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notjustjavierpena · 2 months

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Practice Makes Perfect

A/N: You know I had to. Can you tell I have studied rhetorics at uni?

Summary: You are Mr. Ted Garcia’s political advisor and you help him with practicing his upcoming speech.

Pairing: Ted Garcia x Reader/You (No y/n)

Tags: +18 smut, oral sex m receiving, strip tease, dirty talk, verbal humiliation, praise kink, come swallowing, face-fucking

Word count: 2.4k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54597913

Practice Makes Perfect

“Go over it again,” you order as you are perched on the desk, one leg crossed over the other by the knee and your red-bottom stiletto dangling from your toes. You are gripping the edge of the table, and whereas your position looks downright sinful, the smile on your face sports innocence, “Go on, Mr. Re-elected Mayor.”

Ted whips around to face you, reaching up to loosen the knot on his tie. He smiles, a little uncertain of what to make of you, “You don’t know that yet, sweetheart.”

“I know you won’t win the reelection if you don’t practice,” you shrug your shoulders and then move your hands to lean back on your arms.

“I’ve gone over it a million times,” he says with a sigh, “Would much rather call it a day and order some food. We haven’t had Chinese in a while, have we?”

“Ted,” you stop him, “I need the speech tomorrow to be absolutely flawless. I’m your advisor; it’ll reflect badly on me if you stumble. Not to mention, I’m a woman so I have to work twice as hard to earn the public’s respect. They probably think you hired me to suck cock. That’s what they’re saying anyway.”

“Didn’t I?” He jokes and steps towards you.

You glare at him but there’s no malice in it, “I could get you fired for that statement, you know.”

“I should fire you for being so distracting,” he retorts. When he gets close enough, he reaches out to curl a strong hand around your thigh and uncrosses your legs. He steps between them but you shake your head when he tries to lean over you.

“Go over it again,” you repeat. You lean back a little further until you are able to lift your leg and place your heel on his chest, pushing him backward and away from you. He follows your silent order of staying back but still grabs your ankle hard enough to make you shiver.

“From the top,” you say to not lose face.

“And if I don’t, Ms. Advisor?” He challenges.

“You’ll regret it,” you tease him by sounding almost bored, “Try and see what happens.”

Ted sighs and lets go of your leg, simultaneously letting go of the idea of getting to fuck you as a way of ending his work day. He moves back to the center of his office, clears his throat, and shakes his arms as if trying to loosen up his tense body, “Right, let’s give it another go.”

You cross your legs again and wait. He is going to have no idea what hits him.

“Ladies and gentlemen, citizens of our beloved city, as I stand before you today, I am filled with hope and optimism for the future of our city…” He begins and his tone is laced with a charm that you know better than to believe. Others, however, will eat it up.

“Very good, Ted,” you praise when he is a few more lines in. He meets your eyes for approval, a playful smirk on his lips. You wipe it off his face not a moment after, having reached up to unbutton your shirt until it falls open and reveals your lace bra, “Continue.”

Ted’s gaze shamelessly lingers on your chest for a few seconds before he does as he is told. It is so easy, like Pavlov’s dog.

“We stand at a crossroads, where the decisions we make today will shape the trajectory of our city for generations to come,” he speaks with confidence, fuelled by the shirt falling off your shoulders and pooling around you on the desk. He looks deep in thought as he tries to remember the keywords that guide him forward in his speech but when you let a shoe fall to the floor, only to let the other one follow, he looks up to satisfy his curiosity, “And I believe that embracing technology is not just an option, but a necessity if we are to thrive in the 21st century.”

“God, you are killing it, Mr. Garcia,” you are only in your skirt and bra now but the bra won’t stay on for much longer. You reach up behind you to unclasp it but there’s no follow-through. You raise a brow in disapproval, “Well?”

“Fuck, where was I?” He runs a hand through his hair. You don’t blame him for forgetting because he doesn’t seem to have blood in his brain right now; it appears to have gone south where he is tenting in his suit pants.

“A mayor doesn’t swear,” you tut with a little shake of your head, hand still in a waiting position to expose your tits to him. You decide to help him, “My vision for our city…”

“My vision for our city is one where technology serves as a catalyst for positive change!” His voice is slightly louder than normal as if relief floods him because he knows by now that remembering will get him to see you naked. He straightens, “Where innovation brings economic growth, and where every person has the opportunity to succeed.”

You undo your bra and let the straps fall down your arms until you teasingly drop it onto the floor. Your breasts are exposed to the air conditioning unit sending out cold air in the mayor’s office, immediately causing your nipples to harden at the temperature drop. You let out a teasing moan and jump off the desk to make your tits bounce obscenely, “I wanna hear more, Ted. Please.”

“I— uhh,” his gaze is fixed on your chest.

You place a hand on the skirt’s zipper along your side, teasingly pulling it down along your thigh. It seems to kickstart his memory again, “Where smart infrastructure optimizes traffic flow, reduces energy consumption for a greener future, and - Jesus, baby - and thus enhances public safety. A city where access to high-speed internet and the newest devices is not a luxury, but a fundamental right…”

“God, you are so sexy like this,” you say with a grin, hoping that he catches onto the way your eyes drop to his mouth when he speaks, “Nearly convincing me, baby.”

You start to wiggle your hips to get out of your pencil skirt, causing your whole body to shake as you move the fabric down over your legs. It makes Mayor Candidate Ted Garcia’s whole brain go dumb because he stops reciting his speech altogether and simply admires the way your breasts jump with every movement of your lower body.

“Did I tell you to stop?” You ask when the skirt lies in the pile with your bra and shoes. You hook your thumbs into the waistband of your matching lace panties, “Just a little more.”

“But you’re nearly undressed,” he points out and hits his chest to clear his throat when his voice seems to have gone up an octave. He looks almost pained when you stop any motion to step out of your underwear.

“Listen, here’s what’s going to happen,” you move to stand in front of him with only inches between the two of you, “You’ll make the rest of the speech I wrote with your sexy, big cock in my mouth, and I won’t make you finish until you’re finished.”

Ted swallows thickly. He nods and tries to be cocky one last time during your relentless teasing, “You sure I didn’t hire you because of your fellatio skills?”

“Why don’t you use your own tongue instead of worrying about mine and make those little words roll off it?” You bite back, “One more line.”

“H-however, embracing technology is about a lot more than just improving efficiency,” he tries his best not to stutter too much. Oh, you cannot wait to hear him lose it when you close your lips around his beautiful cock.

“Mhm, what’s it about then?” You encourage. The panties come off then, pooling around your feet until you kick them to the side.

“It's also about fostering a culture of innovation and entrepreneurship,” he replies with his eyes between your thighs to watch your throbbing cunt. Despite your cool demeanor, you have never wanted him more than right now, and seeing him desperate and faltering because of something you have done is a feeling out of this world.

You sink to your knees with a dirty smile, keeping your eyes on him the whole time to watch the satisfying sight of his burning desire corrupting his concentration. You wish to tell him that he is so good today, that he hadn’t lied about going over the speech a million times.

You settle for showing it instead, undoing the button on his black slacks and then the zipper. He twitches behind the fabric. You are salivating by now, aching between your thighs to taste him on your tongue. You pull out his cock with little effort, grinning mischievously up through your lashes as it springs free and nearly hits your cheek.

“I’ll start dripping on your floor if you get it right, don’t you want that?” You say it and then start to gather spit in your mouth, preparing yourself for his generous size to slide past your lips.

“I want that,” he breathes, “Fuck yes, I want that.”

“Then tell me what you envision,” you hint and then you take him into your hot, waiting mouth. He tastes so fucking good, heavy on your tongue as you relax your jaw until he stabs the back of your throat.

He sucks in a breath as you hollow your cheeks and slowly pull off, only to repeat the move again and again, “I envision our city attracting the brightest minds from around the globe to come—“

You hum around his girth at the choice of word, a giggle bubbling up in your throat. The vibration of your noise makes Ted settle a hand on top of your bobbing head, ready to yank if it becomes too much and he needs release right then and there. He corrects himself professionally but falters once more because you moan at the taste of his precome oozing from the tip, “I mean work together and create the next huge— b-big thing.”

You reach underneath his dick to cup his balls and massage them in your palm, working your lips up and down his shaft simultaneously. You have to breathe deeply through your nose, resulting in your neck muscles tightening slightly while he speaks.

Ted moans out loud for the first time then, having gone past simply stuttering and swearing. He looks down at you with a slack jaw, and when he stays quiet for just a little too long, you start to pull off. He sounds panicked, yelling out a no.

“Of course, with great technological advancements come great responsibilities. We must be vigilant in protecting the privacy and security of our citizens,” as soon as he starts again, you go back into it with even more enthusiasm, removing your hand from his balls to reach up and grip his hip. You pull at it to show him what you want, and he breaks the long streak he has had with simply reciting his speech for tomorrow, “You want me to fuck that dirty little mouth? Huh?”

You moan in confirmation, nodding with his cock far down your throat. The eyes you send him have him breathing hard and nodding repeatedly, doing an experimental thrust, “Yeah, that’s what you want. You just wanna please your local elected official, you little slut.”

He can’t fail now. You furrow your brow up at him, trying to look displeased despite how wet you are right there on the floor. He catches on, tries his best to talk comprehensively whilst sliding wetly and repeatedly past the very tight space at the back of your mouth, “R-right, where was I? Shit, that’s right. That's why I will do everything in my power to implement the correct measures and promote trans - fuuuck - parency.”

You press your thighs together when you hear him moan through the end of his speech. He sounds so sexy that you can’t imagine stopping even if he doesn’t get to the last word, and you whimper around his thick cock to push him closer to the edge.

It’s the first tear that falls from your eye that has him on the brink but he still powers through, “Together, we can use the power of technology to build a city where innovation knows no bounds, and where the sky is truly the limit.”

You are sure it looks like you’ve pissed yourself with how wet you are by now, a patch having formed underneath your dripping cunt. You move your hips to find some kind of friction but to no avail. Above you, Ted rounds off his speech.

“So I ask you, my fellow citizens - fuck, honey, I’m gonna come… I’m gonna come right in your pretty mouth, ah, ah, a-almost - uhh, to join me on this journey towards a brighter future,” he thrusts his hips even faster at this point, his pitch climbing until he is whining instead of talking. The way you can feel his pulse on your lips lets you know that he isn’t lying, so you allow him to fuck your throat frantically even if it hurts a little, “Let us embrace technology with open arms, and together, we will— we will— shit, we will build a city that we can be proud to call home. Thank you!”

He comes as soon as he has said those last two words, and they become his mantra as he spills down your throat with several twitches of his cock that simply will not stop, “Thank you, oh fuck, thankyouthankyouthankyou.”

You swallow greedily, sucking him completely clean until he shakes his head in oversensitivity and pulls out of your mouth. He tastes like himself and power, enough to get you drunk.

“You are fucking fantastic,” he groans when tucking himself back into his pants. He crouches down to meet you at eye level, marveling at the way you are practically fucking yourself onto the air, “My sweet girl.”

“Fuck, I need you,” you pant with tear-streaked cheeks.

“Here’s an idea since I did so well,” he starts, reaching into his pocket to hand you his phone, “How about you call and order us some food and I rub your cute little clit while you do it? Then we’ll see who is the real professional orator here.”

You want to reply but you can barely press the number of his favorite Chinese place and you almost come the second he touches between your thighs.

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hotluncheddie · 5 months

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high masking autistic steve snippet - a follow on from this and this

wc: 2.5k | rated: T | cw: none | tags: autistic steve harrington (and eddie but again this is about steve), hurt/comfort, established relationship, stimming

ao3

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Steve is spending the evening doing one of his new things. Where he takes time to just be. It’s recovering, or Stevie time, or whatever Eddie and Robin have decided it should be called.

He’s alone basically, and it’s nice, because he’s letting it be nice. Letting it be restful.

It’s for when he’s had a meltdown. Or can feel one coming on, because now he’s starting to recognise what overstimulation feels like on his skin. How it prickles at the back of his neck if his breaks cut short, makes his vision vignette if something too unexpected happens.

Learned that after something like that he’ll need to rest. Needs time.

And it’s not lazy. It’s not. (Sometimes it still feels like it is.) (Weak…that word always plays in the deep, scathing tone of his father’s voice…and selfish.)

He’s on the couch, it’s dark, he actually feels really comfortable, and he’s watching The Breakfast Club. Watching it again. It’s his favourite, it feels like his. But he doesn’t like watching it with other people because they might notice how much he likes it and he doesn’t want that. Can’t be seen like that.. Embarrassing.

So he watches it alone, when he gets home from work. He pauses whenever he wants, rewinds, pauses. Takes a deep breath, rewinds, pauses, stares into space.

He also pauses to eat the snack he brought in. Actually tasting the food bc it’s the only thing he has to focus on. No lights, no sounds. He forgot how much he likes oranges when they’re ripe. Harder to taste if he has to listen at the same time. So, on a day like today, he lets himself do stuff one step at a time.

It’ll probably take him double the normal run time to get all the way to the end. But who cares? It’s his time.

The weird girl’s parents driving off; that feels like him. The jock’s Dad letting him off easy; that doesn’t feel like him. ‘No schools gonna give a scholarship to a discipline case.’ Maybe that does feel like him. Before through. A long time ago now.

He claps sometimes. Keening high in his throat, a little happy hum that he only lets himself do when he’s alone like this. He does it after he whistles the same tune they do. And during the scene of them running around the corridors. It’s exiting. Makes his lips stretch wide and his feet flap around. He claps. Once. Twice. It feels good.

He laughs at the characters. How they merge together with bits of his friends. He feels that swell of happy sad emotion looking at the jock when he first comes in, acting above the others, only seeing Molly Ringwald. He lives through a couple flashbacks of himself. Resigns to actually watch them, sit in them, begins to process who he was. Who he’s becoming now. Something like forgiveness tasting sweet on his tongue. He cries a little; that swelling and shifting as buried emotion finally passes. It overcomes him sometimes when he lets his mind relax.. He rewinds, and he laughs.

“Stevie?”

Steve starts, fingers tangle in the blanket in his lap. Brain slow to process the change, the information. Eddie slipping through the door and coming over to him. Eddie dipping to look at Steve’s face, trying to catch Steve’s eye. Eddie smelling like cigarettes and crisp autumn air, it’s nice, but, it’s a lot. Panic sits bubbling somewhere in him. He wasn’t expecting this.

“…Eddie?”

“Hey sweetheart. I know you had a shitty day, but Wayne’s at home with a headache and he needs to sleep it off. Wouldn’t’ve been able to stay quiet enough for him.”

Steve breaths in and out a little quickly. Eyes wide.

Maybe it’s okay. Eddie knows he had a bad day. Maybe it’s okay.

“I’ll sit in the kitchen, work on my campaign, just forget I’m here.” Eddie speaks quietly, almost a whisper.

He stares at his hand in his lap. “..You won’t, listen?” Steve feels small. Knows he’s not, his frame broad and strong. But, he needs small. Wants his world small tonight, slow. Wants to stay hidden. Him and the couch and the film and nothing else.

Eddie just shakes his walkman and smiles (in that pointy way that makes Steve’s toes curl).

“Kay” Steve whispers, still wary, off kilter. But accepts the kiss Eddie drops on his head, tangling their fingers together for a breath. Steve leans forward for a kiss on the lips. It’s deep, and lovely. Steve can smell Eddie’s cologne. Feels where the chill bit at Eddie’s nose. He shivers.

“No cooking.” Steve mumbles while their lips are still close. Small smile pulling at his face, eyes sharp, waiting for Eddie to get it.

Eddie groans quietly in embarrassment but his eyes are soft and molten and Steve’s toes curl up again. “Course not baby, not again. Once you’re hungry just come through, yeah? Make us something nice.”

And the light of the kitchen doesn’t reach the couch. And Eddie listens to his walkman loud. And Steve’s safe. It’s Eddie. He’s not listening. Steve’s safe.

His favourite scene; Bender and Claire in the stock cupboard. The way he looks so shocked, the way she bites her lip. ‘Why’d you do that?’ ‘Because I knew you wouldn’t.’ Steve whispers as they do. Claps. It’s such a good scene. He’s exited. He claps again. Rewinds to just watch her face. Rewinds to just watch his. Rewinds and watches the whole scene again. Wraps his arms around his middle and squeezes. Pauses on the kiss. He rubs his fingers agains his mouth. Giddy excitement bubbles in his belly. He hums high and happy again. He loves this movie.

The weird girl gets a makeover, the jock really likes it. He feels like the weird girl sometimes, maybe Eddie can be his jock. Maybe he should get a makeover. Maybe keep growing out his hair. Maybe Eddie would like that.

The credits roll. Bender’s fist in the air. Steve drifts on the couch, eyes closed. He breaths deep, his stomach growls.

He pads through to Eddie. Squinting. Too bright. “D’you mind?” He motions to the lights, his eyes too adjusted to the dark and he doesn’t even wanna try and adjust them back.

‘‘Cause. What we making?”

Steve hums, goes into the pantry to see what’s easy. Eddie slips in behind him, hand on his waist. “Pasta?” Steve asks but Eddie doesn’t reply, just turns him gently. Nudging him to step back into the corner.

Eddie looks at him, dips forward to place a slow kiss on his neck. “Why’d you do tha..’ Steve’s words dry up in his throat.

“Because I knew you wouldn’t” and Eddie’s eyes are sparking with glee.

Eddie heard him.

He listened.

Steve’s feels himself flush hot, embarrassed and ashamed. “Ah, I, uh.” He can’t explain it, why he had to watch it so many times, why it makes him so exited. He crosses his arms over his chest. Turns back to the shelves of food and picks a can at random. Shoving out of the room.

“Steve?”

Eddie said he wouldn’t. He listened in on him. He said he wouldn’t. He’s making fun of him. Steve knew he should’ve told Eddie to go home.

“Stevie? What’s wrong?” But Steve doesn’t want to talk to him. He’s so angry, So ashamed, of himself. What if Eddie heard him clap too, heard him make that high noise, like a fucking baby, like some freak.

He puts the can on the counter with way too much force, corn, not what he fucking wanted. His hands are shaking. He stares at them, wills his tears to stay behind his lash line. He got too comfortable, he can’t do that. Why is it so hard to pretend now, when it used to be so easy.

“Steve, tell me what I did, please.”

“‘M fine” Steve’s insides feel too big, pushing against his skin, itchy all over. He squeezes himself around his middle again, digging his fingers in hard.

