's an important day???

He starts worrying over this,

Which leads to him busting out his old white board and writing down everything these gifts could possibly mean

You end up explaining that this was just your love language, once you walk in on him connecting red lines on his theory board

(seriously, why would you giving gifts to him have anything to do with foretelling a dimension X invasion?)

Usually, when you give him anything that can be used in his inventions-

He'll set straight to working on it, after giving you a quick squeeze, of course

"Oh this is perfect, I was looking for something to use in this!"

He presents to you his finished machine,

The gift you gave him having been the missing piece he needed

After showing it to you, he gives you a quick hug

"Thank you so much! That gift was just what I needed."

Also makes gifts for you!

For example, if you gave him some colorful bolts you managed to find

He'll turn them into little matching bracelets for the two of you!

Dr. Prankenstein

Mikey gets so excited every time you gift him something

Has and will pick you up and spin you around each and every time you gift him something

He honestly doesn't find it confusing at first!

Genuinely is just happy to receive these gifts

Doesn't really think twice about it-

Until someone points out that you don't exactly go around giving gifts to just anyone

Then he gets curious, and a little confused

He will just ask you about it flat out

Oh??? It's your love language???

Cool!!!

He loves receiving random recipes from you

"Hey Mikey! I found another one I thought you might like."

"Ooo- let me see!!"

Loves to try making those dishes with you

Sometimes they end up with the kitchen covered in accidentally exploded mash potatoes

Sometimes they end up with the most delicious cake you've ever tasted!

Either way, Mikey loves it

He also loves receiving any other gifts from you

It could be a really cool rock you found

or some cute stuffie you found

He loves them all

Has a whole section of his room dedicated to storing and displaying your gifts

He even carries around a rock or two that you gave him

"For good luck, duh!"

Will also go to the surface to try to find you some little gifts in return

Usually he makes you flower crowns and chains!

Sometimes, he gets help from April or Big Sis Karai though

They'll get him some snacks that he knows you like

When you come down to the lair, he'll jump out and surprise you with some snacks and a movie night!

Also has one of the latest dishes he made with the recipes you gave him ^^

Mean Green Fighting Machine

Raph may act tough around his family

But he's an absolute softie

He's choking up whenever you give him these lil' gifts

Tries his best to take care of these gifts

Though, they may get a bit roughed up during a particularly angry episode or fight

When this does happen though, he does his best to fix them up

Hates it when the gifts you have him get broken or lost

So he keeps them in a storage box for safe keeping!

Though at first,

He was a little suspicious and confused when you started giving him gifts

Like, why???

Did you want something from him??

Were you planning something???

What did you want?

"No, seriously, what's with all the gifts? Ya up to somethin'?"

Pls just explain to him that it's your love language before you get interrogated

Once he knows tho??

He's so touched

You got this for him just because you care??

No strings attached?

Congrats, you've got a turtle who can and will beat up anything that brings you harm

It's how he shows he cares ^^

Surprisingly enough,

He loves receiving any artsy things from you

Especially paint or paint brushes

He goes out of his way to make sure those stay safe

He also loves receiving anything artsy!

If you ever make him a drawing or oragami

He's going to cherish it forever

He may even invite you to join him in an art session later-

"Don't ya dare tell anyone though."

Hope you enjoyed!

#my writing #tmnt x reader #tmnt 2012 x reader #tmnt leonardo x reader #tmnt donatello x reader #tmnt michelangelo x reader #tmnt raphael x reader #the teetles #2012 leo x reader #2012 donnie x reader #2012 mikey x reader #2012 raph x reader #fearless leader #donnie-pedia #dr. prankenstein #mean green fighting machine

1K notes · View notes

ilguna · 3 months ago

Text

☼ between life and death pt2 (Finnick Odair) ☼

summary; you’re supposed to be dead. you remember taking your last breath in that arena, but now you’re back, as if it never happened. and there's only one person to blame for it.

warnings; swearing, blood mention, death mention, someone gets hurt, there's some illusion (she's not totally sane), idealization of the capitol.

wc; 5k

notes: you might find the pov changes weird but embrace it.

part one.

District Thirteen’s hospital is in complete chaos.

Finnick comes to a sudden stop two steps in, eyes widening as he watches the scene in front of him. The shouting of orders from across the room by doctors, nurses running back and forth with armfuls full of equipment to tend to the volunteers. The loud beeping from machines getting to know their patients.

His lips part, face twisting, a question forming on his tongue, but he’s not even sure what he’s thinking to ask. Maybe, where is she? Is she okay? Did they hurt her? Is she still the same? Did his interview work? Did everyone make it out alive? He closes his mouth, swallowing, eyes searching for a reason to move.

Right as he thinks to take a step forward, both he and Katniss are cut off by a gurney being guided by a nurse who’s determined to get to her destination. He gets a quick glimpse of an unconscious woman with her head so sharply shaved, there is no hair on her scalp. From what he could see, on the skin that isn’t covered by the gown, she’s covered in fresh bruises and healing scabs.

It isn’t until she’s halfway down the hall, out of reach, does he realize who it is. It’s Johanna.

Finnick turns, as if he’s going to follow after her, because that’s what a good friend does, when a voice cuts through all the noise, clear as day. His heart jumps to his throat. He could be dead, six feet under, and her voice could bring him back to life.

“Finnick!” She shrieks, he whips around. He can feel the wave of tears coming before they've even reached his eyes. The tight pressure, the hot feeling in his face. The sight of her on the other side of the room sends him over the edge.

Annie’s here, her green eyes full of so much life—something he was afraid would be taken away from her in the Capitol. She hadn’t been back there in years, since she won and they shipped her away, uninterested due to her mental illness.

She comes running at home, only wearing a gown, but she doesn’t care, and neither does he. “Finnick!” She cries again. He’s instantly drawn to her like a magnet, he takes off away from the door to reach her sooner, arms open to embrace. As soon as she’s in arms reach, she jumps into him.

Finnick picks her up without an ounce of hesitation, a hand sliding into her dark, tangled hair. She’s alive, the thought is full of electricity. He leans too far forward, making him lose his balance, causing him to overcompensate. When he straightens, it sends him stumbling, back slamming into the wall. They slide down to the floor, where neither of them move, holding on to each other tight.

He was convinced he’d never see her again.

Katniss watches them jealously from the door she entered through with Finnick, feet firmly planted. It’s not that she’s specifically jealous of either partner, but the fact no one could ever doubt their love. Everyone knows how much they mean to each other. She’s still having to fight to get people to believe that’s how she feels with Peeta.

She presses her lips together, tearing her eyes away from the two on the floor to share a look with Haymitch. She manages to catch a glimpse of Gale through a doorway, he’s stripped down to his waist, skin glistening with sweat. A doctor stands over him with a pair of tweezers, removing something from under his shoulder blade.

“Gale!” Katniss is relieved, and she begins to go to him first, until a nurse pushes her back, and then shuts the door to his room.

Katniss goes back to standing next to Haymitch, waiting. Her attention is directed to Boggs next, who led the mission. He comes to a stop in front of them, hands on his hips. “We got them all out. Except Enobaria. But since she’s from Two, we doubt she’s being held anyway.”

“I heard you picked up someone extra?” Haymitch asks, curiosity getting the best of him.

Katniss’s eyebrows twitch. “There were no other tributes in the arena.” She says, and then backtracks a second later. “I guess Annie wasn’t there either…”

“They found a girl in the same hall as the victors. She was right next door to Peeta.” Boggs says, at the mention of Peeta’s name, butterflies swarm Katniss’s chest, reminding her that he’s here.

“Do you think she could be a victor?” Haymitch asks.

“Beetee and Plutarch are trying to figure it out right now.” Boggs shakes his head. “If she is, we don’t know the significance of her being there. She could be anymore.”

“What about Peeta?” Katniss asks. As curious as she is about the mystery girl, there’s only one person in this building she wants to see right now. She’s been waiting to see him for weeks.

“Peeta’s at the end of the hall. The effects of the gas are just wearing off. You should be there when he wakes.” Boggs nods to the nearest hall. “The nurse won’t let you in until she’s done with her work, there’s a chair outside of the door.”

“Thanks.” Katniss murmurs, breaking off.

Haymitch does not, staying with Boggs. If Peeta’s going to be unconscious for a little while longer, he might as well help them figure out who this girl is. Boggs motions for Haymitch to follow a few doors down, where Plutarch is standing with a walkie talkie in his hand. It has to be the fastest form of communication here.

Plutarch looks up from the floor when he senses their presence. “Oh, Haymitch.” He’s relieved. “Maybe you have an idea.”

“Where is she?”

“We have her isolated.” Boggs motions to the nearest window covered by blinds. “Until we figure it out.”

“Take a look.” Plutarch encourages.

Haymitch steps forward, prying the window shade open wide enough to give him a look inside. His eyes land on a girl sitting on a bed—most definitely older than Katniss—who looks to be in as good condition as Annie, maybe a little worse. Her head is turned to the side, seemingly taking in the room, observing it.

“How old is she supposed to be?”

At the sound of Haymitch’s voice, her head turns, eyes finding his through the shades. He’s able to get a good first look at her face before he lets go, disturbed by the intensity of the eye contact, and looks at Plutarch.

Boggs shakes his head. “No idea. We have no information on her.”