“Don’t do that, you know I hate when you bullshit like that.” Half lovely, half scathing.

The word stinks, a stab to the gut. But Steve gets it, he does, they talked about it. He bites his lip, hard.

Its old habits or whatever. Because Steve, he loved fine. Liked sinking his teeth into it; toxic waste green coating his mouth and lungs. Thick and delicious. Because fine gets you out of it. Fine gives you translucency. Controlled balance. Everything appearing a none issue, the perfect in-between. Steve was perfect at coming off as something to not worry about, someone to be ignored. It used to work in all situations; can’t get told off if you’re fine, cant do anything wrong, teachers didn’t look twice, his parents wouldn't shout. By staying half alive, never letting anyone too close, never filling your lungs up all the way. That was the fine Steve adored.

“You were literally just watching a movie. I dunno what the big deal is.” and there’s frustration, confusion, in Eddie, Steve thinks. He feels himself tense up, glance over.

Eddie must see something on his face. See that scared little animal prowling around within him. Because Eddie softens, his voice gentle. “Steve.. it’s nothing I hadn’t heard before.’ And Steve’s teeth clamp together with a click. He’s done that, his clap and his high hum, in front of Eddie before? Steve tries to swallow, he can’t, a lump too big and sticky in his throat.

He can’t look him in the face, angry tears still threatening to spill “You said you wouldn’t listen.” He’s mumbling. He sounds even more like a kid. Stupid. Grow up.

“I heard a little but I was just flipping the tape over, I wasn’t trying to snoop on you Stevie… You just, you sounded happy.”

Steve huffs. Glances at Eddie. That soft underbelly of his whining, because with Eddie, Steve yearns. Yearns for close. Yearns to be seen, and understood.

“You didn’t mean to?”

“No, it was just when I was turning the tape.”

Steve forces a deep breath.

“You think I’m weird. You hate me.” He whispers it like it’s true. A big part of him believes it, his tears welling up. Feels rejected. Knows that feeling too well. Hates it.

“Always like you Steve. Always.”

Steve grunts, a tear slips out, rolls down his cheek.

“‘M embarrassed” comes out like an ugly sob. Steve scrubs his palms on his cheeks, feeling how red hot they are. Glaring at the countertop. “I’m embarrassed!” But it’s just Eddie. It was just Eddie.

Eddie comes over, slowly draping himself over Steve’s back. “Nothin' to be embarrassed about, love.” And Eddie leaves soft kisses on Steve’s neck, squeezes his waist. “You looked cute on the couch like that. Like it when you’re happy.” Steve tries taking another deep breath but it shudders.

Embarrassed, angry, sad. Embarrassed, confused, angry. Frustrated, embarrassed. Tired.

Emotions wash over him. He’s learning to try and just feel them, name them, pick them apart. Some bubble back up to the surface, some only needed to be seen once.

Steve turns to bury his face in Eddie’s neck. He sighs, rubs his face into Eddie’s warm skin. shaking his head, likes how his lips feel moving against edie’s soft parts.

Tired, hungry, embarrassed, hungry.

“’M tired. I dunno what to eat.” He whispers, and then because he said it it’s like there’s space in his brain. “Want pasta.”

“Pasta it is then. And then we can sleep, yeah?” Eddie rocks them gently side to side, kisses the side of his head and slips away. Goes to get the box from the pantry, puts the corn back. Steve gets a pot out of the cupboard.

Staring into the water, the tips of his fingers prickle. Steve fizzes with energy and emotion. All pent up and annoying him. Needs it out. He clicks the flame on.

He starts pacing around the kitchen island. In big striding, stomping steps. “Ugh! You think I’m weird. Some weird guy who acts weird and does weird shit.” Steve grumbles. Annoyed. He smacks his palm quick and hard against the counter top. Keeps stomping.

Eddie comes back and starts following. Stomping and prancing like some court jester. “I like that you’re weird! You know, I have one episode of the Twilight Zone taped. It’s my third one. I watched the other two so much the tapes broke.’ Steve lets a little shout slip from him “Ha!” bubbly and forceful. Dislodging something within him. Like when a tooth finally falls out.

Feels good.

“I only like one brand of spaghetti hoops. Wayne once bought me a multipack for Christmas. Best fucking gift I ever got.” and Steve’s laughing now. Giggling and manic and still stomping around the island.

“I like how it feels to brush my teeth. I’ve never had a filling. I fucking love brushing my teeth, Eddie.” and that makes Eddie laugh now too. Two freaks stomping around the kitchen. A king and his jester, lit up by moonlight.

Steve turns the corner and stops short, still giggling. Eddies bent at one knee, presenting the box of pasta to him. “My liege.”

Steve claps, hums, high and keening. The waters boiling.

“How’d you feel now?’ Eddie asks around a mouthful of cheesy pasta.

Steve curls up tighter into the corner of couch, wraps both hands around the warm bowl. Glances at Eddie across from him. “Still kinda embarrassed.”

Eddie looks so soft, so kind, across from him. “I’m embarrassed too, to be honest. You love that movie, I thought you’d like me doing that. Kinda like when we, when we kissed upside-down, like I was Spider-man” Eddies sentence get quieter towards the end, mumbly, spoked into his bowl, cheeks dusted pink.

Steve strains to hear him. Smiles once he puts the words together.

He shovels pasta in his mouth. Eyes closed. “You are so annoying Eddie Munson. Why’d you even come here tonight, you coulda gone anywhere.” Steve sinks further into the couch, it’s really good pasta.

“Missed you.” Eddie says it like it’s simple, easy, and warmth drips over Steve’s skin.

Eddie clears his throat, Steve feels him fidget. “Wanna maybe.. You think we could live together one day? Want you to be able to do whatever you want with me around Steve. Breakfast Club on all the time at our place, kay?” And Steve’s throat constricts, that’s a big change, living with someone, moving out. But maybe with Eddie it could be okay, if they did it together, slow.

“Yeah, kay. One day.” Softly, bit by bit. Little bits. Steve can get there. Let Eddie in, let Eddie see. “But no to Breakfast Club on all the time.” Because some times, some days, some things, are just for him. Steve needs it that way. And that’s okay.

He stretches out further on the couch, feeling syrupy and nice, easy smile playing at his lips. “I like it when you kiss my neck though, you can do that again.” And that makes Eddie grin all pointy, put their bowls to the side and crawl over him.

Steve’s toes curl and he hums, high and happy.

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tagging those who asked mwah! @2jug2head @lil-gremlin-things

but also people who i think might be interested (sorry if ur not lmk and i won't again) @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @pearynice @steventhusiast @sugarcookiesteve @spectrum-spectre @irethsune

#hope u enjoy!!#autistic steve harrington #steddie #steve x eddie #hotlunch #my fic #once again #steve harrington needs a hug #and once again #he gets one #lmk if u liked it #i can’t tell u how many times i’ve watched the breakfast club dude #there’s just something about it

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vodika-vibes · 17 days

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It's My Choice

Summary: Echo is in recovery at a GAR medical facility on Coruscant after being assumed KIA. You want to see him, more than anything, and you hope he knows that he's your choice.

Pairing: ARC Trooper Echo x F!Reader

Word Count: 1190

Warnings: reader is described as having hair long enough to style, and as a supermodel.

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: So I had an idea, and I decided to run with it. It might not flow well, simply because I'm very sick and have been for the last two days, but I'm happy with it. (Also, pardon any typos/grammar errors, I typed this while not wearing my eyes.)

You lean back in the hard, uncomfortable chair of the GAR medical facility, your gaze drifting to the ceiling as you wait for an update on Echo. The chairs really are terrible, but then the clones were never meant to have worried family you suppose.

Jokes on them. Echo has you.

You allow the back of your head to thump against the wall behind you and you stretch your legs out in front of you and cross your ankles.

You've been here for almost 12 hours now.

Fives contacted you as soon as the Resolute landed on Coruscant and informed you that Echo was alive and was being treated for his injuries here. He mentioned that you didn't have to come, but clearly he's lost his damned mind.

As if you'd be anywhere else.

Of course, you probably should have taken the time to make sure that you fixed your hair and washed the extreme make-up off…and changed out of the six inch stilettos you had been forced into for work today.

But, whatever. Echo's alive. Nothing else matters.

Even if your agent has been blowing up your com for the last six hours. And even if General Skywalker has been side-eyeing you like he thinks you're trespassing.

Your comma chimes again, and you absently lift it over your head to read the message. And then promptly deleted it. Your agent will just have to deal.

A door at the end of the hall opens, and you tilt your head to the side, before you sit up straight as Fives steps into the hall and walks over to you.

He takes in your carefully styled hair —artfully tousled, your stylist called it— the dark make-up, and the impossibly high stilettos and he huffs out a laugh, “You come here right from a shoot?”

“Echo’s more important than any photo shoot. Besides, I had already finished when you called.” You reply as you kick your heels off and scramble to your feet, “Can I see him?”

Fives smiles at you, “Yeah. Follow me.” He waits for you to scoop your heels, and your bag, off the ground before he starts walking, “I should warn you…he looks bad.” Fives says quietly as he stops next to the door.

You lift your chin and glare at him, “Contrary to what you, and apparently everyone else, believes. I'm not dating Echo because of his pretty face.”

“Okay, okay. Sheathe your claws, kitten. I just wanted to warn you.” Some of the offended tension drains from your shoulders, you didn’t mean to snap at him, but it wouldn’t be the first time someone made an assumption about you and your choice to have a relationship with Echo.

Fives opens the door and moves to the side to let you into the room, and your breath catches when you see him.

Like Fives said, he looks bad. Thin, too thin by far, and so pale. The prosthetics and cybernetics are new, but honestly, you’re only bothered by them because you’re sure that they must have hurt.

“Echo,” You step into the room, and set your heels and your bag in a chair, before you move closer to his side. There are tears in your eyes, but they’re happy tears, “Welcome home.”

Echo blinks at you, twice, and then he slowly slides up in the hospital bed, “Cyar’ika…when…how did you know I was here?”

“Fives commed me and told me. I’ve been sitting out there for hours.” You look around and then huff out a sigh, before dumping your stuff on the floor and moving the chair next to the bed. You lightly take his prosthetic in your hand, a scomp, rather than a hand.

You hope that it was his choice, rather than one made for him.

He tenses, but he doesn’t pull away from you, “You didn’t have to.”

You smile at him, “Echo. You’re here, and you’re alive. Where else would I be?”

His gaze flickers across your face, and then over to the heels lying on the floor, “Well, judging by the height of those heels, a photoshoot.”

“Not half as important as you.” You reply dismissively.

He shifts and slowly sits up, properly, before reaching out and pressing his flesh hand against your cheek, “Cyar’ika…” Echo hesitates, and then flashes a wry, self-deprecating smile, “I don’t think I’m pretty enough for you.”

You bite your tongue to stem your immediate, and loud, disagreement. Instead you reach up and press your hand over his, rubbing your cheek against his hand. “Why would you say that?”

“Why-? Cyare. Look at me!”

“I am looking.”

“Then I shouldn’t have to explain-”

“Would you like to know what I see when I look at you, Echo?”

“Not really.” You tilt your head, and he sighs, “Tell me.”

“The man who, after meeting me, an actual supermodel, invited me to go to a bookstore with him.” Echo flushes, and it’s obvious due to how pale he is, “A man who overheard me mentioning to my agent that I was worried that I wasn’t going to be able to meet my favorite author and made sure that I arrived on time.” Your smile widens, “A man who learned who my favorite author was, simply so he could read the books too, so he’d have something to talk about with me.”

Echo averts his gaze, “We talked all night.” He murmurs.

“We did. And I got in so much trouble the next morning because I had dark circles under my eyes, and you got in trouble because you were late to formation…but we did the exact same thing three nights later.”

Echo laughs softly, “I thought Rex’s head was going to explode.” He admits.

You release his scomp hand and reach up to press your hand against his cheek, “I see the man I fell in love with. The man who looks at me and sees more than the dumb supermodel that everyone expects me to be.” You scan his face, almost anxiously, “And I’m hoping he still loves me.”

He looks at you, something soft in his gaze, “You still want me-?”

“Always. Forever. Until the stars go cold.”

“Your agent is not going to approve.” Echo warns as he lightly tugs you off the chair and onto the edge of the bed.

“I cannot emphasize enough how little I care about my agent’s opinion.” You admit quietly, “If I have to choose, I know who my choice will be.”

Echo exhales slowly, and slowly tugs you in until your forehead lightly bumps against his, “I love you.” He whispers, “I never stopped loving you. Even when I could barely remember anything, I still remembered your smile and the smell of your lotion and the feel of your skin under my fingers.”

“Charmer.” You whisper.

“Mean every word.” Echo whispers right back, and then he tugs you once more and catches your lips in a kiss that’s soft and loving enough that it nearly brings you to tears.

You have your Echo back. He might look a little different, but he’s here and it’s all you’ve ever wanted.

#star wars #tcw #arc trooper echo x reader #echo x reader #star wars fanfiction #x reader fanfiction #f!reader fic #star wars au #the au part is that Fives is alive #and palpatine was shot by Fox and Fives

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scaryscarecrows · 2 months

Text

Welcome to Camp Kill Batman

When the first batch of recruits come, it’s going to rain any minute. The skies are black, the humidity is unbearable, and the jungle is silent.

It’s no wonder the Knight’s nowhere in sight when the APC pulls into the compound.

Antoine’s the one who went to collect them. He won’t scare them, and he’s not busy; Frank, the other Good Choice, had had a breakthrough on some drone thing and had left firm instructions that unless the compound was actively going to self-destruct in two minutes, Do Not Disturb. Riley had tagged along, which maybe wasn’t a great idea, but really, Trent figures, how bad can it possibly have gone?

What he should figure, he realizes later, is how bad can it possibly go. The men pile out, already bitching about the heat. They’re professionals, though, and they get lined up fast enough despite their obvious confusion.

“These the new recruits?”

Trent doesn’t jump. He just shudders a little, that’s all. The Knight is way, way too stealthy for a guy dressed like…well…that. Antoine, who probably saw him coming, just drawls, “Yessir,” in a tone that screams, no shit these’re the new recruits.

There’s another movement, small and fast like a bug, on his left. A second later Riley’s nudging him in the ribs and going, HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOT. He grunts an acknowledgement. He doesn’t have to be here, but he’s a little curious, really, as to how this is gonna go.

“I want to know what I’m working with,” the boss says suddenly. He steps back, cocks his head, and Trent has just enough time to think, oh for fuck’s sake when he continues with, “Attack me.”

There’s a beat. Two. Then one of them, with a long scar down the back of his head, asks, “All of us? Together?”

“Mm-hm.”

“But that’s–”

“What you’ll be doing in Gotham. I’m giving you all an order. Follow it, or leave.”

They follow it.

About four and half minutes later, Antoine lights a cigarette, gives Trent and Riley a very, very tired Look, and gets back in the APC.

Yeah. Mark’s probably not gonna be very happy.

* * *

Honestly, Trent chalks that one up to needing to make an impression. This whole thing sounds crazy on paper. And it worked: the second and third batches are swiftly pulled aside with, “He kicked our asses like five minutes after we got here, this guy means business.”

So when batch five rolls around, Trent’s not expecting to be called over.

“Some of you are probably thinking that this is overkill,” he says. “Ages here is going to show you why it’s not.”

What.

“Sir,” he starts, but the Knight just turns to him and spreads his hands.

“Shoot at me.”

“What.”

“Your last physical said your hearing was fine.” Little shit. “Shoot at me.”

He regrets not being busy today. Oh, well. Look, this is on camera. If this goes badly, it’s on camera that he was literally just following orders.

He hefts his minigun up. Wonders, a few seconds later, why he was worried; he gets a few rounds off, sure, but the Knight just does that annoying-ass sproing, bounces off the gun like it’s a damn diving board, and probably only doesn’t use gravity to drag Trent to the ground after because that’s not the point. The recruits are suitably awed. Trent’s just annoyed. There were a thousand ways that could have gone horribly wrong and also, what the fuck.

“You owe me a fight later,” he gripes. “No guns. No holds barred.”

The Knight just laughs.

“Sure,” he says easily. “Why the hell not.”

* * *

Twice is coincidence. The third time, when the Knight opens with some absolute bullshit line about, ‘whoever kills me gets to command–and profit from–this entire operation’, Trent just sits back to watch the fun.

He didn’t know this was going to happen. Hell, the boss just got back from Gotham. Showed up a few minutes after they did, actually, roaring into base on a bike Trent doesn’t recognize.* But he hopped off, collared one of the mechanics and told them to take it to Frank, and came over to investigate. And, well, he led with that.

“There’s no way he can take on that many guys,” one of the newbies whispers. And. It’s just, well, look. Nobody is stupid enough to accuse Trent of being a fine, upstanding gentleman.

He heads over, relishing a little in the path that gets cleared for him immediately, and rumbles, “Wanna bet?” The man blanches and he clarifies, grinning, “Twenty bucks.”

Newbie looks very much like he does not wanna bet, but he also doesn’t wanna risk losing face.

“You’re on. Twenty bucks this guy gets his ass kicked.”

“Anyone else?”

There’s a few takers that agree, there’s no way this nutcase can come out of this. Trent suddenly has a wonderful, awful idea and twists over to go, “Hey, Antoine.”

That causes a ripple of worry. Apparently, they didn’t realize they were betting with one of the Top. Oh, well. Antoine shakes a cigarette out and looks over.

“What.”

“We got a bet going over here that the boss is gonna get clobbered. Wanna pick a side?”

He shrugs, flicks his lighter open.

“Twenty that one of ‘em insists they need medical.”

Good point.

“Yeah, I’m changing mine to that, actually. All right. Anyone else?”

No.

They walk away with roughly ten new mortal enemies. Better than the one insisting that he had a broken arm; it was a sprain, and Mark was not happy to have to explain this.

Still, Trent figures, rifling through his cash, he’ll be around for newbies every time. This isn’t a bad haul.

THE END

*It’s Dick’s. Jason steals two bikes from him (that we know of), presumably for use with his own tech, though he’s also such a little fucker about it. :p

#fic #jason todd #arkhamverse #scaryverse #trent ages #jason is a menace and he makes this everyone else's problem

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sickficideas · 8 months

Text

nice try || SSKK sickfic

ao3! 7.1k - please refer to the tags in the link for content + warnings! sicktember 2023, day 7: "you're a jerk when you're sick"

Atsushi really doesn’t think Akutagawa should be on this mission. He's already the most difficult person in the world to work with, but he's somehow even more stubborn and rude when he's ill.