“We drew blood from her before she woke up.” Plutarch says, holding up the walkie. “Beetee’s cross-referencing it with residents from Four right now.”

“You think she’s from Four?” Haymitch raises his eyebrows, a little stunned by the assumption. “She doesn’t look like a Four resident.”

“Coin said to start there.” Plutarch shrugs, Haymitch thinks he catches an eye roll, but he’s not certain. “I would’ve gone for one of the outskirts districts, possibly Six or Eight, but she thinks that there might be some significance there.”

“For who? Finnick? They already took Annie.”

Plutarch raises his hands defensively, telling Haymitch that it’s out of his hands. He only does what Coin wants.

“Did you try asking Finnick?” Haymitch suggests.

“No, not yet. We’re letting him reunite with Annie before we drag him into it.” Boggs says. “You don’t recognize her at all?”

“I knew a lot of the victors in recent years, she doesn’t look like any of them.”

The sound of static fills the air before Beetee’s voice comes through, not entirely clear. “I can’t get any information on her. The DNA system in Thirteen is telling me her blood is outdated and doesn’t match any records. It wants a better sample.” There’s a pause. “Are you sure this system is up-to-date?”

Plutarch’s face twists, raising the walkie to his mouth. “Coin said it is. What do you mean her blood is outdated?”

“It doesn’t give me anything else. I’m going to need a bigger sample if you want me to begin to check the other districts she could be a part of.” Beetee answers. “Was she drugged in the Capitol? That might be messing with it.”

Plutarch sighs. “Just the gas to make an easy transfer. Unless the Capitol doctors were doing something to her. Give me some time, I’ll send someone to you.”

“Echo.” Beetee responds, and then the line goes quiet.

Plutarch turns to look at the door belonging to the mystery girl. He rubs his jaw, thinking, before calling on the nearest doctor to join him to draw more blood. The doctor agrees, pulling the gloves off her hands, telling Plutarch there’s already vials in the room she can use in the cabinet.

Plutarch opens the door, motioning for her to go first, before he follows. The door shuts behind them, the doctor prepares to draw more blood, using a key on her lanyard to unlock the cabinet to grab a bigger vial this time. Plutarch sticks by the door, not wanting to get closer.

“I’m just going to draw blood.” The doctor tells the girl, but she pays no mind to her.

Her attention is on Plutarch, eyes boring into his, an intense staring contest. No one in the room speaks, as the tension begins to rise between the three of them. And then she speaks first.

“You’re a traitor to the Capitol.” Her voice is hoarse, scratchy.

Plutarch blinks in surprise, the doctor briefly looking up, before directing her attention back on the blood. He stares at her for a second, before deciding to take the opportunity to question her. “What’s your name?”

“(Y/n) (L/n).” She answers.

His expression doesn’t change, he doesn’t recognize the name. “What district are you from?”

“Two.”

Plutarch’s face twists, not expecting a Career district to be the answer. Her eyes narrow in displeasure. The doctor interrupts them to announce she has what she needs, allowing the two of them to escape the room. Once the door closes, he feels like he can take a breath.

“What would you like me to do with the blood?” The doctor asks.

“Will you please run it down to Beetee Latier in Special Defense?” Plutarch asks, but he’s not looking at her, his eyes are on Boggs.

“Right away.”

There’s an uneasy feeling in his stomach. With the way she called him a Capitol traitor, there wasn’t an ounce of hesitation. She knows something. Maybe she’s a loyalist in District Two? But that doesn’t explain what she was doing in the Capitol, then. And in that case, why wouldn’t they just set up Enobaria to be taken to Thirteen?

Unless Snow knew Thirteen wouldn’t take the chance.

Plutarch holds the walkie to his mouth. “I have a doctor running the sample down to Special Defense right now. I got some information in the meantime.”

“I’m ready.” Beetee answers.

“Her name is (Y/n) (L/n). She said that she’s from District Two.”

Beetee doesn’t answer for a second. “A victor or a resident?”

“It could be either. I wasn’t in the room for long.”

“The Capitol system won’t let me check the resident history of District Two without the DNA sample.”

“What about victor history?” Plutarch asks.

There’s a couple moments of silence, where Haymitch shakes his head a little. It’s clear they’re grasping at straws. “There’s been no (Y/n) in the past ten years, that’s when she would’ve won, right?”

“Unless she’s older than she looks.” Boggs tells him. “Capitol modification?”

And right on cue, Beetee comes over the static. “No (Y/n) in Two.”

Plutarch’s face screws, stumped.

“Could she be lying?” Boggs asks.

“She looked angry when I made a face at her.” Plutarch murmurs. “We can’t check the Capitol database without her blood sample, either.”

“Plutarch.” Beetee’s voice comes over.

“One second.” Plutarch answers him.

“No, I can cross-reference her intake picture with the history of tributes in the Hunger Games.”

Immediately, Haymitch is skeptical, and even laughs a little bit. “What would that help with? The only tributes alive are victors or those who escaped the Quarter Quell arena.”

Plutarch, who knows too many Gamemaker projects for his own good, raises the walkie to his lips. “Go ahead.”

The static is gone.

Haymitch shakes his head, uninterested in the outcome of this search. It’s ridiculous. “I’m going to check on Katniss and Peeta.”

“Good luck.” Plutarch tells him.

Haymitch leaves, back down the hall to the front entrance of the hospital, before taking a right where Boggs had directed Katniss. A few moments of silence pass, as Beetee searches for their mystery girl in the hundreds of faces that have been submitted over seventy-five years.

Beetee is back. “I found (Y/n) (L/n), Plutarch.”

“In the tribute database?”

“Yes.” Beetee pauses. “She was a District Two tribute in the Sixty-Fifth Hunger Games. She made it to the final five.”

“Which Games did you say?”

“Sixty-Fifth.”

—

“Remember.” A muffled voice tells you, possibly coming from the Capitol doctor in front of you. Or maybe not, there is no color to her, there is no accent. She’s dressed in a grey jumpsuit, a lab coat over top of it. She holds a device in her hand, illuminating her face in a questionable angle, causing bright, colorful prisms to cover her face. “Remember who you are.”

When she speaks, the shades of the rainbow break apart, first into shiny bubbles, which reflect the light too harshly. They transform into butterflies the higher they go, before popping, causing a rain of glitter.

She can’t be real.

I know who I am, you think. You’re (Y/n) (L/n). You are—were—a resident of District two. You were a tribute in the Sixty-Fifth Hunger Games. You’re supposed to be dead. Instead you’re here, in this white room. Which is eerily similar to the one you were in a couple hours ago. Except, that one was bare. This one has a cabinet, a bed, a tray of medical utensils…

You told them who you are, already. More importantly, you told Plutarch Heavensbee who you are. As instructed by the colorful doctors, the ones with the sickly shaded skin and the odd shapes on their faces. Those people had to be from the Capitol, right?

This one stares at you for a long moment, only furthering your idea that she isn’t real. She takes your silence, turning to leave the room. You watch as she becomes transparent with each step she takes, becoming completely invisible before her hand touches the doorknob.

You’re finally getting a hang of this.

You slide to get off the bed, wandering over to the metal tray a few feet away. You come into contact with the cool metal of the table, touching over the several options that are available, confirming they’re real. You decide on the knife, the scalpel. Once you have it in your hand, you return to the hospital bed, hiding the scalpel beneath your right thigh.

Back home, they taught you to always be prepared in unfamiliar situations. Especially when you feel like you’re at a disadvantage. With what has been pumped into your system since you got here, you’re not at your best. You’re not safe.

It was different in the Capitol, they weren’t trying to hurt you there, only inform you. They were trying to help you before you got taken. They were telling you the truth of what happened in the arena. What was really going through Finnick’s head.

“I’m sorry to interrupt your reunion, but it’s important.” Plutarch’s voice is muted through the wall, but not completely silent. You can make out the words. “We have an issue.”

“Does it involve me?” The other voice asks, sending shivers down your spine.

Finnick Odair.

What a bitter name on your mind.

“Well, yes. It involves you, Finnick.” Plutarch pauses. “It’s about your Hunger Games, do you remember anything from it?”

“Practically all of it.” Finnick says, he sounds almost the same from the arena, just more grown up now. “I’d like to see someone who doesn’t. Why?”

“Who was your district partner?”

“Amaryllis.” Finnick says.

The name hits you hard, causing you to squeeze your eyes shut to avoid watching the room suddenly spin. Amaryllis, the one who stabbed you. Finnick set you up, he knew she’d be able to overpower you. It was their plan to join at the end, all along. They had to get you out of the way first.

He knew her younger sister, the thought forces its way through.

“I knew her younger sister.” Finnick says, as if he’s reading directly from your mind.

“Do you remember who killed her in your Games?”

There’s a beat of hesitation. It’s obvious that Plutarch is testing Finnick’s memory, seeing what he knows before he admits who’s in this room. You.

“Yes, it was a girl from District Two.” Finnick says slowly.

“What was her name?”

“She introduced herself as (Y/n).” Finnick says. “Why?”

“How old was she?”

“The same age as I was at the time. Why?” Finnick emphasizes.

“How did she die?”

There’s silence following the question, leading you to believe that it’s out of guilt, as if he’s going to admit it’s his fault. That he took on the One tributes because he knew Amaryllis would be more than happy to kill you. Neither of them planned on you barely making it out of that fight alive.

“Tell me why first.” Finnick then demands.

Plutarch sighs. “We believe we may have rescued her from the Tribute Center. Beetee’s research tells us she’s a tribute from your Games.”

“That can’t be possible, she bled to death.” Finnick shuts him down coldly. “She was stabbed by Amaryllis. She hid the wound from me. She died.”

“We—”

“I watched her die on a screen with the entirety of Panem during the three hour long recap.” Finnick cuts him off. “She died due to blood loss. She was my ally.”

Liar, you were never his ally. Just a stepping stone.

“Will you please calm down?” Plutarch asks. “We just want you to confirm that the girl in this room is her, that’s all.”

You think you can hear an annoyed sigh through the wall, then silence follows. Your eyes search the window, hungry to see if it’s actually him. A second later, the blinds rise up far enough to give you a whole look of his face.

Immediately, his tanned skin pales as if he’s seen a ghost, and you’re sure he has. Those familiar green eyes, his tanned skin. He’s grown into his face, that’s for sure. All those pictures the Capitol had been showing you are true. He looks exactly like he did in that interview, where he lied about Snow.

The blinds drop in the next second.

“How is that possible?” He demands, voice loud. “She died in the arena, I heard the canon. I saw her in the sky. I saw her during the recap. Mags told me she died because of the amount of blood she lost. How is she in there?”

“We—”

“Is she some clone?” Finnick asks. “A mutt?”

Mutt.

The room begins to spin violently, causing you to close your eyes again or else you’ll get sick from the intensity. Is that what he thinks of you? Just a mutt? You’re not even human to him anymore?

“The Capitol doesn’t have the technology to clone.” Plutarch clarifies. “Not yet, at least. They’ve been working on it. What they do is take samples of DNA and they splice it together with an existing mutt to give it the same qualities. Like the dogs in Katniss’s games.”

“Then how?”

“If I had to guess, I’d say they took her, revived her in the hovercraft, and kept her in a coma.”

“Why? It doesn’t make sense.”

“Will you—” Plutarch’s voice briefly gets quieter, causing you to strain to hear. “Can you get Beetee? He should know.” His voice comes back into focus. “She might have qualities they can use. If she’s smart, a good fighter, if she’s pretty. They can use her for a number of things. Even reintroduce her as a Capitol citizen.”

“That makes no sense.” Finnick’s voice is quiet. “Why?”

Silence, and then suddenly static. “Beetee, are you still there?”

“Yes, Plutarch. What can I do?”

“I’ve sent a doctor your way to bring you to the hospital, there’s a small lockdown to keep families out. You’ll need him to get inside.”

“Do you need me to bring anything to the hospital?”

“No, but can you do me a favor and bring up the file on (Y/n) in the Capitol database? Usually they have information there on why they have dead tributes.”

“She’s not the first one?” Finnick asks.

“One moment.” Beetee tells him.

“No, she’s not the first.” Plutarch tells him. “But usually they don’t survive for more than a couple of years. She’s been alive in their care for ten.”

“You knew they were doing this.” It’s not a question, it’s an accusation.

“I knew of their projects, I never actually got to see them personally.” Plutarch clarifies. “I had access to a lot of information, I made sure to read through almost all of it when I became the Head Gamemaker so I knew what to expect when the rebellion came into play.”

“Where would they keep her?”

“Probably in the basement, where the victors would be taken care of for the recuperation week. There’s many rooms down there, just hidden behind walls. There could be dozens of tributes.”

Static interrupts their conversation. “There’s no notes, they must’ve deleted them.”

“Does it say anything?”

“It says, ‘saved, 65th’.”

Neither of them speak, taking in this information, or the lack of it.

An ear-bleeding scream fills the air, silencing the background noise of the hospital as everyone stops to listen. A voice shouts for Plutarch, so you assume he leaves to see what all the commotion is about. You don’t move from where you sit on the bed, but you do keep your eyes on the window.

No one comes to see you for a long time, whatever happened outside of your room must’ve been a surprise. You don’t mind sitting here, though. The more time passes, the better grip you have on reality. There’s no abstract shapes with bright colors floating around the room, and the voices are becoming quieter as they realize that you’re not listening.

You’re beginning to feel normal, your thoughts becoming clearer.

Once the hospital staff gets their situation under control, you’re back to being their first priority to figure out. Plutarch is nowhere to be seen, or heard. Maybe he’s disinterested in why you’re here, satisfied with the half-answers he got with Beetee. Maybe he’s searching the Capitol database, himself.

Either way, the doctors treat you like it’s an interrogation, and they don’t believe any of the answers you give them as they go on. Their questions are repetitive and irritating, thankfully easy to answer. It’s the basic stuff that the Beetee guy figured out through his research.

Who you are, how old you are, where are you from, if you participated in the Hunger Games, how old you were at the time, who did you kill, who were your allies, did you get injured, did you die, how did you survive, where have you been, how has the Capitol treated you.

It’s harder to answer them as the questions get more specific. You don’t know how you survived, other than what you were told, of course. The Capitol saved you from the arena because they saw how unfair the alliance between Finnick and Amaryllis was. It wasn’t your fault it was planned behind your back. They said you deserved a second chance, because if it weren’t for them, you would’ve been the victor.

And where have you been? The Capitol, obviously, where else? Only, when they ask you where in the Capitol, you direct them to ask Plutarch. After all, he was the Head Gamemaker, he’s the one that was snooping in on Capitol projects. He said so himself that you were probably kept where all the victors wake up.

All you know is that you were gassed unfairly by the hospital’s troops. When you say this, they ignore you, brushing you off. Then they claim that they have someone who wants to see you, and they collectively leave the room at once.

Your eyes narrow, watching the door.

It opens after a couple of minutes, revealing the boy who set you up. Finnick takes a step in the room, gently pushing the door shut until it clicks. You can feel every muscle in your body begin to stiffen, the scalpel beneath your thigh is burning a hole through your skin, lip starting to curl.

You grit your teeth, refusing to take your eyes off of him, even though you have a feeling you’re being watched through one of the windows. They’re messing with you, gauging your reaction on how to press your buttons. That’s why they sent Finnick in here, because they know what he did to you.

You move your hands to be on either side of your thighs, trying to seem casual. In actuality, this gives you an easier access to the scalpel when you go to stab Finnick. Who’s coming closer by the second, taking one step at a time, but not saying a single word. It makes it impossible to decide what to do next.

No, that’s wrong. You know what to do next. You were given instructions by the doctors in the Capitol. They said they could help you. All you have to do is kill him, or severely injure him for lying about Snow to Panem. If you do this, you can go home. You were told that you can see your family again if you go through with it.

Your heart pounds in your chest, hands gripping the metal bars of the bed frame, trying not to jump the gun. But as soon as he steps into arm’s length, you can’t sit still any longer. You launch off the hospital bed, hand swiping at the scalpel, slicing your hand in the process. A stinging sensation travels down your wrist, temporarily taking control of your mind.

It’s thrown away when you’re able to tackle Finnick to the ground, arm swinging to stab him in the throat. That will teach him not to tell lies. He’s just barely able to catch your wrist, arm trembling under your weight.

The doorknob to the room is being violently shaken, as the bystanders outside try to get the door open. There’s knocking at the window, several people shouting at you to stop what you’re doing. They don’t understand. They’ve all been manipulated by Finnick’s charm, if they knew the truth, they wouldn’t be trying to save him.

“You set me up!” You snarl, pressing down, wanting to finish the job.

Finnick stares back at you with an open mouth, like a fish out of water. The blood from your hand is being pulled by gravity, now. Little droplets on his grey jumpsuit, his tanned skin, his reddening face.

“You knew she was stronger than I was!” You snap. “That’s why you refused to kill her.”

“(Y/n).” He chokes out. “Wait.”

“You left me to die!” You shout, causing him to flinch. “And you almost got what you wanted, if it weren’t for the Capitol intervening. I bet it was a surprise seeing that your plan never worked.”

“You asked me to leave you there!” He argues, the room begins to spin, but you can’t take your eyes off of him. “I didn’t want to. I didn’t want you to leave.”

The hospital room slowly starts to change, and the doubt of how real this situation is beginning to set in. The tile turns to grass, the walls become tall trees, and the ceiling is now a dark sky. It’s the middle of the night.

“That’s not true.” You tell him, “You’re a traitor. You knew I wouldn’t survive on that hill, and you left anyway.”

His jumpsuit is darkening in color, right around his stomach. Your face twists, trying to remember if you stabbed him or not. You couldn’t have, right? You’re still trying to get him in the throat.

“You told me to go.” Finnick insists. “I wanted to stay. I wanted to carry you to our base, but you wouldn’t let me.”

“No.” You shake your head. “No, that’s not what the doctors told me.”

“The doctors lied.” Finnick emphasizes. “I can prove it.”

“You’re full of shit.”

“(Y/n), I promise. Just let me talk to them—”

The sky shatters, causing you to flinch, Finnick shoves you off of him. The white hospital room is coming back, the scalpel slides across the floor, leaving a smear of blood out of your reach. You try to sit up, but you’re slammed down by a hard boot to your chest, making it hard to breathe.

“Get him out of here!” A man barks, referring to Finnick.

“Stop.” Finnick says, waving his hand. “Stop, she’s fine.”