"We don't need the two of us waiting here or the informant. Go ahead and head back to your agency," Akutagawa grumbles, stepping back into the shade with his arms crossed over his chest. He coughs twice, only briefly covering his mouth, likely thinking Atsushi didn’t notice.

Atsushi huffs. He moves so he's standing in front of him and puts his hands on his hips to show he's staying where he is, but even while he's in Akutagawa's view, the latter's avert him completely.

"Dazai told us both to stay here in case they cross us," Atsushi huffs. "You want to go against his orders?"

"You're far too incompetent. Even if they were to betray us, I could easily handle a traitor on my own,” Akutagawa huffs. He’s so delusional that he thinks Dazai would praise him for something like that. Atsushi doesn’t even want to think about the scary face Dazai would make if he found out Akutagawa did something like he’s suggesting.

“Well, I’m not leaving, so suck it up,” Atsushi tells him, leaning against the wall beside him, a safe distance away in case he tries to do something.

Akutagawa looks like he wants to say something back, but instead a hand comes up to cover his mouth as he starts to cough again. Atsushi is used to that by now, but today, it sounds worse. It sounds hoarse, like it’s been happening more than usual and his throat is sore from the strain., but it sounds deeper too. Not like the usual dainty coughs he’s used to hearing from him. His shoulders are nearly hunched over as he coughs into his hand.

Atsushi has learned not to say anything. He really doesn’t have any idea why he coughs all the time. Maybe he’s a smoker, maybe he’s got a sensitive throat - it’s anyone’s guess, but he knows that if he ever bothered to ask, Akutagawa would not give him a straight answer.

Atushsi takes note of how Akutagawa checks his hand as he pulls it back from his mouth. Strange. He crosses his arms back over his chest.

“Do you want some water or something?” Atsushi asks, sounding a little more accusatory than he means to.

“No, but it’d be nice if you would let me decapitate you,” Akutagawa mumbles in a soft voice. He almost sounds out of breath.

"You're a real jerk when you're sick. You know that?" Atsushi huffs.

"I think you've said this today already," Akutagawa says, rolling his eyes. "Come up with something else."

"I take it back, you're actually a jerk all the time. You're just more of a jerk when you're sick,” Atsushi groans. He’s so over it. He wants to call Dazai and ask if he really needs to be here. He highly doubts most foes need a team as combative as the two of them. Akutagawa probably could handle it on his own, but Dazai wants the two of them to work together, for some reason.

"I'm not sick. Stop saying that,” Akutagawa murmurs. “It’s just this ocean air.”

Atsushi doesn't even feel like arguing with him anymore. Akutagawa is so frustratingly stubborn, it's unbelievable. Atsushi knows he’s sick. He can see the sweat along his hairline from here, even six feet away, but he’s shivering. There’s a bit of a breeze from the ocean on the ship, but not enough to make someone shiver, even though they’re in the middle of fall.

"When is he supposed to get here?" Atsushi huffs.

"I don't know,” Akutagawa says simply.

“Okay, then I’m gonna look around the boat. Just yell if you need something,” Atsushi mumbles.

“I will most certainly not be doing that,” Akutagawa says, rolling his eyes.

Atsushi wants to kick him in the neck.

He decides to spend some time looking around the docked boat, for no reason other than the fact that he’s bored waiting and he doesn’t want to waste more precious seconds of his life talking to Akutagawa.

It’s unremarkable. The boat is called The Hellscreen, which is a scary name for something that just sails the seas. It’s a yacht, he’s been told, or rather very rudely informed by Akutagawa. Atsushi doesn’t know the first the about boats. He just knows this one is fancy, and they’re waiting for the captain to arrive, to hand off important information relevant to both the Port Mafia boss and Fukuzawa, information Atsushi and Akutagawa aren’t allowed to know the details of.

All they were instructed to do was wait for him, take the envelope, and in case they are suspicious of the captain in any way, they were to detain him until backup arrived. Simple enough, for Atsushi, anyway.

Atsushi sort of wants to dip without saying anything, but they were ordered not to kill, and even though he’s already made a promise not to, Atsushi isn’t sure he trusts him.

A half hour or so passes, and Atushsi finds nothing of interest. He only manages to meet back with Akutagawa because he lost track over which parts of the yacht he’s already explored.

Akutagawa is leaning on the railing of the yacht when Atsushi returns, the shade having extended that far, by now. Atsushi is thrown off, seeing Akutagawa look so weirdly casual. He’s sure he hasn’t relaxed a day in his life. But then, he notices the tension in his shoulders.

Atsushi's taken note of how his breaths have become labored and forced. That's not right, he knows that for sure. He seemed a little short of breath earlier when he was talking, but Atsushi didn’t pay much mind to that until now.

He's sort of thrown for a loop when Akutagawa suddenly leans over the railing to vomit into the water. It’s followed by a series of harsh sounding coughs, ones that somehow sound worse than before. Atsushi almost say something, but the coughing turns into choking and sputtering, and he throws up again. It sounds painful. He ducks his head into his arms with a pained groan, and Atsushi can’t help but notice that breaths still don’t sound any better.

"Are you - are you okay?" Atsushi asks. He’s not sure he should be asking.

"It's motion sickness,” Akutagawa bites, not lifting his head. Atsushi watches his shoulders shake. “Stop talking to me."

"You don’t have to stay on the boat,” Atsushi murmurs. It’s not that he feels bad or anything, but it’s just inconvenient for him to be here if it’s making him sick, he thinks. That’s all. “You can wait on the dock. I’ll stay here.”

“Don’t tell me what to do, Weretiger,” Akutagawa growls.

Atsushi takes a few steps close to him, thinking he might end up regretting it. Akutagawa is trembling, he realizes. He’s in pain. Something’s not right. “I’m just saying. It might be better anyway, maybe you can keep watch from the dock, or -”

“I told you,” Akutagawa starts, venom lacing his tone before he whips his head up and turns to face Atsushi a little too quickly, he’ll soon find out, “don’t -”

Atsushi could have seen it coming a mile away with how fast he moved his head, but he watches his eyes roll back and his knees bucking underneath him, and Atsushi isn’t a horrible person. Maybe Akutagawa would have let Atsushi fall on his face if their roles were reversed, but he can’t let that happen for him. He catches him, fully expecting Akutagawa to shout or attack as soon as he regains consciousness, which must be any second now.

But he’s silent, and completely still, even after the mental ten seconds Atsushi gives him to recover. Akutagawa’s labored breaths land against his chest as Atsushi lowers the both of them to the ground.

Shit. He's completely unconscious. He’s not showing any sign of waking up. Atsushi thought it was maybe just a head rush, but he really, actually passed out.

"Akutagawa?" Atsushi mumbles. It comes out like a squeak. He lays him down on the deck, sliding him down from his arms, so he's lying on his side. He's afraid to move him at all, worried Akutagawa might decapitate him without a moment's notice, but he receives no reaction, no attempt at trying to move, let alone get up and bark back at him.

Atsushi still has a hand on his shoulder, worried he might roll forward into his face, and he can feel his hot skin burning even through his coat. He’s absolutely ridiculous for wearing a coat like this when he so obviously has a fever, but his body shivers gently like he's cold. He should probably take it off of him, but he needs to reevaluate his situation.

“Please don't kill me," Atsushi groans to himself as he scoops an arm under Akutagawa's knees and the other under his neck, with little to no reaction from him other than a tiny, pathetic grunt. Atsushi is so tense that the effort hurts, but he thinks he has every reason to be. He's holding a ridiculously unpredictable mafia killing machine in his arms, after all.

He thinks for now, he'll take him inside the cockpit that they've been standing outside of, at least for some cover. Atsushi isn't sure if he really threw up because of motion sickness or something else, but either way, cover is more important when he's completely out like this. They have to keep their guard up.

He's incredibly lucky the door isn't locked, but the captain had told Dazai he left it that way in case they wanted to be inside. Akutagawa said waiting in there was too dangerous, and Atsushi has to at least agree on that. He manages to open the door with his tail and slides in, closing it behind him.

There's long, cushioned benches on either side of the cockpit, and Atsushi gently lays him down on the nearest one. Akutagawa's head lulls to the side once Atsushi steps back, and he thinks for a moment that he's awake already, but still - nothing.

His breathing really doesn't sound good. It's shallow, short, like it's painful to breathe any deeper. Atsushi thinks he probably has a serious cold, but he's not admitting it no matter the case.

He grits his teeth as he remembers he told himself he would take Akutagawa's coat off. It might be good in the end, too, if he can't use it to attack Atsushi when he wakes up, so he moves Akutagawa as gently as possible to sit up so he can undo the buttons on the coat and slide off the sleeves, one by one. He lays him back down, haphazardly folds the coat and lays it down on the other side of the bench.

Now what? Should he call Dazai? He still has the number of Akutagawa's assistant. He saved it in his phone, but he won't use it to call her. He'd need to find a pay phone. Unless, maybe he could find Akutagawa's cellphone.

He makes sure to check outside the door in case the captain has arrived, but he doesn't see any sign of him. So as he pulls the door back shut, decides he's going to look for Akutagawa's cellphone - at least, until he sees him open his eyes.

"Oh, hey," Atsushi starts nervously, not wanting to get too close to him, "you passed out on the deck, so…"

His explanation trails off as he watches Akutagawa's eyes grow wide and he scrambles to sit up. They're wider than Atsushi's has ever seen them. His hair is in disarray, sticking in all sorts of directions, some of it plastered to his forehead from the sweat his fever is causing.

Atsushi knows that look. He's felt it before. Waking up in an unfamiliar place is a horrifying feeling, he's woken up in full blown panic attacks because of that before. Even though Akutagawa was only out for a few minutes, he's scared.

Atsushi's heart feels heavy with guilt.

"We're in the cockpit on the yacht. You passed out like, five minutes ago," he stammers, but he's not sure that's enough. Akutagawa doesn't look relieved in the slightest, he looks terribly confused. He grasps at the fabric on his sleeve and almost looks like he's gotten to breathe when he realizes he's not wearing his coat.

"Where's - what did you - "

He breaks into a violent coughing fit, hunched over and coughing into his hand, somehow sounding worse than before. It's not so dry this time, either.

Atsushi catches a hint of the scent of blood, but he dismisses it. That couldn't be right, anyway.

"Where's…my coat," he somehow manages between coughs as it dies down, each one on the downtick sounding just as painful as the one before it. He looks exhausted. Atsushi can imagine that takes a lot out of him.

"You don't need that right now. You've got a fever," Atsushi murmurs.

Akutagawa sort of hangs his head as he lays a hand over his chest. He's more focused on something else right now, but Atsushi isn't sure what exactly that is. It might be his breathing. He's trying to slow it down, maybe, but his lungs don't seem to be cooperating. It almost seems like he can't really take a deep breath at all.

"Give it back," he says quietly, not lifting his head. He still sounds short of breath. He sounds defeated.

"I'll give it back, but don't put it on," Atsushi mumbles as he approaches the other end of the bench.

"Don't tell me what to do," Akutagawa huffs. A few coughs interrupt him, but thankfully, it doesn't seem to break him into a coughing fit like before.

Atsushi takes the coat from where he laid it down and hands it to him, expecting him to snatch it back, sure, but he rips it from Atsushi’s grip like he's taking something away from him that he can't live without. Atsushi steps back and gingerly shows his hands to show he doesn't mean any harm. Akutagawa brings it close to his chest like it’s a blanket he needs to fall asleep, curling his fists into it and lowering his head.

He looks miserable.

Atsushi sees the captain on the dock through the window and he squeaks, briefly telling Akutagawa to stay where he is before he disappears through the door.

“You’re with the Armed Detective Agency?” The captain asks. He’s a well dressed man in all white, carrying a black envelope. He looks a bit confused to see Atsushi exiting the cockpit, standing in front of the door. He hopes he doesn’t need to go inside.

“Yes - yes, sir. Atsushi Nakajima, nice to meet you,” Atsushi says, bowing his head politely. The captain bows back.

“There were supposed to be two of you. Can I please see your ID, detective?” The captain says. Atsushi bites his lip. Dazai did tell him to look for two people. Atsushi digs in his pockets for his wallet and finds it in the back left, scrambling to flip to the side that features his employee ID. The captain looks it over with a nod.

“I’m sorry, sir. I…my, uh…” Atsushi pauses. What does he even call Akutagawa? He’s not his friend. He’s not his co-worker. “My…my partner, he’s uh, injured. I told him he should sit down for a while. I didn’t mean to trespass or anything.”

“I see. It’s no trouble, as long as everything is left intact. Does your partner need medical attention?” The captain asks. That’s kind of him. Akutagawa definitely needs medical attention, but he has a feeling he shouldn’t get the captain involved with that.

“Oh, he’s…it’s not too serious. I’ll make sure a doctor sees him today,” Atsushi says, accidentally making a commitment. He would really just like to get this envelope and be on his way.

“If it’s not too serious, I’d like to meet your partner as well. Just to cover my bases and verify your identities,” The captain says sternly. He seems a bit suspicious.

Atsushi’s heart drops. He doesn’t want to make Akutagawa walk out here, especially to meet someone when he looks the way that he does - but if he says no, the captain may refuse to give him the envelope, and then Atsushi will have a whole new kind of problem.

“Oh…yeah, of course. I’ll, uh, be right back,” Atsushi murmurs, taking the door handle to let himself in and close it behind him without any room for the captain to follow him. It is his own boat after all, he has every right to do so.

Akutagawa is still on the bench, except he’s sitting now, the coat laying over his lap, both hands twisted in the fabric. He’s holding onto it for dear life, almost. Atsushi didn’t realize the coat was that important to him, although, if it’s his ability, it makes sense.

Akutagawa very slowly turns his head to look at Atsushi, eyes focused and pointed but heavy with exhaustion.

“The captain says he needs to meet you too. Before he gives us the envelope,” Atsushi murmurs quietly. Akutagawa is already attempting to get up. He’s rather unsteady on his feet, and had to use the bench as leverage to stand up, but Atsushi knows he’ll refuse any offers for help. He manages to slide his arms into he sleeves of the coat without much issue.

His hair still sort of looks like a mess. He approaches the door and Atsushi resists the very strong urge to at least rustle his bangs up so the sweat isn’t so obvious, but not for long. He reaches forward and does it before he can convince himself not to, and Akutagawa flinches backward, eyes wide.

“W - “

“Let’s go,” Atsushi says, opening the door and walking in front of him.

Akutagawa stands in front of the door, now, politely bowing his head, much more discreetly than Atsushi had.

“Good to meet you. And you are?” The captain asks.

“I have no reason to give you my name,” Akutagawa says coldly. Atsushi stiffens. Now is really not the time to be rude.

“I know you’re with the Port Mafia. I have no issue with that. I’m simply asking your name to verify your identity,” The captain says.

Akutagawa averts his gaze.

“Ryuunosuke Akutagawa,” he answers. Atsushi realizes he’s never heard his first name before. It’s nice.

“Alright. And I have two questions for each of you to continue my confirmation. Think of them as…security questions, when you’ve forgotten your password,” The captain says. “For you, detective. What is your mother’s first name?”

Atsushi feels sick.

What kind of question is that?

He never knew his parents. The headmaster told him thinks about what they did to Atsushi, but he doesn’t remember them. He has no idea what they look like, let alone either of their names. What is he supposed to say?

“I don’t know,” Atsushi murmurs, his eyes drifting down to the deck flooring. “I never knew her name.”

“Alright, good,” The captain says, evidently satisfied with the answer, and Atsushi realizes that was the correct one. It’s a trick question. Anyone trying to impersonate him might have known the answer, but Atsushi didn’t. “And you, Akutagawa. Where did you live when you were twelve years old?”

Akutagawa seems to have a similar reaction to his question. His eyes are wide, at least, as wide as they can be in his state. But his expression very quickly shifts into anger.

“I’m not answering that,” he snaps. He almost staggers sideways, clearly still rather unsteady on his feet.

“I need you to,” The captain says. “I already know the answer. I’m just asking you to confirm it. Only you would know the answer to this.”

Akutagawa opens his mouth to shout something obscene, he’s sure that’s his plan, but Atsushi is able to distract him by lifting his hands up and pressing them against his ears. He’s not sure why, but he thinks Akutagawa simply doesn’t want Atsushi to hear the answer. And he can respect that. They’re not friends, after all.

Akutagawa stares at him for a moment, not catching on right away to what he’s doing, but he sees the anger fade just a bit after a second, and Atsushi turns his head away to allow Akutagawa to answer, so that he won’t hear it.

But he hears it anyway.

That damn Tiger’s hearing.

Suribachi City.

Atsushi’s shoulders drop a little bit. The slums?

Akutagawa is from the slums?

Atsushi very slowly lowers his hands and just barely catches the end of the captain saying very good before thanking the two of them, He thinks this is a strange way to verify someone’s idenity, but maybe the captain has an ability and this is relevant. Maybe Dazai set this up. He’s not sure, but either way, he doesn’t like it.

The captain hands Atsushi the envelope.

“Thank you to you both. I have some business to attend to at the Marina Club. Feel free to stay here if you’d like, and please make sure your injury is tended to,” the captain says, directing that last part to Akutagawa. Akutagawa makes a very displeased, confused expression as Atsushi bows the captain away, and soon enough, he’s gone.

Akutagawa is quiet for a few moments, and Atsushi is at a loss of what to say. Normally, he thinks Akutagawa would have just been on his way without a word to Atsushi, but he doesn’t move.

At least, until he bolts toward the railing choke up a mouthful of vomit into the water again. Atsushi yelps at how quickly he managed that, and he realizes Akutagawa was likely just waiting for the captain to leave the boardwalk.

Akutagawa grips onto the railing, tight, but one hand comes up to lay against his chest as he starts to cough again. It’s only a few times, but they’re wet and deep, and they make him vomit again, nearly missing to get over the railing. His knees collapse in on themselves and he leans heavily against the railing once he’s on the ground, keeping that hand on his chest.

"You need to go to a hospital or something," Atsushi mumbles, carefully approaching him.

"Nice try," Akutagawa chokes out, not daring to lift his head. He tries to use the railing to stand himself back up, but his legs are shaking so much that they’re completely unreliable to stand on, and he comes back down to the deck. "You…really must take me for some kind of fool."

"What the hell do you mean, nice try?" Atsushi scoffs. He can’t stand this guy. What’s wrong with thinking he needs help when he looks so miserable?

"I'll get arrested if I'm admitted to a public hospital," Akutagawa growls, his faze only then turning up to glare at Atsushi, eyes like those of a hungry wolf. "You've seen my wanted posters, haven't you, Weretiger?"

Atsushi's shoulders sink. "I didn't think about that, actually."

"Just go," Akutagawa huffs, leaning his head to the side.

"What? I'm not leaving you here,” Atsushi grumbles. “You can't even stand up."

"Why does it matter to you?" Akutagawa asks quietly.

Why does it matter? He could simply head home right now, if he really wanted to. It shouldn’t make a difference to him how Akutagawa gets home, if he sees a doctor. He’s not his babysitter.

"Just cause I hate your guts doesn't mean I want you to suffer," Atsushi mumbles quietly.

"I was in a coma for a week because of you," Akutagawa huffs with a shaky breath. "Don't give me that."

"That was different, you kidnapped me and Kyoka cause you're a psychopath," Atsushi snaps before really taking in what Akutagawa said.

A coma?

"So I've been told,” Akutagawa breathes out, letting his eyes fall shut as he lets his head lull to the side just a bit.

He's really starting to look out of it, now. He almost had Atsushi fooled for a moment in an encounter with the captain. He seemed composed and put together, but now he seems to have literally started to fall apart. He can't even stand up, at least not in this moment.

The way he's breathing is deeply concerning. It somehow sounds worse. He takes note of how he tries to take a deep breath, but all it brings him is a round of painful sounding coughs. Atsushi doesn't know what to do.

Akutagawa seems to have lost the ability to care about Atsushi being in his vicinity, he doesn't even remotely try to protest his presence.

"I'm gonna call Dazai real quick. To let him know we got the envelope," Atsushi says. Akutagawa's shoulders stiffen at the mention of Dazai, but not for long. He quickly sinks back.

Atsushi wanders to the bow of the ship before he makes the phone call, out of earshot from Akutagawa.

"Dazai," Atsushi mumbles as soon as the ringing stops.

"What's the matter? Is everything okay?" he asks. He sounds more intrigued than concerned, but he seems to recognize that something isn't right.

"Well - we…we got the envelope. Everything went well, but, Akutagawa…" Atsushi murmurs, staring at the envelope in his hands. What does he even say? What would Dazai do about Akutagawa's condition? They can't take him to a hospital. "I don't know, something's wrong. I think he's really sick, Dazai."

He hears Dazai sigh over the phone. "How sick? Is he unconscious?"

"No, he's…he passed out, but he's awake now. It just seems like…" Atsushi murmurs, and an idea comes to mind. "Do you think…could Yosano help him? I can't take him to a public hospital, he'd get arrested, so maybe -"

"Atsushi, she won't use her ability for the Port Mafia. I can tell you that now," Dazai tells him sternly. Atsushi shrinks. He can't force Yosano to help anyone, sure, but it feels wrong to just leave him here. He can't let it go, for some reason.

"But he needs help," Atsushi mumbles. "I can't just…I can't just leave him. Something's really wrong, Dazai."

"I'll let Chuuya know it's done and he will be there soon. He can take him to the extraction point," Dazai tells him. "He's not your responsibility, Atsushi."

"I'm gonna stay here until Chuuya gets here, then," Atsushi mumbles. "I wouldn't…I wouldn't want someone to leave me while I'm that sick. I can't do it."

Dazai is quiet for a moment, and if it's not already impossible to tell what he's thinking in person, it's certainly impossible right now. He can't even begin to guess.

"Alright, I'll see you when you get back, Atsushi," he says.

"Yeah, see you," Atsushi says quietly. Dazai hangs up.

Atsushi is sure he's better off waiting over here, but he feels like he needs to be closer. He's starting to get this irrational fear that Akutagawa will suddenly stop breathing.

He wanders back over towards him. Akutagawa is leaning with his back against the railing and his knees pulled into his chest, eyes looking nowhere in particular. It's obvious he doesn't feel good, but Atsushi feels like every time he turns around, Akutagawa looks about fifty percent worse than before. His eyes are unfocused and his cheeks are red to match his eyes.

"Chuuya will be here soon to meet you," Atsushi tells him. "Maybe we can wait inside, or -"

“You heard me,” Akutagawa murmurs.

Atsushi freezes for a second before he tilts his head. What is he talking about? Is it something about not telling him what to do? Atsushi didn't really order him around, so he's not sure what he means.

Maybe his fever is starting to talk.

“Heard what?” Atsushi asks. He sits down a few feet away from him, his legs crossed.

“The answer,” Akuatagwa murmurs.

Oh. His answer to the captain's question.

Atsushi isn't sure what to say, because he can't tell how Akutagawa feels about it. It seems like he's upset, at least a little bit, but he thinks he sounds more defeated than anything else, like it's a secret he never intended on sharing with anyone, let alone Atsushi. Atsushi could apologize, make it awkward, but he doesn't think Akutagawa would react well to any of that.

“I knew some kids at the orphanage from Suribachi City," Atsushi says instead, lowering his head as he starts to study the woodwork on the deck. He remembers one in particular, a girl who was practically emaciated, covered in scars and healing wounds, missing a few fingers from wild dogs. The others weren't much different from her, either. It's hard to imagine Akutagawa in that kind of state, especially at ten years old.

Akutagawa ducks his head down. He's shivering again, but Atsushi can't tell if it's chills from whatever illness is plaguing him, or he's shaking.

“I knew someone who escaped from an orphanage,” Akutagawa manages, the sound muffled. “I saw a lot of kids like that.”

Atsushi bites his lip. He’s known people to do the same. He’s wanted to try it himself, but he remembers one instance of a kid who froze to death outside trying to escape. She was used as an example. You're safest in here. He shudders at the thought.

“I was…I was the only ability user I knew,” Akutagawa says quietly, having to stop once to take some breaths. “He told me…he knew an ability user at the orphanage. Or, he thought him to be one. I always thought…he must have imagined it…"

Atsushi isn't sure where he's going with that, but he's too afraid to ask. Akutagawa lifts his head, just to cough into his hand. It's only two or three times, but they still sound so painful. Atsushi thinks he sees spots of blood in his hand, but he can't be sure from where he's sitting. He's probably just seeing things.

“You should wait inside the cockpit or something,” Atsushi murmurs nervously. “Didn’t you say the ocean air is bad for you?”

Akutagawa doesn’t say anything, he just lowers his hand and makes eye contact with Atsushi. He’s not all there. Atsushi can’t be sure, but he thinks the fever he has must be really high, that look in his eyes just isn’t right. It’s not Akutagawa.

A chill runs up Atsushi’s spine when he hears a huff come from behind him.

It's almost as if Chuuya appears on the deck instantaneously. Atsushi didn't see him coming. He heard footsteps somewhere, looking back on it, but didn’t think they were on the deck already.

"What're you still doin' here, Weretiger?" Chuuya growls. He sounds mean, but Atsushi doesn't think he means to shoo him away. He almost sounds curious, tilting his head down at Atsushi, a hand on his hip as Atsushi turns his head to face him.

“I - uh,” Atsushi mumbles, standing up and patting down his pants, for some reason feeling the need to look presentable in front of him. Chuuya is starting to look impatient, and his head starts to turn away from him. “I just - well, Dazai said…”

Chuuya suddenly rushes past him in Akutagawa’s direction, and Atsushi realizes he’s completely missed Akutagawa attempting to stand up, and now, it looks like he’s unconscious in Chuuya’s arms.

Chuuya almost effortlessly shifts Akutagawa so that he can easily carry him like Atsushi did earlier. Except, he keeps him lowered on the ground for a moment to lay the back of his hand against his cheek.

“How long’s he been breathin’ like this?” Chuuya asks, running a hand through Akutagawa’s hair. He bites his lip.

“Um…pretty much the whole time, I think,” Atsushi says. His eyes trail down to Akutagawa’s hand, the same one he coughed into earlier, and his stomach drops when he realizes those are spots of blood in his hand.

Chuuya nods and scoops Akutagawa back up into his arms, but Atsushi stays where he is, eyes wide and hoping for some sort of explanation. Chuuya looks like he’s only seconds away from leaving the deck, but Atsushi stops him.

“Wait - ”

Chuuya turns, that same scowl on his face. Atsushi’s eys drift down to Akutagawa, who’s still breathing heavy and shallow. He looks like he’s in a lot of pain, even half-conscious like this, his face all twisted up. “What?”

“What’s wrong with him?” Atsushi asks. He has a feeling Chuuya is sort of familiar with Akutagawa’s weak state right now, based on his reaction.

“It’s probably pneumonia again,” Chuuya answers quietly.

“Again?” Atsushi clarifies. His heart sinks. He’s had pneumonia once before while at the orphanage. It was so miserable that he’s forgotten much of it.

"He always gets hit real hard like this. Doesn’t take good care of his health," Chuuya mumbles, his eyes on Akutagawa’s pale face for a moment before they dart back up at Atsushi, and the scowl has melted away. "Thanks for stayin' with him."

"Yeah…yeah, no problem."

Atsushi can’t take his eyes off of Akutagawa, even as Chuuya leaves.

…

"You're very distracted today, Atsushi. I need you to focus, we have a lot of work to do."

Kunikida’s stern voice pulls him out of his thoughts.

He sounds disappointed. Atsushi doesn’t want to disappoint him. He’s tired. He didn’t sleep well last night and for some reason he’s having a lot more trouble focusing on his work than what’s normal for him. His laptop is just staring him in the face.

“Right, right. I’m sorry,” Atsushi nods, his hands moving to the keyboard, even unsure what to do then. Mabe he should go down to the cafe or something and grab a coffee, but he knows he’s not just tired. The only thing swirling around his brain today is the image of Akutagawa unconscious in Chuuya’s arms.

He opens the web browser on his computer and takes one of the reports from the center of the tables, opening it to the first page. He can feel Dazai’s eyes on him.

Dazai didn’t say anything about Akutagawa yesterday when Atsushi returned to the agency, and while he didn’t expect him to - he’s probably certain Chuuya came to get him and that he’s getting treated now - Atsushi found it strange. It feels like there’s a rock in the pit of his stomach.

Once Kunikida wanders over to Junichiro’s desk to help him with something, Dazai speaks.

"What's on your mind, hm?" Dazai asks, his elbows propped up on the table and his head in his hands. "Akutagawa?"

Atsushi's shoulders shrink. He was sort of expecting this question, but he’s not sure how to answer it. "I just…I dunno. He was really sick, Dazai. Chuuya said he might have pneumonia.”

"I know. That's not uncommon for him, Atsushi. He doesn't have a good immune system," Dazai says with a little sigh. Atsushi isn’t sure if that was supposed to make him feel better or not. He kind of figured that last part, Akutgawa doesn’t seem like a super healthy person, but even so, this weird feeling is still settled in his stomach.

"Yeah?" he says, turning his head.

"Mhm. And they have good doctors in the Port Mafia too, you know. He'll be fine," Dazai says with a little nod.

Atsushi feels a little better, knowing that.

He doesn’t need to worry. Akutagawa has plenty of people looking after him, he’s sure about that.

"If you say so."

…

Two weeks later, Atsushi sees Akutagawa again.

The sun has just set, and Atsushi is outside the nearest train station following a lead on a case on Kunikida’s behalf when he sees him leaned against the wall outside of the station on the phone. He’s not wearing his usual coat, and he thinks he looks a little suspicious wearing tinted glasses at night, but it’s definitely him.

Akutagawa’s eyes dart over, like he knows someone is watching him. A scowl appears on his face.

He really looks ghastly, a word Atsushi can only imagine Akutagawa saying. His cheeks are sunken and his eyes look dull, like the life has been sucked out of them. Exhausted doesn’t sound like it’s good enough to describe him, but he certainly looks better than he did.

Atsushi was planning on just walking off, but Akutagawa is still glaring at him.

So Atsushi walks over, just as Akutagawa hangs up the phone. He’s still holding it, looking like he’ll snap it apart at any moment.

"Akutagawa?" Atsushi starts awkwardly.

"What do you want from me," Akutagawa grumbles. "Weretiger."

“First of all, we’re in public. I’m not stalking you,” Atsushi groans, rolling his eyes. He pauses for a moment to listen to Akutagawa’s breathing, and he’s relieved that it sounds a little more normal - but there’s a faint rattle when he breathes in that concerns him. "You still don't look great.”

"I was released from our hospital two days ago," he mumbles, turning his head to the side.

Two days ago?

Does that mean he was in the hospital all this time? Two weeks? He already figured he had pneumonia because of what Chuuya said, but being hospitalized for two weeks is such a long time.

Atsushi doesn't know what to say. He just stares, his brow furrowed.

"I don't heal as well as normal people. And certainly not as well as you," he grumbles, his eyes briefly turning back to Atsushi. "I'll be fine. Wipe that pathetic look off of your face, it's unbecoming."

"Oh - sorry," he says with a nod of his head. "I…"

"Don't say anything else," Akutagawa huffs.

Atsushi pouts. “Can I at least ask what it was?”

“Pneumonia,” Akutagawa says simply, like it was an obvious answer.

“Have you had it before?”

“Yes,” Akutagawa nods with a small sigh. He’s surprised he’s being so cooperative with his answers. Maybe he really is just more of a jerk when he’s not feeling well.

“I had it once too. It was miserable,” Atsushi murmurs. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. An apology won’t change anything,” Akutagawa says with a slightly more annoyed sigh this time, stepping forward so he’s no longer leaning on the wall.

“I guess not, but…” Atsushi says. He shrugs his shoulders, expecting Akutagawa to just walk off and leave, but he doesn’t. It almost seems like he wants to say something, but he’s not sure if he should.

“I’m…I’m sorry that you felt obligated to look after me,” Akutagawa mumbles.

Now that is definitely the last thing he expected Akutagawa to say. He doesn’t like his head or even attempt to make eye contact, but it sounds sincere, he thinks. It sounds like they’re his own words, not fed to him by someone else.

“Oh,” Atsushi blinks. “Um…well, I didn’t…I dunno. It wasn’t a big deal.”

His cheeks feel warm, for some reason. He’s embarrassed. He doesn’t really know what to say or think, he’s just really surprised to hear Akutagawa say anything about it at all. He wonders if he feels guilty.

“If you insist,” Akutagawa answers simply. Now it seems like he’s ready to walk off. “Well, Weretiger, I would really prefer if you would get out of my sight before my company arrives, I -”

“Wait,” Atsushi says, finally having managed to gather his scrambled thoughts together. Akutagawa glares at him again. “I just…I don’t mind helping you if you need it. I’m not a heartless monster.”

“No, you’re not,” Akutagawa agrees, as if it’s the most obvious thing he’s ever heard.

Atsushi’s a bit taken aback by that, too.

“You think?” he says, feeling his ears start to heat up, too. Why, even?

“Weretiger,” Akutagawa sighs. Atsushi has lost track over how many time he’s heard that sound, “on with it. Or leave.”

“I just - I’ve got your back, I guess. Maybe you don’t have mine, but…I won’t leave you stranded if you need help,” Atsushi says. He realizes how corny that sounds, he can hear Dazai’s hysterical laughter echoing in the back of his brain, but Akutagawa doesn’t seem to think so, at least not in the moment. He blinks at him.

His cheeks sort of look pink. Atsushi hopes he doesn’t still have a fever.

“I didn’t realize you were so cheesy, Weretiger,” Akutagawa says as he drops his gaze before he huffs out a breath. Atsushi really thought he was going to say something nice back, but he really is a jerk. Bastard.

Atsushi groans. “Well, too bad, cause I am! And you’re gonna have to deal with it!”

Akutagawa opens his mouth to respond, but his hand covers his mouth to cough a few times, and Atsushi is relieved they don’t sound as bad as they did - they’re certainly hoarse, though.

“Are you -”

Akutagawa nods. “I’m okay.”

“Akutagawa…?”

They both turn their heads at the same time to find a pair has approached them, seemingly without any warning. It’s Akutagawa’s assistant - Atsushi thinks her name is Higuchi, or something like that - and a girl with long, dark hair that he doesn’t recognize at first, but quickly remembers is Akutagawa’s sister. Gin. Akutagawa having a sister is still an incredibly foreign concept to him. They’re both wearing casual clothing, evidently not working.

They both look very confused to see Akutagawa talking to him. Atsushi sees them both reach for something, and realizes almost too late that they’re reaching for weapons.

“Wait, I -”

“He was told to meet me here. Miscommunication,” Akutagawa says simply. Interesting tactic, he makes it sounds like it’s something the two of them already know about. Higuchi nods, accepting the answer, but Gin only looks suspicious. “Finish your business elsewhere, Weretiger.”

“Right, uh…yep, I’ll do that,” Atsushi says. Does he say goodbye? See ya? No, that’s weird, especially in front of his coworker and his sister. They both view him as the enemy.

What is he talking about? He is the enemy. They are enemies. He shakes his head as he walks off, even more confused than he was before this interaction began.

“Is your fever back? Your face looks red,” his sister says, and Atsushi briefly turns his head to see her laying a hand against his cheek, to which he quickly turns away. “You don’t feel warm.”

“Maybe we should take you back to the clinic, just to be safe,” Higuchi starts.

“I’m fine. Let’s go,” Akutagawa says with a heavy sigh, and the three of them walk in the opposite direction, eventually, out of his sight.

Atsushi shakes his head. Why is he still standing there?

And why are his ears still hot?

54 notes · View notes

turtle-bun · 10 months

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My problem with TMNT crossovers and thier potrayle of the 1987 Turtles!

As much as I have a special place in my hear for the Turtles Forever movie and the crossover special in the 2012 version, I will be forever bitter about the execution of how they were done. Specifically, the portrayal of the 1987 turtles and the relationship they have with their more current counterparts.

The 87 Turtles seem to always be portrayed as very silly and nonsensical, which yes they are but the point has always been, in ALL Turtles’ media, is that they are silly but still capable! Like the whole point of the Ninja Turtles is that it is a silly concept with silly characters but the punchline is that they are still trained warriors that can kick your ass. I don’t like that they made the 87 Turtles the butt of every joke compared to their more “serious” counterparts, when they are just as capable as the rest of them.

Personally, I think it would have been more interesting (as well as a lot funnier) if the 87 Turtles were just really, really good at their jobs. Not because they’re better or more skilled but just the fact that they have more experience and have been doing this whole vigilant thing for way longer than the rest of them. Like I honestly think that should be a “thing” amongst the entire Turtleverse, like the previous generation is always going to be “better skilled” just do to the fact that they’ve been doing it for longer.