He’s pulled to his feet by his armpits, being directed to the door by Plutarch, who glares in your direction.

“Take her out, we need to get her chained down.” He says.

“No.” Finnick objects. “No, she’s just confused. That’ll only make it worse.”

“She’s not confused.” Plutarch says back.

The man above you raises his gun in the air, the butt aimed at your face. The last thing you’re able to register is Finnick being dragged out of the room, begging them not to, before the gun comes down.

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mueritos · 10 months ago

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i hope we continue to see more protests within the US military. i see a lot of leftists and folks who are anti-military who have such an open disdain for the people who are in the military, yet neglect to considering the conditions this country makes to produce ideology, poverty, and the illusion of choice to make all kinds of people choose to enlist in the military. You ever see those videos of ROTC kids recording each other asking why they joined the military and everyone's like, "healthcare", "it helped me go to college", "I was bored" or "free ptsd lol". I hate to remind everyone but folks who are in the military are people, too, and they are the same victims and perpetrators of violence as the rest of you, we have all been shallowly conditioned to view each other as enemies just because one person is wearing army greens and the other is not.

some of the biggest anti-war advocates are those who engaged in war. Veterans who genuinely believed they were protecting the US against "terrorism" come back with blood on their hands, and they choose to realize that it was US imperialism that forced them to carry out violence, instead of doubling down and shielding themselves from the fact that they too are capable of atrocities... This is a class of people who are intentionally conditioned to be as poor and as ideologically aligned to US imperialism so that the military has a never-ending pool to send their youth to destroy other country's youth. The only people I have ever heard say "do not join the military" are those who ARE military.

This is in no way to ever excuse or explain away any of the atrocious war crimes and violence this industry and its people have committed against others. What I am saying is that we absolutely cannot cast aside the individuals who have been victimized within US imperialism, even if they are wearing army greens. I was speaking with my Palestinian classmate last week and another classmate--a member of the US air force-- walked up to me and struck up a conversation. My military classmate showed me her new bird, bid both of us goodbye, and left. My Palestinian classmate asked me if I was close with her, and I said we talked quite often, and she said, "I never met a person who's in the military. I still hate the military, but I never knew that they did, too. I didn't realize that they were also victims."

If my Palestinian classmate--one who is actively watching her own community die--can understand that it is not individuals who are the problem but it is in fact systems, US imperialism, white supremacy, capitalism...why can't we all? And she has EVERY reason to hate any individual military member. A lot of online activism just creates more barriers. if your optics look bad, complicated, or contradictory, you are cast aside. Everyone has got the be the perfect activist, you can never make a mistake or share a half-baked thought, you should always believe every word from a marginalized persons mouth (because being marginalized doesn't mean you're not entrenched in white supremacy too!) and you should never question what you see...Do you know what you sound like? The very imperialists who are convincing poor whites to vote against themselves. Perfectionism is white supremacy. Black & white thinking is white supremacy.

I'd rather have a military member who genuinely believed in the US imperialism machine but was disillusioned after being deployed as my comrade than some leftist who cherishes the performance of "being a good person". I don't want "good people" in our movements. I want humans who care. I want humans who make mistakes and who learn from them. I want humans who accept the messiness of a person. I want humans who hold others accountable and allow themselves to take responsibility for their actions. I want people who change for themselves and others.

fight systems, not individual people. we can change each other, but if we're too preoccupied looking like the World's Perfect Activists, we will only consume each other alive. Connect to your fellow humans, forever and always.

#muertotalks #a mind dump after seeing so much come out after the self immolation of the us air force member #i know hes not the first one to self immolate for palestine #and he might not be the last #i hate the military #i really fucking do #but i choose to see the people within them as victims within the overall system just like the rest of us #i will never go through what they did to make them choose to enlist #i never struggled with poverty homelessness healthcare or social acceptance #i wont shame them #shame is not productive #i want them to know there are civilians who support their protests #i want them to know that we their allies too #a note on my palestinian classmate #if youre arab or also a colonized person impacted by the us military feel free to hate every member of the military #i dont intend to police yall in how you choose to feel your anger #im angry with you #the point i mean to make is about understanding and compassion #someone who has every right to hate these people still chose to see them as the people they are #yes i even want the best for the “bad” people in the military too #i dont want these people to continue the ideology but we cant stop that without dismantling these systems #and we cant do that without creating spaces for healing and reform and growth #so many thoughts so many thoughts #none of this is easy #i fight daily against impulsively hating the world #everyday is a fight to choose compassion and understanding #but being a leftist and doing leftism is not fucking easy #if you genuinely think it is it isnt #and you may be missing the point of what leftism is #anyway

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queer-devil · 3 months ago

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DRDT Incorrect Quotes Pt 2

Bc it was fun last time

Same generator was used

Eden: Good morning!

Ace: Is it? Is it really?

J: You know what the problem is? Your really cute, so no one ever told you to shut your pie-hole.

Veronika: You think I’m cute?

J: SHUT YOUR PIE-HOLE!

Nico: Hu, Ace keeps bullying me at school.

Hu: Ask your teacher for help.

The next day…

Nico, to their teacher: Will you help me beat up Ace?

Teruko: That's it, I'm cutting off the internet!

Nico: No, please don't! I have a family to feed!

Teruko:

Teruko: What?

Nico: I need to feed my Neopets!

Teruko: Is anyone going to tell me what's going on in here?!

Eden: It's kind of complicated, but Ace-

Teruko: Got it. Forget I asked.

Whit: Yo! I heard you like reptiles, got any fun facts?

Nico: If a crocodile eats your dad, they become your new dad.

Eden: Breathe, just breathe.

Arei: I’ve done nothing with my life! I’m a failure!

David: Awww, that never bothered you before.

Rose: I am not an early bird or a night owl. I am some form of permanently exhausted pigeon.

Whit: If I die, my funeral will be the biggest party ever and you're all invited.

Charles: "If?"

Ace: Great, the only party I'm ever invited to and they might not even die.

Min: I regret getting dragged into your heterosexual tomfoolery.

Whit: Fellas, I gotta know for science. Is the opposite of red green or blue?

Rose: Technically a mix of green and blue?

Ace: So blurple.

Levi: That's implying you're mixing blue and purple.

Ace: Would you rather have fucking bleen? MOTHERFUCKING GRUE?

Levi: You were confusing before but now I'm scared.

David: What are the hardest things to say?

Charles: I was wrong.

Teruko: I need help.

Whit: Worcestershire sauce.

Teruko: Who else is hiding in the laundry room trying to listen to Charles and Whit's convo?

Eden: Me. I'm in the laundry basket.

Veronika: I'm in the washing machine.

Ace: I'm in the closet.

Eden: We accept you Ace.

Ace: No I'm literally in the closet.

Eden: Love is love.

Charles: There's nothing to do....

Whit: You can wash the dishes you promised to wash about a week ago.

Charles: *pulls out his phone* Nevermind.

Veronika, watching Ace: Ah yes. The mysterious and beautiful Ace…

Veronika: …I wonder what sort of melodic sounds this wonderful being makes?

Ace: *screaming*

Eden: What makes you think it's okay to watch Hannibal given its subject matter?

J: Sometimes, I watch television shows for entertainment purposes.

Veronika: Because I condone murder and cannibalism.

Teruko: Why would you give a knife to Xander?!

David, shrugging: Xander felt unsafe.

Teruko: Now I feel unsafe!

David: I’m sorry…

David: Would you like a knife?

J: I have a problem.

Veronika: Kill it.

J: Can you chill for like, two seconds?

Xander: Don’t go picking a fight with me. I could make your life difficult.

Ace, sarcastically: Wow. I wonder what it’d be like to have a difficult life.

Whit: Don't quote me on this, but I believe murder is illegal!

Ace: Come to think of it… You’ve always been nice to me.

Ace: I mean, you listen to all my problems-

Levi: No, Ace I just simply stand here while you talk, there’s a big difference.

Eden: You know what I learned from my friendship with Ace?

Nico: There’s no such thing as too mean?

J: Never let your friends know for sure if you like them?

Levi: Always hold a grudge?

Levi: What situation is not instantly improved by the addition of fishnets, I ask you.

Nico: Being a fish.

Levi: …Well, shit.

David: I don’t mean to be rude—

Teruko: Yet, sadly, accidental rudeness occurs alarmingly often.

Hu: "Before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves."

David: ...

David: What a stupid fucking quote.

David: I'm killing way more than two people, idiot.

Eden: You know, Teruko, when you generalize, you tell general... lies.

Teruko: ...

Teruko: Are you trying to teach me moral lessons through puns.

Levi: Hey, Ace, do you have feelings for me?

Ace: Yeah, anger.

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superblysubpar · 9 months ago

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Princesses Can Slay Dragons Too:

dad!eddie munson x mom!fem!reader

an Easy Like Sunday Morning story

summary: you're overworked and stressed, Eddie's an oblivious but well meaning husband & dad, and a trip to the cabin with familiar faces might be just what you all needed. | even if a fic is not marked 18+, my blog is

7.7k words (listen, I know it has no business being this long. I worked on it for a year. Idk what happened, okay?)

warnings: please read the new "general warnings" on the masterlist linked above - "reader" has a "name/nickname", mentions of Ronance, mentions of alcohol, mom stress and a little bit of description of some blood/injury and parental panic/ descriptions of shock about it. There is a twinge of "poetic", quick descriptions of smut as well as brief discussion of "unplanned" pregnancies.

This started from an ask last March, which I've since lost (so sorry anon if you're still out there), and it grew and sat and grew some more and then sat some more and now here it is. I've grown very, extremely, emotionally proud and fond of it. Hope ya like it! 💛

Summer, 2004

“Baby, volume,” your voice calls out over the faint music playing, the thrum of wheels against the highway and the wind. Eyes remain shut, but furrowed lines form above your brows when you hear the familiar ding of a coin being grabbed. A palm rests on your thigh, fingers squeeze gently around it as the music of the level starts its loop again.

You need a coffee. Or thirty. Yes, thirty is good.

“Squirt,” his tone full of warning, yet somehow still sounding sweeter than the syrup that clings to all of their fingers and the gray fabric of the old van’s seats.

Despite the early morning breakfast stop at McDonald’s being nearly twenty-four hours ago, and your insistence on packed sandwiches and veggies for lunch, and a stop for a sit down dinner - the stale scent of greasy food feels heavy in the air. Which has your brain cycling through the list that will rid your family of the trip when you reach your final destination - get out of the car, wrangle them into pajamas, teeth brushed, fight about sleeping when it’s already almost morning, clothes into washing machine, air out the car, make the grocery list for the week…

Screw coffee - you need a shower, you need a shot of alcohol, you already need a vacation from your vacation.

A particularly loud grunt and the sound of something hitting or fighting or shooting has you opening your eyes, blinking away the sleep in them to find the dark highway lit by two gold headlights, showing off the yellow lines flashing past the driver’s window. Your mouth parts, ready to be the one to tell them no, like you always are, when he stops you.

He grabs your hand, his thumb soothing over your knuckles as his voice drifts gently into the backseat, “Come on, I don’t wanna take it away…”

It’s endearing, the way he always tries, the way he gives them a couple of chances. Because at this point, you’re ready to take the damn game and chuck it out the window. This level is haunting you, all you’ve heard every second of every day, even when you’re peeing or trying to shower. You’re pretty sure you’re dreaming in the pixelated graphics, the sound effects now accompanying your daily tasks.

A loud sigh falls from the backseat and with it, you’re certain the console is nudged one level lower.

You hate that of all of your children, the one most like him is still awake.

Sure, they’re all little gremlins, heathens, as he likes to call them - little tenacious mini monster versions of him that drive you up the wall but somehow make your chest ache with too much love.

But this one, this one takes the cake every time.

Eddie beats you to it again, the silver of his rings glinting in the green light of the dashboard as he lets go of your hand to reach into the back without looking. Out of the corner of your eye you see his bicep flexing, gently shaking the tiny knee in his big hand as he talks to the road sternly, “Lace. Volume off completely until I say otherwise, or Mario and Luigi are my best friends the rest of the week, capisce?”

“Caposh,” she grumbles, big red chucks swinging up towards the console and back down, her little legs don’t quite touch the ground yet, much to her dismay.

You keep reminding her that she has lots of time to be as big as her siblings, that her ever growing shoe size and the jeans you bought for the upcoming school year (which she’s already complaining are too tight - remember, you need to ask Katie about hand me downs from Liv, or shit, maybe even Grace, this weekend) tell you she is going to keep growing - and fast. Part of you can’t wait, and the other part wishes she’d slow down.

The sound vanishes completely and Eddie’s hand finds its way to your thigh again when you sigh. The part that wishes she’d grow up faster stirs, lit by the flicker of resentment when she listens to him so easily and not you.

Eddie’s fingers run up your thigh, then back down, skin beneath the denim buzzing as he squeezes softly and clears his throat.

“I think someone deserves an apology though, don’t you? ‘Cause I believe I heard you were asked already…”

“I’m sorry,” she squeaks and you can’t help but look over your shoulder at her when she does.

For once, her eyes are on you and not the game, big and brown - just like his - and truly sorry. You smile softly as her brows furrow under bangs that just refuse to stay straight. She blows them away with a big huff as she whines, “It’s just so hard.”

Your head nods, temple resting on the seat as you murmur, “Yeah, I know. Thank you for turning the volume off when your dad asked though, I really appreciate it.”

Eddie swallows, his finger aimlessly circles over the skin above your knee as he blinks at the road.

He’s always amazed when you do that.

Far more patient than anyone deserves, far more understanding than any of them appreciate, and much too good to him. For him. Especially with how things have been lately.

Eddie knew it’d been a little rough, with him being gone so much and the kids’ schedules just growing more cramped as they got older - summer was no longer the lazy days of kids riding around on their bikes and doing squat. It was full of sports and clubs, friends, all requiring a constant need to be dropped off, picked up, carted too and fro on seemingly hellbent on never lining up schedules. He’d been trying, he really had, to help you balance it all, but he had tunnel vision for things at work, he was so focused on his own shit he didn’t realize how much everything was affecting you.

How much being alone with three kids, two goldfish (scratch that, one, but still), a dog, and a house that seemed to have endless tasks to keep it running was breaking you.

He finds your hand and pulls interlaced fingers to his lips, kissing your knuckles, your wrist, your palm, all while keeping his eyes on the road. You close yours again, trying to focus on the soft press of his lips to your skin and not the reason why he’s doing it.

You know he’s thinking about last weekend.

On Friday, Caroline had complained that you only sewed new straps on her ballet slippers instead of getting new ones altogether. She was practically in tears because all the other girls in class had new leotards, new skirts, and new shoes and you promised you’d figure something out. She retreated with red cheeks and a slam of the bedroom door, stereo blaring behind it, the cusp of terrible teenage years promising to be worse than the twos.

After that, Michael shoved you off when you tried to hug him as you dropped him at the school for a baseball practice with an exasperated, “God, mom, stop!” - nine was grown up and he was much too cool to be a momma’s boy anymore apparently.

And to top it all off, Lacey had been following you around the house, that stupid game dinging and singing everywhere you went, one of the fish died and Lacey asked when it was coming back, and you somehow burnt the hamburger helper for dinner.

When Eddie got home, he found you hunched over the coffee table next to a precariously placed glass of red wine, a sock in one hand and a shirt in the other, piles of laundry neatly folded around you and your favorite movie playing on the TV. If it weren’t for the position that was sure to have your back feeling rough tomorrow, your soft, even breathing revealed you were dead asleep.

He had tried to ease you up, move you to the bedroom while trying not to wake you like he used to when his body was much younger, but you had shot up at the touch of his hand, the lightest sleeper of a mother of three. You blinked heavy eyelids while mumbling through sleep thick words about lunches for the two eldest who would be gone all the next day. Eddie had assured you he’d make them, and you were fairly certain you were back to sleep before your head touched the pillow.

The next day though, something inside of you snapped.

It had been better than the one before, but not great. You hadn’t showered, there was a leak in the kitchen that hadn’t gotten any better all week. The only break you had all day was picking the kids up from their activities, and making them a snack as soon as they dropped gear in haphazard piles in the entryway.

After hours on hold, you just started clanging around with tools you didn’t know how to use, your head throbbing from the lack of coffee or water and the sound of Mario grabbing another coin somewhere to your right.

Where was the real plumber you had asked Eddie to call? Maybe, if you concentrated hard enough, Mario would leap out of Lacey’s console, climb down the drain, and fight off the little mushroom guy who was-

You smacked the wrench against the pipe, repeatedly, like it had personally threatened you.

“Woah, woah, woah. Sweetheart, stop! You’re gonna break it!”

Eddie grabbed your wrist, pulling you up to see him standing with pizza boxes and staring at you with wide, blinking eyes. For a second, the sight of short curls starting to gray on the ends and lines next to eyes that were constantly squinting because he was smiling or refusing to wear sunglasses, had you forgetting you were mad, or stressed or…maybe you were just tired?

He cocked his head, trying to catch the gaze you let fall to the floor quickly as the kids shrieked about him being home. Eddie didn’t even get his question of if you were okay out before arms were wrapped around his waist and legs, all vying for his attention.

You had swiped at your nose to ward off the familiar sting, pulled down plates and started filling glasses of milk and juice, before shoving the casserole you’d had prepped into the freezer.

Then he snapped his fingers, smoothing a hand over Caroline’s hair and said, “Oh, hold on. I think you’re gonna like what else I brought home a lot more than the pizza.”

He left for the hallway, returning quickly, holding something behind his back that she tried to peek at and he tsked, singing, “Uh-uh-uh. Hold on. Your mom told me you were upset about your ballet slippers…”

Your shoulders rose, the pour of apple juice freezing over the glass.

He didn’t.

He smiled at you, oblivious, then at Caroline’s squeal of excitement and he kept going, “These aren’t new, but my co-worker’s daughter barely used them and…Ta-da!”

Eddie held out a shoebox with essentially brand new shoes and your body felt numb as you listened to her scream how much she loved them and him, squeezing him in a fierce hug as he kissed her temple.

Caroline held them up to you, proudly, and you smiled, nodding, saying something, you don’t even remember what. You ushered everyone to the table.

Lacey stood next to her chair, eyes darting over the hand-held game clutched in her fingers.

“Lacey, put it away, time for dinner.”

Ding! Bloop, bloop, bloop blah-bloop-de-bloop.