Most times experience will always triumph over raw strength and power, which to elaborate that DOES NOT MEAN that the next generation is “weaker” it just means that they need more experience to get to the level of skill that the previous generation is at. For example, when you go into a new job the person that has been there the longest is usually better at the job than you are NOT because you are incapable but because you need more experience to learn and gain the skills to do the job properly.

But anyways, I think it would be funnier if the 87 Turtles were like super OP just cuz they’ve been doing this longer. That’s not even counting their Mirage counterparts, because if 87 Turtles are OP than comparatively the Mirage Turtles (AKA the very first!) are absolutely fucking insane. And not just the Turtles, I want the 87 villains to be fucking OP too!

Like every other villain in the Tutleverse are convinced these guys, especially Kraang and Shredder, are a fucking joke. Then when they “team up” together to defeat the Turtles the other villains go to backstab them only for 87 Shredder and Kraang to go “Uno reverse, bitch! We were letting you do all the work for us, stupid mother fucker!”. Like the concept of the 87 villains being a red herring pretending that they’re just bumbling idiot when in fact they are manipulative psychopaths is so fucking interesting to me, and could have played out so well in their respective crossovers. Because again: they’ve been in this game for WAY longer than their other counterparts have.

I also think it would be really cool (and funny, because first and foremost I’m always going to chose the funnier option) if the 87 Turtles, as well as being the smallest, are the most physically strongest out of all their counterparts. This is partially cannon in actuality because I have SEEN these mother fuckers rip metal sheets off the walls of cars, lift heavy machinery/vehicles in the air with ease, break through brick walls, and toss around Bebop and Rocksteady plus other mutants twice their size like beach balls! These fuckers are probably just walking muscles! I wanna see them lift the Bayverse Turtles up in the air like it was nothing! (Please someone make fanart of this and tag me! I beg you!)

Anyway, the whole point of this rant is that I think the TMNT writers would have better success in writing better crossover specials if they just lean into the fact that the 87 Turtles are the oldest of the bunch with far more experience and skill under their belt AND the fact that they rely a lot on 80s cartoon logic which makes everything so much more chaotic than it needs to be.

#tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt 1987 #tmnt 87 #turtles forever #tmnt 2012 #bunny talks #rant #rant post #tmnt crossover #please give my 87 bois the recognition they deserve!

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callsignspark · 7 months

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soft-tober | 01 | Javy Machado

soft-tober is about experiencing the joys of October with loved ones. each day is a fall-related one-shot for one of the couples from my Dagger, Sword & Shield universe, plus a few extras! today is Javy and Erin with "Do you want some hot chocolate?" from this prompt list.

If you’d like to be tagged for soft-tober, please send an ask!

word count: 1k

soft-tober masterlist | main masterlist | divider credit here

warnings: extreme fluff, mentions of being naked but nothing nsfw

callsignspark disclaimer: my blog is an 18+ space; minors do not interact - you will be blocked. I do not consent to my work being copied, run through an AI generator, translated, or posted elsewhere. I do have an AO3, where I eventually will be cross-posting my works.

01. “Do you want some hot chocolate?”

The beeping of the alarm clock rouses both of them, as it has every morning since they started sharing a room. And like every morning since then, Javy presses a kiss to whatever part of Erin’s face isn’t smushed into her pillow before silencing the alarm. She’s back asleep before he can get up to go through his pre-run routine. Double-check the weather report. Stretch. Make a post-run smoothie.

Today, he doesn’t even get to the first step.

Instead of sunlight streaming through the windows, rain is pelting the glass, making their room chilly. Javy lays there for a minute, two halves of him arguing whether it’s really necessary to run this morning. He knows he should. It’s his third year being a TOP GUN instructor, and while he’s still in fantastic shape, it’s very slowly getting trickier to keep up with the kids he’s teaching.

Ultimately, with a promise to do half an hour on the treadmill later, the side that’s arguing to stay under the warm covers with his girlfriend wins. He rolls towards her, staring at her freckled face and chuckling to himself at the way her face is mushed against his pillow that she’d somehow stolen during the night, a tiny puddle of drool staining the fabric. Something only he finds adorable.

Erin Messuri is a lot of things - smart, funny, caring - but she is not a pretty sleeper. Javy learned that soon after she became his roommate. That first week, after she moved into the room that had previously been Jake’s, he was stumped as to how someone so beautiful could wake up looking like she fought someone in her sleep and then, within 20 minutes, be completely ready for the day. Then she fell asleep on the couch one night after dinner, and Javy watched in real time as she contorted herself into the most uncomfortable position he’d ever seen and immediately started snoring.

Looking back, he realizes that’s probably the moment he fell in love with her. Though he didn’t realize it for several months.

“You’re still here.” Erin’s voice is soft, and if it wasn’t for the fact that he watched her mouth move, he wouldn’t have known she was awake.

“It’s too chilly to run this morning.” He leans forward, pulling the covers down to kiss her shoulder, still bare from last night's activities. “Wanted to stay with you.”

She hums, shifting to her side so they’re pressed chest to chest. “Well, I’m not complaining. I never get to wake up with you during the week.”

The words have barely left her mouth before her head goes heavy against his arm, asleep again. Javy smiles to himself, brushing a soft hand over her hair and pressing a kiss to his girlfriend’s head.

Soon to be fiancée.

The little voice in his head reminds him, making his eyes dart to the dresser, picturing the black velvet box hidden in the back of the drawer that holds his flight suits. The one drawer Erin never goes in because the lingering jet fuel smell can irritate her asthma.

A tiny irrational fear that something has happened to the simple silver band with a blue sapphire gemstone, the stone representing the month they met, causing him to check on it once or twice a day. He likes to think he’s been relatively normal and calm since purchasing the ring, but he’s not sure how successful he’s been. He knows he’s been better than Jake, who was so twitchy that Flora figured out what was going on two days after the piece of gold jewelry that she now wears every day was purchased.

Javy lets them lay there until Erin’s first alarm - the first of five - goes off, smothering a laugh at how she rolls over and smacks at the alarm clock until it stops beeping without ever fully waking up.

“C’mon, baby; if you get up with me right now, I’ll give you a special treat.”

“No, thank you; you gave me a special treat last night.”

This time, he can’t stop the laughter. Laughing even harder when she rolls over, shooting a grumpy look at him, one that would be more effective if she wasn’t naked with her hair sticking up.

“Well, as special as last night’s treat was, I was thinking more along the sustenance route. Waffles and something a little different. Do you want some hot chocolate?”

“Coffee.”

“No hot chocolate?” Javy teases. Erin loves chocolate, but as long as they’ve known each other, she’s never started the day without coffee.

“What if you made me a homemade Dunkaccino?”

He blinks at her. “What the fuck is a Dunkaccino? Is this some stupid East Coast thing?”

“First of all, you’re also from the East Coast, Mr. Florida Man.”

“I am from New Orleans! Being born in Florida is an unfortunate circumstance that I could not control!”

“Second!” She continues, talking over him as she climbs into his lap, awake now that he’s got her riled up. “Nothing made by Dunkin’ Donuts is stupid - you’ve just been deprived. Third-”

Erin squeaks as Javy flips them over, the two laughing as he hovers over her and presses slow kisses against her neck and collarbones.

“Third, a Dunkaccino is a delicious combination of coffee and hot chocolate that is the perfect way to warm up on a rainy October day, but they stopped making it years ago.”

“Mmmm… I can probably finagle something like that together for you, ma’am.”

“Really?”

“Of course. No promises if it’ll be good.”

“Well, as long as there’s still regular coffee, that’s a risk I’m willing to take.” Her eyes twinkle at him, making his heart pound after all these years.

“God, I love you.” Javy kisses her, probably a little too passionately considering it’s before seven on a Tuesday, but he can’t help it. Overcome by her and her smile, her laugh, her dependence on caffeine that should probably be concerning but isn’t considering her job.

Erin pulls back, her cheeks a little pink from the intensity of the kiss. “I love you, too.”

He almost breaks, almost asks her to marry him right there and then, ruining the surprise engagement he has planned for next month, but she interrupts him before he can.

“Javy?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“I still need the coffee, no matter how you end up presenting it to me.”

“On it.” Mrs. Machado, he adds silently, pressing one more kiss to her lips before pulling on his shorts and heading to the kitchen, closing out the browser tab he was using to research local photographers in favor of figuring out how to best combine coffee and hot chocolate to make something that actually tastes good.

#elle’s soft october #top gun maverick fic #top gun maverick au #top gun maverick imagine #top gun fic #top gun au #top gun imagine #DSS universe #javy coyote machado fic #javy machado fic #javy coyote machado x oc #javy machado x oc #javy machado imagine #coyote imagine #Coffee To Go fic #C2G fic #elle writes

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miscelunaaa · 2 years

Text

shell-ter | knj

pairing: hermit crab!namjoon x marine biologist!reader (who is also soft-bodied because reasons)

genre: crack, humor, smut, strangers to lovers, hybrid au, really just unabashed nonsense

summary: While walking on the beach and avoiding your responsibilities, you stumble upon a line of hermit crabs waiting to exchange shells. It should be an exciting moment for you, but instead there’s this random naked guy yelling at you to leave his friends alone. Why can’t a stroll on the beach ever just be a stroll on the beach?

rating: 18+ for maximum crabby goodness

word count: 6.9k

warnings: Scientific inaccuracies around the nature of crabs, hermit crabs, and other adjacent decapod crustaceans (I tried my best, I promise). Implied early pandemic setting. Writer plays fast and loose with hybrid tropes. Swearing. Crabby Namjoon lmfao. Meet ugly. Awkward public nudity, which is also very likely illegal wherever this is set. Joon’s crab friends leave him to die. Probably inaccurate descriptions of hermit crab mating conventions. Namjoon being casually naked the entire fucking time. Instinctually protective Namjoon. Lots of hybrid nonsense. Bittersweet ending?? Kind of??? Look, Namjoon plays by nature’s laws, y’all. This is perhaps the least feelingsy thing I have ever written. sexual content in the form of: Breeding kink. Oral, female receiving. Face sitting. Body worship??? Size kink. Big Dick!Namjoon. Dirty talk. Strength kink. Unprotected sex with other birth control in place. Rough-ish sex. Squirting. Possessive Namjoon. Hybrid nonsense.

notes: this is all @thatlongspringnight’s fault, so everyone pls be sure to thank Julie. I ironically and unironically love hybrid fics, and this series is going to be my homage to the more ironic side. There will be more chaos!! I’ve got ideas for each member, some more than one! Please note that this is a significantly delayed crosspost from my AO3 pseud. I’m still trying to decide how to approach this space in a lot of ways and posting this is partially me feeling out how I personally feel about getting work out in this space anymore.

Please also note!! I am no longer doing any tag lists. If you want updates for as soon as I post a fic, please subscribe to me on AO3. Updates go straight to your inbox and AO3 is way more stable than this fucking dinosaur of a platform. And this is to say nothing about it actually giving a shit about writers.

my masterlist | my disclaimers | read on ao3

The sun has only been above the horizon for a short while and already it feels like the sand’s been baking underneath its gaze for hours. The tiny grains each feel like hot coals as they wend their way between your toes. You scowl and try to step more carefully. Seokjin’s already fucked up the shower drain once or twice after neglecting to shake the sand off his body; you’d hate to be the next call to your cranky landlord.

It’s not a glamorous life, being a marine biologist, but someone has to do it. Or at least, that’s what you and Seokjin keep telling yourselves every time the university threatens to cut your funding and bring both of you back home. Someone has to study the beach flora and fauna, right?

Right?

“But why crabs?” you mutter to yourself. “Why the fuck did I pick crabs …”

Hermit crabs aren’t even real crabs, you muse to yourself as you step lightly over the early morning beach. They’re still crustaceans, just not “true” crabs like their sisters in the infraorder. Every time the university threatens to cut funding, you have to explain it to some bureaucrat who doesn’t think it’s important to know the difference. To the average person and their piss-poor science literacy, taxonomy seems like a lie anyway.

All things become crabs in the end. You’re more than ready to carcinize and join your tiny decapod brethren. Seems easier than waking up at the asscrack of dawn just to put on pants and a bra and see if you can catch them moving shells all at once. At least the crabs are nicer than anyone in the finance department so … take me now, crab daddy or whatever.

Today doesn’t seem promising. You’ve been trying to observe a vacancy chain for a week, with no luck. It’s not even for your thesis; you’re just fucking bored. Like fine yeah whatever you could be working on your thesis right now but why do that when you can avoid it and watch hermit crabs line up and wait patiently for shell to free up? They even naturally orient themselves!! They line up by size! That’s way more fascinating and way less depressing than talking about brachyura behaviors in wild environments versus commercial ones.

Maybe you should have picked the fake crabs instead. Maybe your advisor would let you change your thesis … for the third time …

Better not. It’s just easier to procrastinate the inevitable at this time.

Hours pass, and nothing’s happening on the beach. You’ve walked it up and down, you’ve reapplied sunscreen, you’ve finished both water bottles, and you’ve seen nothing, not even a lone crab sighing. You go home for lunch with a sigh, taking care to knock the sand out of your sandals before going into the dinky apartment. And then you repeat it all again, leaving this time with a sun hat and stronger sunscreen for the intense afternoon light.

You’d think by this time that the sound of the waves beating the shore would drive you nuts and remind you of your failures, but no. It’s the only thing soothing your annoyance at the lack of hermit crabs and your lack of will to work on your thesis.

Every once in a while, as the sun makes its way across the cloudless sky, you sit for a moment in the hot sand, dropping your notebook to the side. During these moments, you allow yourself to stare out into the sea and let the quiet flow through you. It’s nice, really. No one’s been coming to the beach because of the pandemic, so it’s personal nature hours just for you, the lone soul brave enough to venture out.

It’s during one of these moments, late in the day, the sun just beginning to touch the horizon after a long day of making things unbearably hot, that you see it. Or, rather, you see them.

Hermit crabs, perhaps a half dozen or so, beginning to queue up in the sand. It’s adorable, really; they’ve arranged themselves biggest to smallest, and they’re holding onto each other with their claws to make sure the order is maintained. At the end of the line lays a shell, just a bit too big for the biggest crab to move into.

The wonders of nature never cease to amaze you.

You watch from a few feet away, trying not to make any sudden movements, as a few more crabs join the line and the rest shuffle to make sure they’re in the right order. You turn to reach for your notebook.

As you’re flipping through to the first available page, you hear a little pop.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

The angry voice makes you jump, your notes and pen flying somewhere as your hat falls off and you scramble to look dignified instead of very obsessed with crustaceans.

“N-NOTHING?? I-I waS—”

“Doesn’t look like nothing to me.” The voice is angry, accusatory. Your head spins around to find its source before you’ve even located your pen and you’re too startled to care about the undignified shriek you emit when your eyes find it. Or, actually—if you had to make an assumption—him.

A man, tall and lanky and naked as hell, is staring down at you. His hands are on his hips, his skin burnished gold in the mid-afternoon sunlight. Good lord, he’s so fucking naked! And angry!! But mOSTLY NAKED???

Why is an angry naked man yelling at you on the beach?

Why is it also kind of turning you on???

(Maybe Seokjin was right, maybe you do need to get laid.)

“Do you fucking mind?” He’s tall too, glowering down at you with handsomely hooded eyes, his full lips set into a hard line that makes no sense with how soft they look.

This is not the time to be thinking about this man’s mouth!! What are you doing? Has the sun addled you? Say something!

“D-do I mind? Mind what?”

“Do. You. Fucking. Mind?” the man spits at you. His eyebrows furrow.

Don’t look down. Fuck. Do not look down.

“Do I mind?” Something in your brain finally fires correctly. “Do you mind?? Naked asshole yelling at me?”

“This is my natural state and this is my turf—”

You scramble up to stand, almost falling over because your head swims from doing it too quickly.

“Your turf? This is a public beach, dickwad.”

Dick. Don’t look down don’t look—

Fuck. You looked down. Ohhhhhh boy did you look down. Oh wow. That’s a peen. That’s a big ole peen out in the sunlight in public on this here public beach. Holy shit. He’s gifted and he’s naked and he’s on the beach yelling at you and fuck why is this making you so horny???

“Lady, I don’t know who the fuck you are but you’re on my turf, you’re scaring my friends, and you need to fucking leave so we can do our business and get back to doing what we do.” The man’s chest is rising and falling rapidly as his jaw ticks with frustration. He’s got really nice pecs and his n—NO. FOCUS.

“I’m sorry, what friends? It’s just you and me here on the beach.” Thank god. This would be hard to explain to the local cops.

He steps to the side and points at the ground, to the little hermit crabs in their line. “My friends??? The crabs that you’re disturbing, including myself???”

The incredulity in his voice makes it click for you.

“Oh. Oh my god, are you a crab hybrid?”

He puts his face in his hands and shouts through his palms: “YES.”

“I … okay, are you all hybrids? I’m so sorry, I didn’t know, I—”

“Save it, I don’t care. Could you just leave us alone now? You’re scaring the littler ones and we all just want new shells.”

You bend over to pick up your notebook. “I’m a scientist, I promise I wasn’t trying to scare you and your friends.”

“Fine, whatever, just leave us alone please? You’ve been walking up and down this beach for days and you’re disturbing the peace.”

You’re suddenly very aware of the sand stuck between your sandals and the soles of your feet. Your heart sinks. “Ah, yeah. I can … do that. I guess.”

It’s better this way, probably. You need to start working on your thesis anyway. Your notebook feels heavy in your hand as you secure your hat back on your head.

“Great,” the man says. His shoulders relax as he sighs. “Great. Thanks for understanding. I have to get back to it but if I see you around again, I’m coming for you. Got it?”

Did he have to say “come for you” while ass-fucking-naked on the beach and looking like a hunky dreamboat??? You feel something in the pit of your stomach pulse with need.

“Yeah,” you say as you abruptly turn away. Is the sun hotter now or is it just you? “I got it. Bye then, I guess.” God, this is just fucking weird. Hybrid crabs in the wild and they’re kind of hot too. Ugh. Seokjin’s going to laugh his ass off.

“Bye.”

You only make it a few steps away before a loud, frantic “FUCK” makes you whip back around.

The man is on his hands and knees, still very naked and human shaped, scrutinizing something in the sand.

“Um, is everything alright?” You keep your voice low and soft in hopes that your question won’t aggravate him further.

He sits back on his heels, throwing his head back with a groan. His throat bobs, and you try not to think about what biting at his resplendent skin might be like.