Eddie slapped pizza onto plates, licking stray sauce from his thumb, “How was everyone’s day? What’d you do?”

“Lacey, I’m not telling you again. Put the game away.”

Her eyes flew up to yours, something fiery and far to recognizable behind them that made you blink as she just said, “No.”

“Oh!” Eddie passed you pizza, oblivious, “How was lunch? Did dad do as good as mom?” He ruffled Michael’s hair as your daughter and you glared at each other.

Caroline nodded her head enthusiastically around a too big bite and Michael turned to you, pizza in his mouth on display as he talked, “It was so good. Can dad make our lunches every day? His was way better.”

You stood up from the table, without warning and without a word, walked to your bedroom, and slammed the door.

Were you having an adult tantrum? Maybe. Were you proud of it? Absolutely not. But the rush of tears that fell down your cheeks and the sob that overtook you was the kind of angry crying you simply do in private and you had needed to get there quick.

Footsteps jogged down the hallway behind you, the sound causing you to turn the lock on your bedroom door through blurry vision and gasps around your tears. As the knob tried to turn, you moved away with a hand over your mouth until the back of your knees hit the bed.

“Babe, open the door.” Eddie’s voice was soft as the knob rattled again.

“Liv, what the hell, open the door.”

You choked on a sob, fingers still over your lips so you barely got out, “I’m fine, Eddie, just…have dinner without me. I’ll eat later.”

The handle spun back and forth again, the sound of his forehead hitting the wood and his pained tone slicing through you, “Olivia, please open the door.”

You curled yourself on top of the bed, watching the handle through blurry vision slowly stop moving. Closing your eyes as the tears fell swiftly, you prayed it was the kind of crying that would just knock you out and put you to sleep, because god, did you need to sleep.

Only a few minutes later, maybe not even, the door swung open to reveal Eddie on his knees with a flashlight between his lips and a screwdriver in his hands and you, sobbing on the bed.

He jumped up at the sight of you curling your arms around your waist harder, at the way you rolled away from him and pressed your wet cheek into the pillow. At the way your hoarse voice called out, “Please leave me alone Eddie.”

The door closed, the lock clicked, and there was a distinct sound of both items he held dropping to the carpet with thuds. The bed dipped and the heat of his body curled behind you, fingers gently brushed over the damp skin of your cheek and neck.

Your body shook with more tears, eyes squeezing closed tighter when he pressed his nose to the back of your head while his arm wrapped around your waist, and he waited.

The tears eventually slowed, your chest started to fall and rise more evenly, and the light filtering in through your curtains started to turn lavender, then blue. Eddie managed to remove your jeans without waking you, and he pulled the duvet up over your shoulder as he bit his lower lip raw. Your face still didn’t look relaxed, like it was crying and worrying even in your sleep.

He left the room with with his fingers rubbing at the back of his neck, walking past the bathroom where water sloshed over the counter and soap slid down the-

Taking several steps backwards, his mouth opened, then closed at the sight in front of him, before he finally found his words and quietly asked, “Whatcha doing?”

His three children stood in a line in the mirror, looking at him in the reflection. Lacey held a stack of plates and silverware on the left, on her toes, pink socks (that were supposed to be white, but there must have been a laundry incident he was unaware of) fully submerged in bubbles, her little arms hoisting them to rest on the counter halfway. Caroline stood in front of the overflowing, sudsy sink, her hands invisible inside it, and Michael next to her with a rag and plate.

“We’re washing the dishes,” Caroline shrugged, like it was obvious.

He leaned against the doorframe, rubbing at his jaw as he hummed, “I…see that. Why are you doing that in here?”

The three kids blinked at him, and he tried not to smile, because you weren’t kidding that they eerily looked like him when they did that. They were all clearly confused, and then Michael said, “The kitchen sink is broken. It has been all week.”

Eddie closed his eyes, your cursing under your breath and beating up of the pipes when he got home making much more sense now.

All week? Why hadn’t you told him?

Shit, had you told him?

He cleared his throat and he tapped on the frame. “Right. Well, thank you for doing them. Try to stay quiet, mom’s sleeping.”

His body had barely turned out the door before Caroline called out, nervously, “Is she okay?”

Eddie wasn’t a fan of lying, even if it was to protect feelings. But the sight of his three kids with concern evident on each of their faces told him they’d know if he did anyways. Something told him they already knew she wasn’t and it was him who didn’t know the answer.

He sighed, entered the room deeper and kissed the tops of each of their heads, before he threw some towels over the floor that had puddles of water accumulating.

“I think she really needs to sleep, and I’ll talk to her later. But I think you guys doing the dishes really helps. Thank you.”

So while his kids did the dishes in the bathroom sink and you slept, the dog and…one…? goldfish kept him company in the kitchen where he inspected the sink.

It was an easy fix, but he didn’t have the part, and his stomach tensed with guilt as he thought about how you probably, definitely, asked him to look at it or call someone right away and he forgot. A simple drive down the street to the hardware store tomorrow, he’d have it fixed in less than an hour.

He put the tools away in the garage, above the label for them that you must have made and he went into the small office space in search of a post-it to put on the sink. The office was intended for you, but years and kids and projects went by and soon it became a dumping ground of all things house.

When he reached the desk, he found what he was looking for. There were plenty of post-its, in a variety of colors, lined up in a neat row above a large, tightly and neatly filled calendar.

Eddie swallowed as his fingers brushed over the names of his kids, him, the fucking dog and fish - all with their own color. The house, the bills, the errands…all of it had colors, schedules, a science, a system.

But the thing was, you weren’t a part of the system - you were the system.

There was nowhere, in that entire calendar, that had anything remotely relaxing for you on it. No dinner or wine night with any of the girls. No book club with Nancy anymore, maybe because they moved, but he had a feeling it still wouldn’t be there if they hadn’t. No dates with him. He couldn’t remember the last time he took you out, or hell, made you dinner - when was the last time he even cooked dinner for the whole family?

He swallowed as he read over the entire month, and the next and the next. Anything that would have been considered free time, or your time was full of laundry, grocery shopping, dusting the fucking baseboards, because apparently you do everything?

And Eddie knew he had colosally, monumentally, brutally, fucked up.

So when the kids were in bed, and the kitchen was clean, and the lunches for the next day were packed, and the laundry was folded and put away, Eddie crawled back into bed behind you.

He didn’t think you were awake, carefully letting his arm curl around you and his lips brush your shoulder in a wordless goodnight, an apology, a promise to talk about it as soon as you woke up. But then your words floated out and hung in the dark room and a tear slipped down his cheek.

“I’m sorry.”

Eddie sniffled, trying to reign it in, he cleared his throat, but you were already rolling to face him and he had his palms pressed to his eyes as his words left him all scratchy and on the brink of a full blown sob.

“Sweetheart, don’t you dare fucking say it again.”

Your fingers had curled around his wrists and tugged gently, until watery eyes were blinking at your own and you shrugged and whispered, “But I am.”

His lips found yours in a bruising kiss, noses squished together and gasps of air between parting mouths, fingers clutching at hips and necks as your legs tangled.

When was the last time he fucking kissed you like he meant it? Like it wasn’t a quick goodbye, goodmorning, or a hey, doll, how was your day as he half listened?

He shook his head, mouth catching yours in quick kisses between each softly spoken word, “No, I am.”

Your palms pressed to his cheek as your leg hitched over his thigh, breathless as he traveled over your jaw and down your neck for the first time in what felt like months.

Maybe it had been.

“Can you,” you tugged on short curls behind his ears as his tongue traced your collarbone which made you both groan, “Jus-just let me apologize?”

Eddie practically growled out the word no before his lips were back on yours.

It was fast fingers pulling at clothing and sharp teeth nipping at lips and skin, no foreplay, ‘just fuck me’ quick, and quietly because of the kids, kind of sex, until it wasn’t.

It only took him three thrusts to realize it wasn’t what he wanted. Quickly becoming memorizing touches that glided over skin and held with care, it was lips that whispered apologies and all the things he loved about you into yours, quiet and passionate pushing and pulling with each other, and hands gripping the others as you came together and said everything you couldn’t with intense eye contact, fingers deep in the curls at the back of his head as his name left your mouth only to be swallowed by his.

His lips brushed down your shoulder and back up, over your collarbone and chest as your fingers scratched at his scalp gently.

He hummed against your throat before whispering, “I think we should go to the cabin next week.”

“Eddie…” you started softly, already panicking about the missed events the kids would have to make up, the packing, the-

“Stop,” he kissed your jaw, then hovered over your face so his big, brown, sweet eyes could look down at you, “I can hear the stress coming out of you, and I just got it all out.”

You laughed quietly, fingers pressing to your eyes as you shook your head. Unconvinced, and if you were tired before, he’d just made you even more so.

Eddie kissed at your fingers, your nose, your cheek until he was nudging at the fingers again with his nose.

“Baby, I promise, it’ll be a good vacation. I think we could all use it. And I swear, I’ll be the parent. You kick your heels up and get drunk on shitty wine with Katie, okay?”

And here you were, doing just that.

The late/early morning arrival was not the shit show you were sure it was going to be. The kids listened immediately about being quiet entering the cabin at the late hour, especially after Eddie said if everyone woke up, the entire day on the lake would be ruined.