“No. No it’s not. I lost my fucking shell because these assholes—” he gestures wildly at nothing in particular “—finished the shell queue without me. The only one that’s left is way too small.”

And now the handsome naked man is pouting. He’s a hermit crab hybrid without a shell and pouting and distraught and now even more naked in a way. Good lord, is this a test? Is there a dude with a camera hiding somewhere recording all of this for reality TV?

“I’m sorry.” What else can you say?

“This is what I get for helping these ungrateful fuckers. This fucking sucks.”

If he doesn’t have a shell, does that mean he’s homeless?

“How long do you think it’ll be until the next vacancy chain forms?”

“The what? The shell switch?” He looks up at you. You’re still standing a little ways away, but the anguish is clear on his face. “I don’t know, it could be days it could be …”

Weeks.

Shit. You can’t just leave him out here like this.

Without thinking, you walk over to him and squat down to look at him at his level. “I’ve got a roommate, he’s a scientist too. I’m sure if we explain what’s going on, he’d be okay with you crashing with us for a bit. If you want, that is. I just … I feel bad. You lost your shell because you were yelling at me.”

The man bites his lip as his eyes trail away, lost in thought. And then, after a moment, he nods his head.

“Okay. It’s the least you can do, I guess.”

He’s hot. He’s kind of rude, but at least he’s hot, you think.

“Great,” you reply, hiding your slight irritation. You shrug off your sun protective button-up and hand it to him. “Tie this around your front to cover up. It’s just a five minute walk from here. I’m Y/N, by the way.”

He looks at the shirt and takes it reluctantly.

“I’m Namjoon.”

The first thing you learn about your new hybrid acquaintance is that he has little regard for personal boundaries. The moment he steps into your apartment, he refuses to leave your side. You’d expected him to be skittish, maybe, but not clingy like this. You’d had to keep him out of your bedroom as you changed out of your beach clothes, and you’d actually locked the door to the bathroom for once because it took too much convincing to let him know that you weren’t going to suddenly disappear on him, leaving him alone in a strange place. You weren’t unconvinced that he wasn’t going to to break the door down. You could hear him pacing on the other side as you tried to pee in peace with mixed success.

If you hadn’t been convinced of his hybrid status before, watching him sniff at the air and scrutinize everything in your little apartment would have been enough to change your mind. And then there’s his proclivity for nudity, which just further proves his nature. His behavior is just that removed from what you’re used to from normative humans.

You’d also expected more questions from him, if you were being honest. Then again, just because Namjoon had been encountered in a wild environment didn’t mean he’d been born out there. He’d not been perturbed by the microwave or the stove or even the hot water kettle you’d started as soon as you got out to the kitchen. But fuck, he was weirdly clingy.

You frown as you wait for the water to boil. You don’t know much about hybrids, but if you had to guess, his clingy behavior likely has something to do with you being an available female and it being the mating season. August is primetime for horny hermit crabs; maybe his instincts are drawing him to you in some way because of it. If you’re being honest, you don’t completely hate it, though it feels a bit cringe to admit that to yourself. Even so, you try to shake the shame. So what if you enjoy the fact that he may or may not at this point in time consider you desirable in some way? Who doesn’t want to feel desired every once in a while?

As you reach up to open a cabinet above the counter and grab a box of tea, you hear something rustle behind you. Namjoon probably, still looking around while hovering.

“Namjoon, do you want some—”

Your voice catches in your throat as you feel a warm body press to your back. Large hands appear on either side of you, grasping the counter. You feel warm breath on your neck.

“—tea?”

A nose nuzzles into your skin, lips exhale a shaky breath.

“You smell really good, baby,” Namjoon says. “Smell good enough to eat, to …”

T-to what? You feel like you’re about to implode. To whAT??

“To what?”

Ugh, you sound pitiful with your voice all airy like that. You’re lucky anything managed to come out at all.

His hands don’t move to touch you, but his chest is scorching against your back. He’s close enough that you hear him swallow as his lips brush just barely against the shell of your ear.

“To breed.”

Namjoon’s voice is so low it brings goosebumps to your skin. A tremble passes through you, and you’re certain he can feel you shiver between his form and the counter.

“That exciting for you?” he asks. “The idea of getting your cunt fucked by a hybrid cock?”

“Yes,” you breathe.

His hands finally move, his weight settling against your back as he begins touching you, brushing his fingertips against your forearms and over your hips.

“Do you want me to mate with you, baby?”

“Yes.” God yes.

The scramble for your bedroom is a blur. All the way there, your hands are trailing over his skin while his are pushing your clothes up and off. You can feel how hard he’s gotten against you, but before you can get your hands on his erection, he’s falling back against your bed and pulling you on top of him.

Maybe you should be worried about how quickly things escalated. And maybe your conscience should shut the fuck up and let you be vaguely irresponsible with your feelings and body for the first time in months.

Namjoon groans as you straddle him, letting your hot flesh drag against his. His fingers sink into the softness of your thighs.

He murmurs a protest against your kisses. “Not yet, I want to—”

You realize he’s pulling you up his torso before can think to stop him. With stunning ease—damn that hybrid strength—he carefully positions your center over his face.

“This. I want this. I want your scent. I want you.” He looks up at you from between your thighs with those intense, dark eyes of his. Fuck. Fuck you want to die. This is fucking obscene. This is fucking—

The first suck against your folds makes your body pulse, and every movement after that brings you higher and higher into a stratosphere you didn’t even know existed. Namjoon is extremely skilled with his human mouth. It feels like you’re being devoured. It feels fucking amazing.

“Taste so ripe for me, baby. Breeding you’s going to be so easy,” he says against you. The vibration of his low, husky voice reverberates up your spine. Goosebumps spring up from your bare skin. Did your nipples just pucker?

Maybe you’ll leave out the fact that you’ve got an IUD. Maybe you’ll just let him have his fantasy about you. You’d hate to break his little paguroidean heart.

Namjoon licks wide stripes through your folds, each stroke culminating in a suck at your clit before he starts the motion anew. He groans into your flesh as if it’s the finest thing he’s ever consumed, as if he can’t help how this makes him feel. Each stroke, each tug, each movement and sound he makes pushes you closer to an edge you didn’t realize was there.

Your hands find their way to his scalp. You run your fingers through the dense hair as you breathlessly moan praises to him. It’s all you can do not to grind down onto his face; you’d hate to feel like you’re suffocating him. When his teeth graze your clit, however, you find yourself gripping his hair close to his scalp and grinding down anyway.

“Fuck, I’m so close, I’m gonna come,” you keen, your hips dragging along his lips.

“Come on my face, baby. Give it all to me,” Namjoon growls. His grip on you tightens and he starts helping you hump his face.

Suddenly, the wave hits you. It carries you past the edge and out into a realm of pleasure you haven’t felt in ages. You cry out, your body tensing as your cunt pulses with release. High as you feel, the emptiness makes it feel incomplete.

It’s like Namjoon senses this, because abruptly, he’s flipping you down onto your back. He towers above you as you whimper and reach for him.

“Please, I need your cock,” you say, fighting tears as your orgasm’s flood recedes.

“I’m going to fuck my spawn into you over and over, baby,” he purrs, his eyes trailing up and down your quivering body. “Gonna fill your soft, pretty body up with my seed. You’re not going to be able to walk for days when I’m done with you.”

You watch as his hand drifts down his torso to tug at his massive length. Will it even fit? You’re not sure. And will he actually wreck you the point of rendering you immobile? Who fucking cares?? You’re willing to see him try. For science. Yeah, for science or something.

You reach for him again, hands open and needy as you help him pump his length a few times before he finally lifts his eyes back to you. He looks hungry, perhaps as even as needy as you feel.

Namjoon finally leans over you, and you feel the tip of his cock start pressing into your cunt. You suck in a breath as slowly, so slowly, he pushes further inside. His size almost hurts; it toes the delicious line between pain and pleasure, and you can’t be bothered to differentiate between the two. Not now, not in this moment.

He groans once he’s finally fully sheathed within you, and the sound of his pleasure makes you clench. The squeeze makes his body tense.

“Cunt’s so tight, so fucking right around me.”

If you weren’t so breathless from being filled, you’d cry out praise in return. You don’t get the chance to catch your breath. Namjoon starts thrusting slowly, and the drag of his skin against your core makes you grip the sheets and press your hips into his.

For a moment, you wonder if this is it. This is hybrid sex. It’s normal sex but just a little bit better in all the right ways. Your hormones sigh in content, but your scientist brain is a little disappointed that it’s not something more.

After a few moments, during which you finally seemed to adjust to his girth, he stops and hooks your legs around his elbows. The stretch of your muscles is unexpected and before he starts to thrust again, you panic.

“Namjoon, I don’t think I can bend like tha—”

“Yes you can. I’ve got you,” he murmurs, his face dropping to kiss your knee as you adjust. He’s got your legs bent up at an intense angle, making his thrusts even deeper. Because of his strength, he’s able to help support your weight on his arms and thighs so that you don’t have to support it yourself. You’re completely at his mercy now, and fuck if it’s not the hottest thing that’s ever happened to you.

He picks up his pace as you relax into the position. Every thrust has his hips slapping against yours, the wet sound of his cock fucking your cunt echoing into your tiny bedroom. You realize through the haze that your bed is creaking and hitting the wall behind it as he fucks you hard and deep. You can’t be bothered to care if your neighbors will hear. They can probably hear you moaning and crying in his arms too. The hybrid above you seems to think the same thing.

“That’s right, baby, let them hear you. Let them hear me breed this wet fucking hole. Let them hear me fill you with my spawn.” Namjoon’s breaths are beginning to grow raged. When he’s not grunting obscene, filthy things at you, he’s biting his lip. Sweat’s dripping down his temples and neck and beading at his chest. “You’re mine. This is my cunt, no one else can fill you like this, can they?”

“No one can. I’m yours,” you whimper as your hands trail up to grip his arms. “Only yours.” What the hell has gotten into you? Pre-thesis trip you could never.

His thrusts grow rougher still and you realize that the string within you has wound itself tightly again. Fuck, it’s never snuck up on you like this. Namjoon’s cock is dragging against every sensitive spot it can and at such a quick pace that suddenly, just as soon as you noticed it, the string is snapping.

You scream. You’ve never screamed during sex before. This orgasm’s even stronger than the last; your ears ring, your heart pounds, your cunt tries to squeeze around his length so tightly that he almost can’t move. And you’re wet, so so suddenly wet. There’s a trickle down your ass and into the sheets and you realize that this fucking hybrid’s still fucking you through it as if it’s nothing.

He doesn’t make it much longer after you. As soon as your orgasm begins to ebb, his hips begin to stutter, hard and fast.

Namjoon swears one last time and with a last snap of his hips, he comes, emptying himself within you.

Your ears continue to ring with the sudden silence. The sound of heavy breathing is the only thing reminding you that right, yes, you’re still alive, this isn’t a weirdly real wet dream at all. This actually happened.

You wait for Namjoon to pull out, only to realize that he’s looking down at where you’re still joined. His brow is furrowed, even and his chest rises and falls with recovering breaths.

Finally, you break the silence.

“Everything okay, Namjoon?”

“Yeah, just ... I didn’t realize you could gush like that.” His fingers brush along the stretch marks at your inner thighs as he looks down at the sticky scene.

“Yeah, it’s a bit messy, I’m sorry. It means you did a good job though.”

Namjoon grabs a pillow and places it under your hips before carefully pulling out. You whimper at the sudden loss of his cock.

“Don’t apologize, I just—”

Is he ... is he pouting right now??

He sits back on his heels and surveys your wrecked, tired body, the pout still playing his lips.

“I just wish you could have done that on my face. It smells so good.”

Your feel your face heat instantly. Not even his obscene dirty talk had you feeling this embarrassed. Does he even know what he’s saying right now?? You’re so stunned you can’t even speak.

Namjoon shrugs to himself before finally settling next to you in the bed and pulling you towards him with care.

“It’s fine,” he says into your neck. “The night is still young, it just means I’ll have to try harder when we go again in an hour.”

Your stomach lurches at the thought. You’re not sure if it’s horror or anticipation. “Again? In an hour?”

Morning comes sooner than either you or Namjoon expect, and with it, your roommate, also arriving sooner than you expect.

He makes himself known in his customary way, which doesn’t have the customary result he expects. Barging into your room, already recounting the wonders he saw out at the reef, goes over poorly when you’ve got a hybrid still sleeping in your bed, clinging to you under the thin sheet covering your naked bodies.

Seokjin yelps. You scream. These are normal and expected reactions.

But poor Namjoon … he does neither of those things.

“I’ve never seen a grown man skitter.”

“Well, you scared him. I think he’s got a right to be spooked.”

You and Seokjin are standing outside of your bedroom door while Namjoon hides under your bed, refusing to come out until he thinks it’s safe. Your roommate’s not wrong; the man had absolutely skittered into his new hiding place. He’d actually tried to drag you with him, but you’d resisted long enough to shout at Seokjin to leave before you tore him a new asscrack.

“His dick is … well, it’s huge.”

“Nice subject change there, you jerk.”

“What? You expect me to see an endowment like that and not say something? How did you even fit it inside you?”

“Please don’t say the word endowment. We’re stressed enough about funding without you comparing his dick to the massive amount of money we’re missing out on.”

“Fine. Unlike the rich white assholes back home though, he seems … nice? I guess? The whole hiding under the bed thing notwithstanding. Did he at least know how to use that enormous—”

You hold up a hand. “Just stop. The sex was great. Amazing even. But um, the hiding thing—”

“You’re about to tell me something weird aren’t you. Hon, you’ve got to stop bringing home your weird hippie types, like, you can’t just bring hot homeless dudes home. Living in a van is not the same as having a house! I hope you used a condom.”

“Jin. Ugh. God, that was one fucking time. He’s not unhoused and even if he were, what business is that of ours?”

Suddenly a voice comes from inside your bedroom. It’s muffled, and perhaps a little salty in tone, but it’s now close enough to make you think that maybe Namjoon’s gone from hiding under the bed to hiding under the blankets. “Well, technically I am homeless and it’s all your fault!”

Seokjin raises an eyebrow and levels a hard stare at you. “Talk.”

Namjoon doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to get back to the beach after being coaxed out from your bedroom. In fact, he’s not in much of a hurry to do anything besides follow you around the little apartment, wrapping his arms around your waist whenever he’s got the chance. He’s also not in much of a hurry to put on any of the clothes that Seokjin picked out for him.

Namjoon just looks at the garments and instead walks over to you and pulls your body into his chest. His body is warm against your back. The gesture seems sweet, but it’s beginning to get annoying. Seokjin looks the two of you up and down, your stiff form enveloped by Namjoon’s lanky, muscular one.

He shrugs. “If I had thighs like that I’d eschew pants too, I guess.”

You purse your lips as you watch Jin leave the room, leaving you with the very naked and needy Namjoon.

“Hey, so um,” you start, your fingers finding his arms to loosen his hold on you. “You’re really cool, but I’m not much of a … cuddler? Like casual cuddling is cool but this is a bit much.”

Instead of letting you shake him off, the hybrid’s hold around you tightens.

“I’m not cuddling,” he scoffs. “I don’t cuddle. This is protection. I’m making sure you stay safe until you can release your eggs in the ocean.”

It’s very hard not to roll your eyes and scoff back. This is an instinctual behavior for a lot of brachyura species, and apparently it’s something he’s displaying too.

You pat his arm, perhaps with a little bit of condescension. “Yeah, but I don’t have any natural predators, big guy.”

“True. But you’re still all soft.” His hand trails up from your waist to fondle one of your breasts. Your breath hitches while he continues to speak. “You still need protection.”

“Namjoon, I’m not going to suddenly sprout an exoskeleton.”

“Don’t care. Still gonna do my job as your mate, at least until you can get back to the ocean.”

“Buddy, we had mammalian sex!”

As much as you protest, it’s no use. At any given moment as the day moves on, Namjoon’s got his naked body entwined with yours, to protect you from predators like email pings from your computer and Seokjin (but only when he suddenly stands up or steps too close to you). It’s all you can do to get him to release you from the confines of his embrace so that you can use the bathroom. For his part, Namjoon seems to be content to spoon you on the couch as you mindlessly sort through thesis research.

It could be worse, you guess. You’re getting your touch fix for the next few months of thesis hell.

Seokjin tolerates the interloper as well as can be expected, but softens when he sees the delighted look on Namjoon’s face as he has instant ramen for the first time. It’s a humble dinner, but it does the job. After that, Namjoon seems to soften on Jin too, and finally, you can move around the apartment without requiring Namjoon’s protection.

The next day, the hybrid seems more restless. He’s not ready to go back to the beach, but if you had to guess, he’s close. Now that he’s no longer preoccupied with your safety, he starts inspecting things in the apartment with care. He opens cabinets and sticks half his big body in them, probably just to see how it feels. He smells and sniffs things like spices and soap. He touches the carpet and the couch and the different utensils sitting in the kitchen’s tool crock. Nothing is not worth his inspection, it seems.

At one point, you walk into the living room to see him standing in the box that Seokjin’s extra computer monitor shipped in. He stands in it as if it’s exactly what he’s supposed to be doing at the moment, while still naked as ever, his hands at his sides with his back straight. His full lips are pursed into a thoughtful pout as he stares off into space.

“Everything okay, Namjoon?” you ask gently, hoping you don’t startle him.

He blinks and turns to look at you.

“Yeah. Uh …” He pauses, and looks down at his feet in the box, and then back to you. “Does this box make my butt look big?”

It’s now your turn to blink and not speak for a moment.

This must be an instinct thing too. And it’s one you’re frankly unequipped to handle. How do you tell a hermit crab hybrid that he doesn’t currently need a shell, not in this form at least?

“Um, no, it doesn’t,” you say carefully but casually. “Looks great.”

Namjoon tries to hold your gaze but you glance away and try to make yourself look less perturbed by pulling out your phone and pretending to check the time. When you look back at him, his pout is even more pronounced.

“I don’t believe you,” he grumbles.

The rest of the day passes much like this, with Namjoon trying to see how it feels to cram his big body in various spaces. At one point, you find him sitting in your empty suitcase. At another Seokjin enters the bathroom and comes out screaming moments later; Namjoon had laid down in the bathtub and decided not to make his presence known until Jin had already lowered his fly to pee.