You woke up, without an alarm, for the first time in…you didn’t know how long. Greeted in the kitchen by Steve’s wife, Katie, quietly squealing and grabbing you in a hug that seemed to melt the tension from your shoulders. Eddie handed you a steaming cup of a coffee accompanied with a kiss on your temple and a swat to Steve’s chest when he tried to do the same.

The kids were already showered, dressed, fed - fruit and waffles and minimal syrup thankfully - and outside playing. You had your suspicions this was all largely due to Steve and his wife’s doing. If you dwelled on it too long, the comparison to how much better they were at the whole parenting thing than you could drive you insane, so you tried to ignore it.

There was only one argument with Lacey about the Nintendo, and Eddie snatched it and pocketed it and simply shrugged at her scowl when he did and said, “Told ya, babe.” Michael complained about lunch, but only until Nora, Steve’s eldest and seventeen, said “Oh, I love chicken salad” with a wink in your direction. You’d never seen Michael eat so quickly before and he was a garbage disposal on a good day.

And now, your heels were “up” leaning against the deck’s railing from your spot on the floor, a wine glass was in your hand. Katie was telling you all about Nora’s new boyfriend, Charlie, who Steve positively hated, as Eddie and him stood nearby, with beers and watching meat on the grill or whatever men do.

“Charlie is the least of our worries though,” she waved her hand with an eye roll, sipping the pink wine with a grimace, “I mean, you know. They’re monsters. Why’d we have them again?”

You laughed, shaking your head, “If you think yours are monsters, mine might literally be the devil incarnate.”

She snorted into her glass and you laughed, swiping at your lips with a shrug, “Okay, too far. But god, they’re…I don’t know. But, seriously, you and Steve…”

Your voice fell as the boys yelled over the grill at two of the girls doing cartwheels dangerously close to the fire pit.

“You guys, you really know what you’re doing. You’re a good team.” You smiled sadly, looking at the back of Eddie’s head and then at her.

She was watching you closely, a tilt of her head like she was trying to figure you out, before she grabbed your hand and squeezed it and admitted, “I yelled at him about loading the dishwasher wrong last week. We didn’t talk for three days.” She frowned and shook her head and looked over at him and he flipped his spatula and winked at her and she smiled and turned back to you. “Things aren’t ever what they seem on the outside. We all have shit. It just matters if your shit is something you can trudge through together. If you can help clean it off each other.”

She frowned at the wine she started pouring. “I don’t think this wine is helping with my metaphors, but you get what I mean?”

You nodded, taking in Eddie’s profile as he talked with his hands and got louder as he told a story to Steve.

“Yeah, yeah I do.”

It was silent as you both stared at the guys, sipping your wine, until you whispered, “So he loaded it wrong, huh?”

“So wrong!” She exclaimed, grumbling, “Who puts plates all willy-nilly? They go in a straight, neat-”

“I said I was sorry!” Steve shouted from the grill, his hands on his hips as he glared at the two of you.

Katie stuck her tongue out at him and he shook his head with narrowed eyes and she grinned, a quiet and not as silent as they thought conversation about her paying for that later.

You looked away, smiling into your wine glass when you caught Eddie’s gaze. He looked a little shocked when you made eye-contact, his cheeks flushed pink and you cocked your head with bunched eyebrows at him.

An unanswered silent question though, because the kids all shouted as a black SUV pulled up the long, gravel driveway.

A tall, lanky body jumped out of the backseat of the car before it was even in park, a head full of bouncing red waves shooting across the grass towards the literal swarm of children screaming, “Aunt Robin!”

She was down, on the ground, in literal seconds, the children forming a nice heap on top of her that the four of you all yelled about getting off at the same time, sharing grins that only parents who grew up doing the same thing and feel wrong for telling them not to could.

Your eldest, was bounding over to the car, along with Olivia, ready for the third to round out the little trio of three musketeers - Zoey Wheeler.

As they hugged and squealed about being back together, you all started down the steps to greet the late arrivals.

You couldn’t help but notice Caroline standing a touch away from Olivia as the two other girls gossiped about something from school.

But then Nancy was enveloping her in a tight hug, “Hey kiddo, hear you’re gonna be in the windy city pretty soon.”

Too preoccupied with your own waving of arms to tell her to stop talking, you didn’t notice Eddie whip his head over at Steve, who blinked with his hands raised.

Your head fell as Caroline turned to you with curious eyes and a quiet, “What?”

Eddie opened his mouth to explain, but you were already talking, him blinking behind you.

“I…I haven’t even told your dad. It was supposed to be a surprise for your birthday. You and me, driving to Chicago to go to this dance store that Zoey and Olivia go to. It’s not new stuff, but their dance troop shops there and it’s all really nice stuff and - oof!”

Caroline’s arms were squeezing you harder than they ever had, face pressed against you as her words got lost and muffled, but didn’t lose their meaning when she said, “Thank you so much mom.”

Your fingers ran over her hair, lips pressed to the top of her head as you enjoyed the hug for as long as she’d let you. “Of course, honey. Happy early Birthday.”

The girls quickly started discussing what they’d do on the trip, and Nancy winced out an apology you told her was unnecessary as you hugged, all while Eddie gulped down his beer and Steve narrowed his eyes at him which made Eddie wave him off, grabbing another beer out of the cooler.

“I am in need of assistance,” Robin called weakly, from her spot on the ground, now abandoned by all the children who were quick to return to their activities.

Nancy sighed and drawled dramatically, “Coming, dear.”

Robin groaned from the ground, but giggled. “Thank you, sugar-pie.”

“Robs, I’ll leave you down there…” she warned.

“Fine,” Robin shrugged, blue eyes staring up at the matching sky, “Dingus will-”

He was already hoisting her up, and grabbing her in a big hug only the two of them could find comfortable from the amount of squeezing suffocation.

Nancy looked at you and Katie and sighed.

“Wine.”

You were both already handing your glasses over with smiles before she could finish the word.

She was thoroughly tipsy by her third glass, and the stress you could sense when she arrived - maybe it was a thing all you mom’s could sense, or maybe it was because of being old friends - was melted from her face as she called out, loudly, excitedly, “Robin!”

“Yes, my love?”

Robin’s legs swung as they dangled from her hoisted up spot on the railing by the men. A baseball hat turned backwards over waves tinted red and silver and a sly smirk resting on her lips as she looked at her wife with more love than should be possible in a human.

Nancy’s cheeks flushed and you all snickered into your glasses, because you all knew what was coming next.

“I, uh,” Nancy cleared her throat, as big, blue eyes tried to blink innocently, “I need to talk to you. Inside.”

Robin grinned and nodded, “Lead the way, Wheeler.”

Nancy frowned, but clumsily made her way inside with a giggle.

With a hop down, a salute, and a quiet, “Duty calls, boys,” Robin followed, all of your “boos” and “ow-ow-ow’s” slammed on by the door.

Katie pulled out a stack of cards, the boys finally came over and joined you, and your legs crossed over Eddie’s lap as you hid your deck from him with a terrible poker face.

He soothed his thumb over your ankle bone, wet his bottom lip before he grinned at you. “Baby, remind me to never take you to Vegas.”

“You have taken me to Vegas.” You touched your cards to your nose, hiding your grin.

Eddie sucked his teeth as he nodded, “Right, right, how could I forget.”

“Seriously dude,” Steve moaned at his cards, frowning, “Vegas was a mistake.”

Katie smacked the back of his head and he flinched, but with a glint in his gaze at her, “What the hell was that for.”

“They got Lacey because of Vegas,” she scolded, “It wasn’t a mistake.”

“Believe me, I remember. I don’t remember much, but that I do. It’s sort of hard to forget the results of that trip. What with the children who came out of it. Lacey, Annie and-”

“Luke is stupid!”

Steve sighed at the now sherbert colored sky. He groaned, “I knew it was too good to last.”

You rolled your eyes as you dropped your legs from Eddie’s lap as Lacey stomped up the stairs, huffing. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Eddie sit up, but you were already grabbing at your daughter’s crossed arms and pulling her towards you.

“Woah, super mean word, let’s think of a better one.”

“A buttface!” She frowned, but didn’t resist your embrace as she climbed onto your lap, a privilege that was fleeting.

“Nope, try again.” You shook your head, letting your chin rest on the top of her head as a hand soothed up her spine, while hers gestured wildly in search of the right word.

“He’s…he’s…impossible!”

You hummed, great word - especially for a seven year old.

“Why is he impossible?” You asked quietly, Katie taking the hint and getting Steve and Eddie to go back to a semi-normal conversation and their cards.

Lacey fiddled with your shirt collar, grumpy and big lips pouting just like her dad. “We were playing Dragons, and he said that I had to be the princess and stay in the tree house while he fought the dragon and saved me! I don’t want to just sit there!”

Steve smiled around the lip of his beer and Katie rolled her eyes, looking at you with a mouthed, “We’ll talk about that later.”

“Ah,” you adjusted in your seat, hugging her closer as her fingers roamed to the necklace around your throat. “I would be frustrated by that too. I like helping. I don’t want someone to come rescue me, either.”

You glanced up at Eddie who smiled softly at you, watching intently.

“Right. So I’m not playing. I don’t like him anymore,” she huffed, breath warm on your already sweaty skin and fingers leaving something sticky and smelling like pine trees all over you.

“You don’t, huh?”

“Nope,” she popped the ‘P’, but her gaze wandered over to the yard where the boy in question fought his sisters with sticks.