Your favorite might be the hybrid’s discovery of the colander in the kitchen. After inspecting it closely, he sets it atop his head. He thinks for a moment, rolling his shoulders and shifting his weight between his feet, as if to feel out how the colander might protect him from danger. Whatever protection it offers must be enough because after a moment, he nods, and carries on doing whatever it is a hermit crab hybrid does after finding suitable protection. In this case, it’s sitting at the kitchen table, eating peanut butter straight out of the jar with his bare fingers while you and Seokjin chip away at your research.

Later that evening, after you’d all eaten dinner and had gone to bed, Namjoon wakes you up and says, “I think it’s time for you to go release your eggs into the ocean.”

And who are you to argue with his instincts as a hybrid?

As luck would have it, the beach is vacant still, and the weather is having one of its rare mild days. There are no errant visitors escaping their homes for some sun. There are no beach patrols or lifeguards, no kids playing hooky. It’s just you and Seokjin and the increasingly agitated crustacean hybrid who just wants to make sure you deposit your eggs in the ocean like a good girl.

No matter how many times you tell him you’ve got an IUD and a mammalian reproductive system, he still thinks that he needs to see you leave his spawn out in the sea. He’d tried to pull you out of bed to do it last night, but you’d pinched his nipple to get him off you and made him compromise: if he put a pair of Seokjin’s shorts on and left the colander at home to come with you, he could escort you to the ocean to “deposit your eggs.”

So now it’s mid morning. You’re about to wade out into the ocean to please Namjoon’s instincts.

Seokjin had shaken his head and said, “The things we do for science” when you’d woken him. He’s not wrong, you sigh to yourself as you kick off your sandals and shrug off your bag. You set them in the sand next to Seokjin and approach the water lapping the shore. You turn, and see that Namjoon’s close behind you, but instead of looking out at the ocean, he’s looking at the sand underfoot, his brow furrowed.

“Everything okay, Namjoon?”

“Yeah, go release your eggs, baby.”

You hate that his casual language still makes you preen, days after he’d fucked you. It’s even more infuriating that he can make something like releasing imaginary spawn out into the ocean sound remotely sexy. And yet … the things we do for science … and for the people we’d probably come to love if circumstances were different.

The water is warm and comfortable as you wade out into the shallows. It soaks through the running shorts you’d worn and wicks up your shirt as you move deeper, so that eventually it’s up to your waist. You turn and look at the beach, Seokjin standing where the sand is still dry, Namjoon closer, the waves brushing over his toes.

You squat a little, trying to make your imaginary spawning look convincing. After a few moments, you stand and start wading back. As you emerge from the ocean, Namjoon smiles. Ah, he has dimples, how had you never noticed?

Seokjin trots forward and tosses you a towel as you walk further ashore. You wrap it around your middle as Namjoon moves to wrap his arms around you.

“Thanks for having my spawn,” he murmurs, his voice sweet and heady as he kisses your forehead and holds you for a moment. Your eyes meet Seokjin’s over his shoulder, and the man looks like he’s about to burst out laughing. He keeps his cool and swallows it down as Namjoon releases you and clears his throat.

“So uh, just a second, I think—” The hybrid squints and looks out across the sand. “—Yeah, one moment.”

He runs off in the direction he squinted, and suddenly stops and squats down. You and Seokjin watch as he picks something up and looks at it closely. And then he puts it down and picks something else up. The objects are too small for you to see clearly.

“Is he … is that …” Seokjin trails off and starts walking toward him, and you follow.

“It’s another vacancy chain,” you say as the two of you draw closer to the hybrid, just enough to see the gathering at his feet. You watch Namjoon’s eyes trail up and down the line of hermit crabs, who’ve already ordered themselves by size. “Maybe one of them is about to give up a shell that’s the right size?”

Your roommate throws you a glance. “That’s the hope, right?”

You nod. Is he expecting this to bother you in some way? For a moment, you zone out, wondering what you’re supposed to feel about all this. But it’s only for a moment, because suddenly your attention’s being stolen away.

“You fuckers, I’ll fucking fight you!” Namjoon suddenly shouts.

With a little pop, he disappears. In his place is a little hermit crab without a shell, its little spiral abdomen, soft and vulnerable, curled up to the side. Seokjin’s shorts flutter to the ground a second later, now empty. You and Seokjin watch as this little crab, presumably Namjoon, scuttles up to another crab similar in size, and starts to hit it with his pinchers. All hell breaks loose in the vacancy chain, and you loose track of Namjoon as the hermit crabs all swarm and start … fighting, you guess? It’s weird and kind of hard to look at, but you also can’t get yourself to look away.

After a few moments, a lone crab wearing a shell emerges from the scuffle and creeps toward you and Seokjin.

“Is that … Namjoon? Is he looking at you?” Seokjin groans. “This is fucking weird.”

You squat down to look at the little crab. It, or maybe he, waves a claw at you, almost as if saluting, and then walks off quickly. You let your eyes follow him down the beach as he moves away from the fray. When you turn to look back at the vacancy chain scuffle, you see that it’s broken up. The crabs are dispersing and going off to do whatever it is that they do during these late summer days.

Namjoon’s gone. And you can’t help but smile to yourself and wonder what the fuck just happened.

“Is that it?” Jin’s beside himself with laughter. “He’s just fucking leaving? No dinners or dates, just a fuck and run after you’ve fulfilled your purpose? Is there no romance left in the world??”

You stand and dust off your knees, watching your fellow scientist send the hermit crabs scurrying away as he walks up and reaches for his discarded shorts.

You sigh wistfully. “With the way the guy ate me out, I was dinner.”

“That’s gross. That’s fucking disgusting. I don’t need to know that shit.”

“Look I’ve seen things now, don’t knock hybrid dick till you try it.”

“Quit bragging, it’s unbecoming.”

“Fine. Just know that jealousy is unbecoming as well.”

As you walk back down the beach to collect your things, Seokjin squints out to the horizon. He takes a deep breath and sighs. “Well it’s good he was a paguroidea and not brachyura I guess, right? You didn’t like compromise your data or anything?”

“Oh god no,” you shake your head. “I will do a lot of things for science, but that’s not one of them.”

“Then, uh, what was all this then with Namjoon? An experiment of sorts?” He’s got a smile on his face, and a light, teasing tone. He’s trying to make sure you’re okay, it seems, trying to gauge whether or not you caught feelings.

“No, not an experiment,” you say, letting yourself grow quiet with thought.

“Then what would you call it? Like are you okay?”

“I’m fine!” You really are, you mean it when you say it. “This was fun, I think. Just some fun and helping someone who needed it.”

“So is that code for schedule you a vacation for the next mating season around here or—”

Seokjin’s sentence is cut off by you throwing a sandal at him.

“You jerk! I can’t believe you’re supposed to be the uncle to my spawn and you’re treating me this way!”

Your roommate’s laughter peals through the air. “You’ll regret that when you need help coming up with names for your several hundred children.”

“Ugh, thank god for larval stages and precocious young.”

“They grow up so fast. Want noodles when we get home?”

“Please. Let’s head back.”

Thank you for reading! Drop me an ask and tell me what you think. Find me in various places at my carrd :)

©miscelunaaa 2022. My work is only found on this blog and under my ao3 pseud. Do not, under any circumstances, copy or repost my work. Thank you.

posted: originally to ao3 9.10.2022, to tumblr on 10.26.2022

#namjoon fic #kim namjoon fic #kim namjoon fanfic #bts fic #bts hybrid fic #hybrid namjoon #hybrid namjoon x reader #hybrid knj #knj x female reader #knj x reader #knj fic #lmao what is tagging anymore #it's been so fucking long since I last made a big post I think I've forgotten everything tbh

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z-nightshade · 6 months

Text

Ichigo walked carefully along the wall, eyes focused on where their feet would go next to make sure they didn’t fall.

It was a calm day, quiet, with only the world around them humming faintly.

Ichigo enjoyed days like these.

Perhaps they’d enjoy it more if the twins and their mother were there, but Karin had a soccer tournament and Ichigo had not been in the mood to join them.

(They didn’t cope well with new places, too much information they didn’t know how to filter out quite yet. They were working on it.)

They contemplate the height of the wall.

It’s not too high, if they fell there wouldn’t be any permanent damage but it would no doubt sting.

They probably shouldn’t, but they’re bored and Tsuki and Taiyō have been quiet. So they carefully line themself up and cartwheel along the top.

They do it slowly, even if they could no doubt go much faster. Their mother would be disappointed if they got hurt.

Hand. Feet. Hands. Feet’s. Hands-

They abort the motion quickly, using their hands to steady then lower themself to sit on the top of the wall.

They can feel the sting of where their hands twisted against the brick, but they were about to knock into someone.

It was a miracle they didn’t fall.

(The air tasted of electricity and they could feel the elegance and strength of the person who had practically appeared out of nowhere. They had barely felt them coming.)

Ichigo looked up, preparing to greet whoever had placed themself on their path, only…

There wasn’t a person in front of them at all, but a black cat with gold, gold eyes.

“Hello,” Ichigo greeted quietly, staring intently at the not-cat, because cats didn’t feel like that.

The cat didn’t respond, but Ichigo could feel the amusement coming off them in waves.

“Do you prefer he, she or they?” Ichigo asked. “You can meow or tap the number that correlates to the answer.”

The cat seemed amused, head titling slightly, but meowed twice.

She then.

“You don’t have a tag,” Ichigo mused quietly. “But I don’t think you’re the type to want a collar or tag either?”

She meowed again and moved forward to nudged against their arm.

The movement brought their attention to the hands, more specifically, the blood dripping from them into the bricks.

“Oh,” They hummed. “That’s no good. I should probably head home and clean that up.”

Ichigo picks the rocks out of their palms carefully before sliding off the wall onto the floor.

Their mom would be mad at them if they didn’t clean themself up.

The lighting-feline-predator-amused-fast jumped off the wall onto their shoulders.

“Oh, do you want to come too?”

Should they bring a strange not-cat into their home?

Probably not.

The cat nuzzled into their neck with a purr and Ichigo couldn’t help but respond with their own.

Fuck it.

They’d deal with the consequences later.

#night’s bedtime stories #sunrise & moonfall #my fics #extras #bleach #ichigo kurosaki #yoruichi shihouin #inspired by a comment on my fic

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whymori · 15 days

Note

Your Drithen and Idarus tag is absolutely normal feel free to talk about them in a totalllyyyy normal way

Holy shit. I will.

So basically the overview of Drithen and Idarus in the main Zorith story is that Idarus is the revered God of Zorith, and Drithen is Its prophet. Things are very different to what they seem though because Idarus is a CUNT. For hundreds of years maybe since Zoriths creation it’s been gaining power off of the struggles and deaths of those around Zorith (It is a god of doom and deceit)

Anyway yada yada yada every god that sends down prophecies needs a prophet, and Idarus has had MANY. But since It can’t let the whole actually I’m a dick thing get revealed it just kinda. Controls Its prophets. Like a puppet. Think ratatouille but weirder.

Drithen (full name Drithen Zerades) fucking hated their life SO BAD before becoming the prophet (their family was a line of nobles close to the royal family, and Drithen had a ton of expectations on them due to this (mainly having children to continue the family line. Weird.)) so when they started having fucked up dreams and eventually got called to meet THE PROPHET they honestly were a little stoked.

They got a lot less stoked though when it was said that they were the next prophet, and that their old life would never return again. And then they got EVEN LESS STOKED when during the initiation ritual to exchange the mantle, Idarus revealed Itself, revealed what It was, and then physically appeared in the real world out of the old Prophet and blinded Drithen because you really cannot stare directly at Gods (after this their vision is similar to someone with like. Really bad cataracts. Still partial vision, but they are definitely considered blind)

So anyway all that happens Drithen is the Prophet now yayyyyy they should be totally dead. Like not in control at all probably not even conscious anymore. But uh no, pookie is still in there still in control. Motor functions in tact. This honestly means nothing for Idarus but as you could imagine this means EVERYTHING to Drithen.

Anyway now Drithen is in an undying state for around 70-80 years not sure exactly how long tbh I can’t be assed to decide exactly. It’s a LONG TIME THOUGH, and when your only company is the God of your kingdom that is able to directly control you and dish out sick bars (prophecies) into your mind to tell the kingdom, you’d probably talk to it once or twice (many times)

Issue occurs: they’re unhealthily gay towards God now. Even bigger issue: God is unhealthily gay towards them back.

Anyway they hold hands and kiss and have romantic dinners (sit next to each other because neither of them can eat) or whatever idk I’m homophobic but only to those two. Then Idarus comes up with the whole Casso and Ecith plan that totally could never fail and will make It stronger than anyone could ever imagine, Drithen spits the bars to Zorith and then is like “wow since this is going to make you insanely strong you don’t need little old (over 100 years old stop) me anymore. Please let me rest my pookiebear.”

Idarus promises to Drithen that It will simply resurrect them once it becomes the most powerful being this side of the whole fucking planet and then Drithen DIES. FOR THE SECOND TIME.

And instead of rest they get LIMBO ‼️‼️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️☝️☝️☝️🔥🔥🔥🙏🙏🙏 WOOOOOOOOO WE LOVE PROPHECY LIMBO

Then some unimportant things happen (cough. Practically all of Casso and Eciths story) idc idc gay people or something and Ecith winds up also in LIMBOOOOO ‼️‼️‼️🙏🙏🙏🎉🎉🎉💪💪💪🗣️🗣️🗣️

Drithen is so happy (mildly interested) that there’s finally someone else in this creepy ass fucked up mirror version of Zorith (limbo is weird alr) and is like “ohhhh your one of the gay people Idarus made up. Wdym we’re going to kill Idarus. Who is Casso??” And then they do everything in their power to help Ecith find a way to kill Idarus. This takes another 25 years so our guy is like 175 or smth by now but uhh yea eventually everything is lining up and Drithen calls in Idarus to limbo (which It had zero idea even existed. Fucking loser what a moron) promptly DIES. FOR THE THIRD TIME

It’s fine though because Idarus’ fate is sealed by two different gay people and IT DIES. YAYYYYYY

Anyway Ecith comes back to life when limbo collapses (limbo was a part of Idarus even if It wasn’t aware. So when It died limbo died) but so does Drithen 💀 They CANNOT have peace. Anyway their fate is undecided rn they’re either going to just. Become a person again or alternatively I’m going to ruin them for eternity by making them Idarus’ successor.

Now you might be thinking “this isn’t at all romantic what are you yapping about???” But you have to understand that Drithen and Idarus’ love language is literally killing each other. One must imagine Drithen and Idarus setting traps for each other like Tom and Jerry. Drithen and Idarus missed each other every day when Drithen died and they also simultaneously hate each other. If all stakes were removed and Drithen and Idarus were just normal people they would be in the healthiest relationship known to man. They would (and did in Drithens case) die in each others arms. I’m normal I’m the most normal guy ever thank you 👍

God do I even want to post this holy shit

#Drithen #Drithen and Idarus #original post #Idarus #Casso and Ecith #<- they were mentioned ig. god they are another can of worms too holy balls #I’m spinning Drithen and Idarus in my head always and forever fyi

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goldenboygate · 1 month

Note

https://www.tumblr.com/inchidentally/746333722994966528/seems-to-be-a-lot-of-you-joining-fandom-for-some?source=share

okay i don't necessarily think the OG post should have been in the tag of the ship they're criticizing like tumblr etiquette 101 people but also

is this person legitimately ok or did seeing lando and carlos hanging out trigger some sort of breakdown for the "mctwink" people

"carlos and lando have only hung out twice outside of f1" you clearly don't know shit. they've hung out twice this season alone mayhaps, probably more than that.

"carlos and lando aren't friends, they've said multiple times they're just competitors" okay? so have lando and oscar? what point are you trying to make?

"carlos is only using lando for publicity to get another seat" this isn't a slight to lando, but WTF DO YOU MEAN, carlos just had a perfect weekend (much better than damaging his floor in quali and taking a trip through the grass in the race 🤭) and you think he needs LANDO for publicity after that? bestie, sit down, you sound ridiculous. also going off about that pure electric ad as if lando's dad hasn't gotten half the paddock involved to advertise for him before lmao.

i also love the emphasis on "omg we only find out about mctwinks hanging out after the fact because oscar doesn't use lando for popularity" 99.9% of carlando hanging out away from the track has been confirmed by fans, not them, and if they have confirmed it, it was long after the fact.

can oscar fans grow the FUCK up please.

this is absolutely unhinged behaviour. and they’re complaining about ME????

this person clearly knows fuck all about carlando and should just keep their mouth closed about things they can’t comprehend. loser behaviour for real.

#karenína answers

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writingbyrenae · 10 months

Text

Untitled Robot Fucker Story

(This isn't really a proper wip intro, I just wanted to get input on my ideas)

Genre: science fantasy

Setting: earth like planet

Tropes/CWs: enemies to lovers, bullying, former child soldiers, reverse harem, whump?, (dubcon?) smut

Rough summary [so far]:

Merula, a young woman in willing exile from human society, lives in the ruins surrounding a beautiful city full of robots. She’s never been inside, and she never intends to. Instead she runs an emergency clinic for humans and robots, rescuing people who get lost or are attacked by the various monstrosities that lurk where civilization once was. Unfortunately, her clinic is technically illegal, and the knights of the robot city corner her. She’s given a choice: Serve out a sentence as one of their medics, or be sent back to human civilization. It’s not even really a choice - returning to humans isn’t an option. Besides, she likes robots. Maybe more than she should.

Too bad not all the robots like her. Turns out there are two familiar faces she’s expected to help, figures from the robot rebellion that led to her turning her back on her society. One, her dead father’s sworn rival. The other, the only surviving leader of the rebellion itself. They remember her. They know what she’s done, and didn’t do. And they’re not going to let her escape like she did during the war. On top of that, a third robot joins in, young and reckless and seeking the approval of his heroes. He doesn’t know who she is. She hopes he never learns.

Characters (so far):

Merula Kyriel - Heroine

"Everything is gonna be alright, no matter what."

Human (Latina coded)

Genius roboticist

Former child soldier in self-imposed exile from humanity

Believes she's overcome the trauma of her past (she hasn't!)

Sunshine girl - Bright eyed sweetheart who likes helping people and tends to suppress her darker emotions rather than face them

Zodiac the Victorious - antagonist/LI

"I don't like liars, girl. Especially ones who are bad at it."

Was one of three leaders of the robot uprising in a human metropolis. He's the only one who survived

Cold, cynical, suppressed cruel streak but deeply loyal to those under his command, even the humans

Dislikes humans in general; has a shared past with Merula he's bitter about

They met twice when she was younger, during the rebellion. Memorable encounters

He's attracted to her but doesn't like it

Solstice the Free - antagonist/LI

"You're not even half the human your father was."