It took you a bit, and maybe you were just soaking up the smell of her strawberry shampoo, or the way she fit perfectly in your arms, but you finally asked softly, “Hey, you remember Dimitri and Anya?”

Lacey shifted with a dramatic sigh, but she nodded.

“I’m pretty sure they didn’t like each other either. But, then Anya showed him she could do anything he learned to do, right? And he listened to her? She helped save him in the end, remember?”

“Spoilers!” Steve grimaced and Lacey giggled which he smiled and booped her nose at.

“So,” you lifted your daughters chin, big eyes that reminded you of someone else peering at you unwaveringly as you continued, “You go tell that Harrington boy that Princesses can slay dragons too.”

“They can?” Lacey asked, unsure, unconfident, in a way that melted your heart, put it back together and melted it again.

You nodded and cleared your throat, trying not to cry. “Absolutely.”

She started to climb off of you, but you tugged at her waist, brushing a curl behind her ear as you smiled, “And baby?”

“Yeah?”

You kissed her forehead and whispered, “It’s okay to need some saving sometimes. If you want or need the help, kay?”

She nodded, kissed your cheek, and hopped off, bounding down the stairs with a sing-song call to her tone, “Ohhhh, Luuukkkee!”

Lifting the cards from the table, you smiled at the sound of your daughter antagonizing a Harrington and before you could make a jab at Steve, fingers were under your chin, and Eddie was tilting your head, lips on yours and stealing all of the air from your lungs.

His tongue swiped over your bottom lip and his hand cradled your jaw as you opened for him without thought, fingers curling into the fabric of his t-shirt until loud clearing of throats came from your right.

You broke away with a gasp, but Eddie pulled you back in for one more press of his lips and a whispered, “Sorry,” as he sat back down looking not sorry at all.

Steve tried to hide his grin as he threw a chip into the pile and Katie grinned at you as she quipped, “Wow, guys, you’re worse than the lovebirds inside.”

Eddie didn’t look up from his cards, but he raised his eyebrows. “I seem to recall an incident in my home on my kitchen counter on my daughter’s first birthday, Katherine.”

“Touche, Edward, touche,” she beamed as Steve choked on his beer.

He quickly changed the subject, swiping beer from his lips as he looked at you. “You’re gonna have to show me how you did that.”

Your wine glass froze halfway to your mouth and he laughed, coughed, covered his mouth with his fist. “I meant the talk with Lace. Not the kissing. Now that you guys’ll be closer we can…”

Eddie hung his head as Steve trailed off and you quirked an eyebrow. “Closer?”

Katie took a large gulp of her wine and Steve gestured to the grill with a hook of his thumb over his shoulder, “I’m gonna…”

“I’ll help!” Katie jumped up and followed.

“Eddie, what’s going on?”

He sighed, set his cards down, scooted his chair closer to you before his hands grabbed yours.

“I got a promotion, sort of.”

“Wh-what? Eddie, that's great!” You squeezed his hands, your heart hammering in your chest because he wasn’t looking at you still. The knowledge that there wasn’t really room for a teacher to get promoted stirring in your brain. “Wait, how…”

He grimaced, thumbs swiping over your knuckles as he nodded. “Right, yeah. So, it’s not so much a promotion, as it is a completely different job, at a completely different school. Or um, University.”

“In…in Chicago?” You were starting to piece it all together.

“Mhm,” he hummed, biting at his bottom lip that you instinctively reached up and pulled away from his teeth gently. He finally looked up at you, worried, and apologetic, but hopeful. “It’s, it’s a really great job. Tons of benefits. At the university. Way more pay. Flexible hours. I’d-I’d be home so much more. And I know, I know that moving is insane. But I just…”

He rambled, and you got lost, because you were thinking about telling the kids, about uprooting your entire life, about never seeing the patch of wall that the kids heights were on again. Your routine, your system, your grocery store, all pulled out from under you.

But then you then thought about how you’d only been on this vacation for a day and how much less stressed you were. How Steve and Katie and Robin and Nancy would be in the same city as you again. About how happy your kids were with all of them, how happy you were with them. The support you’d have. The promise of more time with Eddie. The adventure.

“Okay,” you said softly, interrupting whatever he was saying.

Eddie blinked at you, mouth parted in surprise.

“Okay? Okay what?”

You shrugged.

“Okay, let’s do it. Let’s move. Take the job.”

Eddie swallowed, he scooted closer and he cupped your jaw, thumbs grazing over your cheekbones as he murmured. “Okay, let’s do it, like you’re excited and want to, or okay let’s do it, like you don’t think you have a choice and you’re stressed and sad and I’m gonna have to unlock the door with the screwdriver again?”

“I mean,” you laughed, brushing over the worried lines of his forehead as you did, “Okay let’s do it. It’s gonna suck to move and tell the kids, but I think…”

They always tell you, you see stuff in slow motion in moments of panic, fear, but you never really believe it until it happens to you - seeing it all happen before it did.

“Oh my god!”

You were pushing back from Eddie, yelling your daughter’s name as she climbed up a tree, her foot about to step on a branch that looked dead and rotting even from this distance, and then she was falling.

There was a boy shouting beneath her, and his older sister’s shouting at him, screams of mom and dad that all four of you raced towards.

Everyone’s footsteps except Eddie’s slowed when you saw the eyelids fluttering over brown eyes pooling with big, crocodile tears and the leg already swelling with bright red trickling down from it.

Katie was shouting about grabbing the girl’s from inside, about ambulances and driving. Steve was pulling at all the other kids, reassuring them it was fine, and Eddie was focused on Lacey and Luke.

You don’t really remember what you did. You had arms around you and you spoke, but you don’t know what you said. Ushered into a car by big hands and a little one grasping yours tightly.

In the end, all it was, was a deep gash in her leg, nothing broken. Luke a little worse for wear with a fractured wrist, but he beamed when Lacey signed her name on the cast and asked you how to spell Princess before it, then kissed his cheek and told him thank you for saving her.

The rest of the week was the same as the first day after that, save for the two kids who huddled next to each other on the couch on the deck, their temples pressed together as they shouted at the screen of the Nintendo Eddie gave back almost immediately. Day three of watching his kid that close to a Harrington boy made him rethink the whole move and said it wasn’t happening anymore, which Steve promptly replied with, “Dude, they’re seven. Wait till she’s seventeen and dating a guy named Charlie.”

Nora’s head had perked up from coloring with the younger kids, an expression almost identical to her father’s as she scowled. “I thought you liked Charlie!”

“I do, I do sweetie.” Steve rubbed at his temple and gave Eddie and you a look that said he really did not like Charlie.

Time moved too quickly, and the light-hearted moments turned to memories, and soon bags were packed by the front door, and everyone was restlessly sleeping, not ready to say goodbye just yet.

Which is how you found yourself quietly making your way down the stairs to the kitchen, when you woke up to the empty bed and cold sheets.

You found him in the living room, eyes glued to the hand held device, his thumbs jabbing at it while he frowned.

“She wasn’t kidding,” he whispered, the girl in question tucked into his lap, her leg propped up on a pillow and drool spilling down his white shirt.

His arms flexed with each press, tattoos that were rarely on display anymore dancing under each movement. Short curls that the flecks of gray in stood out in the moonlight. Lines of worry and laughter all over his face, brown eyes gifted to all of your children because of the same ones maintaining their gaze on the console.

You slid onto the couch next to him, curling into his side with a yawn and a gentle rearrange of Lacey’s legs onto your lap. Fingers gesturing for him to give it to you.

Eddie handed it over, his arm scooping Lacey closer to his chest while his other wrapped around your shoulders.

You kept your eyes on the game as you whispered, “I’m sorry.”

The breath huffed out of his nose hit your jaw as he quietly laughed, “Babe, what?”

Mario leaped over blocks as you told him again, “I’m sorry. I froze, I don’t know what happened. Thank you for taking care of her, of all of them, I don’t-”

“We’re a team,” he kissed your cheek, his smile stayed pressed to your skin, “You know, a wise woman once said, ‘it’s okay to need some saving sometimes. If you want or need the help.’”.

A hum from your lips that fought a smile as his fingers squeezed your shoulder. You couldn’t help but grin at the screen though, when you pressed A for the final time.

“I think I know her. Same lady who said Princesses can slay dragons, too, right?”

The screen lit up with little fireballs, trills and chimes coming from the console signifying you beat Bowser - this time, all of which you quickly tried to cover up as Eddie shushed.

“Mommy,” her sleepy voice muffled in his chest.

“Yeah, sweetie?” You whispered, console silenced.

“Volume,” word almost lost to the yawn she gave before she was snuggling back into the crook of Eddie’s elbow and was out again.

Eddie tried not to snort or let his laughter shake her as your mouth fell open in shock and he took the Nintendo back, moving on to the next level.

You shook your head at your daughter, and glanced down at her wrapped and injured leg, at the peaceful features of her sleeping face.

“Man, you’re lucky you’re so cute,” you sighed.

It was silent for a while, and your eyelids started to flutter closed too, when Eddie spoke again.

“I totally thought Bowser was a turtle.”

#eddie munson #dad!eddie munson #stranger things fanfiction #superbly subpars writing #cw alcohol #cw injury #cw blood #easy like sunday morning universe #easy like sunday morning AU

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