A powerful robot from the uprising

Grumpy, antagonistic, loner - frustrated and exhausted, probably takes a lot of naps

Rivals with Merula's father - possibly killed him

Sees his rival in her face and he hates it

Mostly just wants to be left alone but plot keeps happening

Trigger - antagonist/LI

"Wow, humans bruise really easily!"

A young knight built after the uprising

Impatient, energetic, impulsive, likes music and competitions

Has no idea who Merula is tbh, he just enjoys messing with her

Looks up to the older knights as his heroes

Basically a shounen protagonist but with the asshole traits played up

Troubleshoot - ally

"No worries! I got your back."

Medic bot, "twin" sister to Trigger

Cheerful, naive, fun loving, warm-hearted, but more mature than her 'brother'

Also has no idea who Merula is but thinks humans are neat

Takes her job seriously despite her light-hearted nature

Annoyed and upset by the strange (to her) behavior of the older knights

Tag list, ask to be added or removed:

@clairelsonao3

#wip: untitled

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sadgirlautumn · 1 year

Note

It’s Blog Rec O’ Clock! 🦄Tag Away!

I’ll stare directly at (enter blog here) but never in the mirror

The wisest Swiftie of them all

Your “we’ll never go out of style” Person

Someone that reminds you of a Midnights 3AM track! Who & which track? (bonus if you say why!!)

Someone who could totally draw the 13 on Taylor’s hand/write lyrics on her arms (or help Andrea… can anyone really do it better than her? Probably not but we can aspire)

The person secretly on Taylor’s account and responsible for the green dot

Pick one (1) person to meet Taylor with (ONLY ONE. I’m watching you 🫵.)

Recommend anyone that has any kind of merch store you think we should check out! (clothing, stickers, homemade items, candles, anything!)

Who comes to mind when you listen to Speak Now? What about Lover? EVERMORE?

@singlethread perhaps I don’t directly stalk their blog but they’re always up late like me so 🤪

@itsthedamnseason because I love reading everything she has to say!

@parisbytaylorswift will absolutely keep us both fashionable 💃

easily @cruel-style their immediate love for the great war is something I’ll never forget

@faultlinegracie is just one of the nicest people. I know she would do a good job of it!

@tolerateit just because I think it would be funny and shocking if it was Meg (I mean she didn’t even post one succession or puppet history meme while she was logged in?! Talk about a miracle!)

I’m not choosing between my mutuals I would just spin a wheel and take whoever it lands on 🤷‍♀️

It’s not merch necessarily but @cruel-style is soooo talented that I’m tagging them twice. 😌

speak now: @heystephen because it haunts me that they hate it. lover: @stood-onthecliffside I think has been annoyed at my dislike for lover as a whole. evermore: @evermour the url is the main reason!

#asks #blog rec anon #posting this crashed my phone so I had to repost on my laptop 😃

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sofarsofastmp3 · 5 months

Text

i experienced penguins hockey and all i got were some lousy blurry photos of geno’s warmups because i didn’t realize i had live photos turned off for half the game

okay i wasn’t going to like Write about this game because i don’t actually have a lot to say and i’m not so much a Poster but then i did like a paragraph of tags under these photos and decided an actual post would be nice for posterity.

as previously stated, the loss is on me! i genuinely can’t remember the last time i saw a pens win in person. i know the losing streak started in feb 2018, so it really is out of everyone’s hands at this point. even last year, my siblings and i made plans to go to both pens @ panthers games in december and march since we rarely get two games in one season. it didn’t work out and i ended up just going to the one in march. they won in december, and lost in march!

anyways! as the daughter of terminally late people, this was my first time going down for warmups ever and it was so fun i love to examine everybody’s rituals. and i love looking at people’s signs!!!! including a little kid who had one that said in big letters “my name is also ryan graves!” maybe he too will grow up to be a gigantic haunted doll.

i’ve never sat in the lower bowl in my life and it’s crazy down there. you can see EVERYTHING on approximately half the ice and NOTHING anywhere else. when smith scored, i thought it was doc because i have bad vision and the 9 looked like a 0. (our only goal being scored on the opposite end of me was very much on theme of me being bad luck but i got a great view of geno’s setup) if i ever did it again, it would probably only ever be like once a year to see My Guys Up Close.

the guy next to me was a panther fan who was with a pens fan and at least twice throughout the night he looked at his friend and said “bro malkins huge.” and he is!

i got to see so many cringefail powerplays! it’s so fun to watch something be bad on tv, read people talking about how bad it is, and then seeing it in person, only to realize it may actually be worse than you previously thought! i think this is good for us, though, and i agree with everyone saying we should shoot for the stars and become the worst powerplay in nhl history.

okay this bit is just for me. or just for me in a way that’s more indulgent than the way this entire blog is just for me. i don’t have a ton else to say except that for almost a full year i’ve been rekindling my relationship with hockey. and when i got back into it, i had a friend ask me if i was going to stick with the penguins as my number one even though they’re my dad’s team and my relationship with my dad has. changed. to say the least.

and at the time i kind of jokingly said “i’m just gonna steal them from him!” but i don’t even think i had to do that. it’s just simply not about him. he has nothing to do with it! i engage with this sport in a way so separate from how he would (the man used to call his team’s captain a crybaby!!! embarrassing!!! would NEVER be me!!!) i have built something that’s mine, and i love it in a way that is mine. and though i VASTLY prefer it when we win, i had so much fun last night- and have had so much fun for the last year- that i don’t particularly care about the outcome!!! at least until tuesday.

#hockeyblr if i’d known you existed before 2023 i’m not sure i ever would’ve had a hockey hiatus at all #okay over indulgent post over thanks for coming #h #p

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reeshyz · 1 year

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Title: Show me the light Pairing: Richard Z. Kruspe / Till Lindemann Presentee: @hiddeninthecellar Prompt: Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer Warnings/Tags: sick fic | cuddling | misunderstandings Word Count: 2.665 Summary: Richard gets sick but he doesn’t want the others to know. Sadly that backfires. Read on AO3: here

♪

Richard just wants to curl up and cry for a bit. His throat had been hurting for ages by now, but no matter how much cough drops he’s taking, nothing really helps. He just hopes that the others wouldn’t realize that he’s sick.

He hates being sick and always tries to avoid laying down or resting, but he is sure the others would just force him to. Richard has no time for that though.

Richard sneezes.

Shit.

“Okay I think we should try that one more time,” Flake says, completely ignoring Richard, who pretends that he’s busy writing something new down and wasn’t just sneezing loudly. It seems like so far nobody reacts. That’s good.

Richard tries to focus on the words in front of him, but it’s rather hard. By now he’s sure that he’s having a low fever and he tries to look in his bag for other medication. Normally he has stuff like that with him, in case the other idiots get sick. He didn’t think that he could be the one needing it now.

“Yeah I feel there is something missing,” Paul agrees with Flake and he starts to play the part again. Richard doesn’t react to that, he knows that his part is good enough and only later discussed.

He sneezes again.

Oh fuck.

“What if we change the lyrics there?” Christoph asks now and he points at some part of the paper that is still in Flake’s hand. Richard should probably get up and look over it as well, but now he has to cough.

Richard tries to do that quietly into his elbow.

“I changed the lyrics already four times,” Till says and his voice alone lets Richard shiver. Or maybe it’s the damn cold that is haunting him here. Richard dares to look up and luckily Tull isn’t watching him right now.

That means Richard could watch him.

It’s cold as fuck outside, but at least the sun is shinning. She’s even doing Richard a favor and shines through the window just onto Till’s beautiful face. Even his hair looks so shimmering like this and Richard almost sighs happily.

He has to turn away again or he would just embarrass himself.

“Then you can change it again,” Flake says, already sounding so grumpy. Richard doesn’t dare to intervene now, because he doesn’t need another fight like the Mutter one. These days, he tries to stay calmer.

It often doesn’t work out, but he can’t have any attention on him right now. He even made himself a tea instead of a coffee earlier, but luckily none of them can see what’s inside his mug. Clever.

Richard needs to be fit today.

Not exactly, even though he really likes working on this new album, but he has something even more important this evening.

Paul had invited Flake, Ollie and Schneider to a weird bar that night. Till had declined earlier, which meant they were alone. Richard knows what that means, so he had also rejected the idea of Paul.

Whenever the whole band was gone, Till would often spend his time with Richard. At first they had always just watched dumb movies or something but lately there had been lots of kissing and they had sex twice. Richard loves those times, even though he’s not really sure if they’re now just fuck buddies or something more. Till had never talked about it in front of the others though, which probably means that he just needs someone to fuck.

And Richard is glad to have him at all.

But that also means that he really can’t be sick today. That would ruin everything! Till hadn’t kissed him for three days and Richard misses him so badly. He just wants to feel him again. He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, when his stomach starts to act up as well now.

Richard sneezes again.

“Okay. Stop. Richard, are you okay?” Paul asks now and Richard tries to smile reassuringly at them, but it probably looks all weird, even Till is focusing on him now. Shit.

“Yeah why wouldn’t I be?” Richard asks, but of course his voice breaks when he says that. Till frowns and even Flake puts his papers away now. Before Richard can do anything else, Schneider takes his mug, looks into it and grins.

“Tea. He’s really sick,” Schneider says and Richard wants to punch him.

“Then what are you doing up?” Ollie asks and he sounds worried. Richard wants the ground to swallow him up. Instead he tries to stay calm and shrugs.

“I don’t feel so bad,” Richard answers and he holds his hands out for his tea again, but Schneider ignores him for the moment. His stomach hurts even more now.

“You should really go to bed,” Till says now and Richard huffs. This is exactly what he didn’t want. Richard gets up this time, to take his mug back but suddenly the room is spinning and he has to hold onto Schneider’s arm.

“Oh no,” Richard mumbles.

Till is there in a second, holding him up, just as Richard’s knees give out. Till has him though and Richard luckily doesn’t fall on his back, because that would be really shitty. Schneider looks really scared.

“I got you,” Till mumbles and he helps to turn Richard around.

“I don’t feel so good,” Richard says and before he can do anything else, his stomach gives up and he actually leans forward and everything comes back up. Richard can’t even be embarrassed, because his stomach is hurting so badly.

“Shit,” someone says behind him but Richard doesn’t care.

“Oh baby,” Till doesn’t even seem disgusted, he just gets out of his shoes and then carefully picks Richard up, before he can do something even more stupid. Like fainting right there into his arms.

“Get well soon,” Paul says, when Till walks out of the room but Richard doesn’t even hear him. He’s now feeling ashamed, but he doesn’t allow himself to speak. Till carries him very carefully and Richard tries to enjoy that despite his hurting stomach.

He had always dreamed of Till carrying him like this.

“There we go,” Till whispers fondly, when he opens the door to Richard’s room and puts him down into his back. He even helps Richard out of his dirty clothes and into his thick pajamas.

“I-I’m sorry,” Richard stutters, but Till shakes his head and presses a kiss to his forehead.

“Don’t be sweetheart. Just lay down and relax for a bit,” Till says and Richard leans back against his pillow. For now his stomach seemed to calm down, but who knows if it wouldn’t happen again.

His head is still hurting and he sneezes again. Till smiles at him, there’s something so soft in his eyes.

“How about you sleep for a bit?” Till says and he strokes through Richard’s hair, before he actually tucks him in. Richard smiles up at him, he really likes when Till is so tender towards him.

“Can’t. I… I wanna help you write the music and we were supposed to have some time alone tonight, “Richard says and he tries to sit up again. Till doesn’t let him though.

“Don’t worry. We can still spend some time together later and I will take care of the songs,” Till promises and Richard bites down on his lower lip.

“B-but I can’t just lay here. My thoughts will not stop tutoring me and I will go crazy. I never relax when I’m sick,” Richard stutters out and Till lifts the blanket again. He’s out of the dirty pants before Richard can even blink and lays down next to him.

“Okay then I’ll stay here and will distract you,” Till says and Richard gasps. Till pretends like he doesn’t see that and instead cuddles against him and… yeah that feels pretty good. So far they hadn’t really cuddled after sex, but this just felt so good.

“And how will you do that?” Richard asks, coughing again. Till smiles.

“We could watch some TV and cuddle, sounds like the perfect day to me,” Till says and he turns the TV on. He stops at a Christmas movie.

“Oh no that,” Richard groans.

“But you do look like a certain little reindeer with that red nose,” Till teases him before he presses another kiss to Richard’s cheek. Richard’s whole face is probably burning now.

“Shut up.”

They watch the movie anyway and Richard doesn’t even remember falling asleep in Till’s arms.

When Richard wakes up again, he’s alone.

His heart throbs.

Maybe he had just imagined all of this? But the TV is still on, even though there’s a different movie playing now.

His throat is still hurting, but he’s so thirsty. Maybe he could at least get up and get himself something to drink. It takes him games, but he luckily makes it to the kitchen. He just hopes Till wouldn't see him.

Richard is nervous. No, nervous isn’t even the right word. He is freaking terrified to see Till again and on top of that he feels like he might faint any moment again. His head is exploding in pain and he coughs.

“Richard?”

Oh and there is the reason for his panic. Till seems to look for him and Richard wants to hide behind his mug, but maybe that would be embarrassing. Instead he sits down at the table for a moment.

“I’m here,” Richard says and he has to cough again. Seems like Till is upstairs, but he is through the door in two seconds, when he hears Richard coughing. Richard smiles weakly.

“What are you doing out of bed?” Till asks and he seems so concerned and before Richard can even answer, Till is already pressing his hand to his forehead. Richard already knows that he has a bad fever and Till’s frown makes it worse.

“I was thirsty,” Richard whispers and then points towards his tea. His throat is still hurting and he wants this cold just gone. Till sighs.

“I would’ve made you something and brought it to your bed,” Till says and he strokes over Richard’s hair. He is a bit sweaty, but Till doesn’t seem to care. Richard almost leans into the touch, but he isn’t sure if he’s allowed to do that.

“Don’t wanna make you sick, too,” Richard mutters, while closing his eyes, but Till ignores him. Instead he can hear him working behind him and Richard focuses back on the damn tea. He coughs quietly again and he hears Till hum a song.

“I don’t care about being sick,” Till says and Richard’s head is throbbing so badly that he isn’t really sure what they talked about, so he doesn’t answer. Till sits down next to him and puts a plate in front of him.

It’s just a bit of bread with butter and some fruits. Richard makes a face.

“You need to eat at least a little bit and I will make you some soup later. Just try it. Especially after what happened earlier,” Till says and he is stroking over Richard’s hair again. Richard is glad that he isn’t purring, but it’s a close call.

“I’m surprised you’re still here,” Richard mutters and actually bites into the bread. His tummy doesn’t protest and Richard is a bit relieved.

“Where else would I be?” Till asks and he gets up again, to fill up Richard’s mug. This time the tea is even sweeter, when Richard takes a sip and Richard sighs happily. Yes this feels very good on his throat.

“Running away from a disaster like me,” Richard says and the blush on his cheeks isn’t just from his fever, but he hopes Till would ignore that. He can see how Till tilts his head.

“If it were for me, I’d never spend one day without you,” Till says and he holds out a piece of apple for Richard, who takes it in his hand, blushing even harder now. He wouldn’t let Till feed him. Yet.

But his words make him blush even more.

“I’m sorry for earlier, you must be disappointed that we didn’t have sex,” Richard says quietly and he sips on his tea again, so he wouldn’t say even more stupid stuff. Till chuckles a bit and Richard wants to die from all the embarrassment.

“I’m not disappointed,” Till says and he is smiling so sweetly. Richard pouts and Till just leans closer and kisses the pout right off his face and Richard is so surprised, that he doesn’t even kiss back.

“That is… I mean… what?” Richard stutters and Till strokes over his cheek.

“You could’ve told me you were sick, Richard. We could’ve gone out together another day.” Till says and he sounds so honest. Richard nods. He knows that, but he just didn’t want to miss his chance.

“Yeah I’m still sorry that we didn’t have sex” Richard blushes even worse and Till winks at him. He looks adorable like that and Richard wishes he could curl up with him in bed.

“Sweetheart, you do know that I love you even if we don’t have sex? I mean it’s really good sex, but if you’re sick, I like to care for you in other ways,” Till answers and Richard looks sharply up at that.

“You… love me?” Richard asks and his voice turns so high. Till frowns for a second.

“Of course I do. You think I would be in a relationship with you if I didn’t?” Till asks and Richard’s eyes widen. Oh hell.

“I… I had hoped that you’d see it as a relationship too, but I wasn’t sure,” Richard admits quietly and now it’s Till’s turn to be the surprised one.

“Shit. I never…. I never really asked you out, did I?” Till says then and he slaps his own forehead, he looks so stressed now and Richard has to giggle at that.

“We always say in every interview that communication is the key in this band, but as soon as it turns private we always forget about it. I thought you wanted not more, because we didn’t even tell the others,” Richard says and he apologizes when he has to sneeze again.

“You’re right. I thought you didn’t want the others to know. Maybe we should really have a few more conversations about this,” Till says and Richard smiles at him.

“Yeah maybe that’d be good,” Richard agrees easily.

Till nods and then gets up. This time he sits down next to Richard and holds his hand out. Richard takes it.

“Okay let me do this again. Would you… uhm go out on a date with me?” Till asks and Richard nods hastily.

“I would like that, because I’m… I’m in love with you too,” Richard says and when Till kisses him this time, Richard kisses back. It feels so good to be finally this close to Till.

“But I want you to know that I liked spending time with you today as well. I just would’ve felt better if you told me you were sick,” Till says and his nose bumps against Richard’s. They stay like this for a bit.

“So you like to spend time with me?” Richard asks all sweetly but Till grins widely.

“I wouldn’t change a thing… except when you vomited on my shoes,” Till says and Richard groans. Of course Till had to point that out. Richard just gets up and sniffles.

“That’s not funny,” Richard says, but Till is still grinning.

“It is. I can’t wait to tell the whole world,” Till admits and Richard’s heart stops for a moment. He can already picture it way too clearly. Richard shrugs embarrassed then Till even kisses his nose.

“I will go back to bed,” Richard announces and Till laughs.

“I will bring you some tea in a moment, sweet Rudolph,” Till says when he leaves.

Richard ignores him.

That better not be his pet name in this relationship.

#tillchard #reeshyzadventcalendar

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