#I ​only have 3 holes and 2 hands to offer take it or leave it wofboys🙄🤚🏾

[zorrasucia]

Teach Me Tonight - Part 6

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Deleted Scene] [Part 4] [Part 5] Part 6: [Part 7] [Deleted Scene] [Part 8]

Reader x Carmy Berzatto (The Bear FX)

Rating: Explicit (5k)

Tags: Smut, Set sometime after the opening of The Bear, Porn with a little plot, Virgin!Carmy, Jealous!Carmy, SoftDom!Carmy, Fluff, Miscommunication, Make up Sex, Sex Toys, P in V sex, Oral (M and F receiving), Both Carmy and Reader have a bit of a praise kink

Summary:

You were in over your head.

Some fashion vlogger had recorded a video in your store, giving it a glowing review and it had been good for business. Maybe too good. The store was now full of stylish teenagers with baggy jeans and designer bags, you had a new hire to train, and a local journalist had emailed you to ask for an interview.

He showed up a couple of days later, tall with dark hair, and every bit as stylish as you would expect a reporter from a fashion magazine to be. You had shown him around, let him take photos, talked about your favorite brands and decades of fashion, and complimented his printed shirt.

"It's from the seventies," he commented bashfully. "I'm a little obsessed."

And he talked about his ongoing quest for the perfect pair of bell bottoms. You showed him what you had in the store and promised to be on the lookout.

"You know, it's weird," he gestured to the side, where The Bear was. "I used to come here when they did sandwiches."

"They still do!" you beamed. "The fine dining is really good too. Well, I'm biased but-"

"Right! Being their neighbor and all," he concluded. You simply nodded along - no need to let him know the intricacies of your personal life.

"Let me buy you lunch," he offered. You were about to refuse when he added. "I'd love to try their food but I hate eating alone."

You accepted. It seemed harmless and it could be good for the restaurant too - maybe he knew a food critic and would recommend the place too.

Richie guided you both to a table with a smile, quickly catching up with your plan once you mentioned the interview, offering the journalist a sampler of the menu.

It was good - the food, the conversation. It caught you by surprise when Carmy stormed out of the kitchen, something angry in his stride.

"Are you enjoying the food?"

It was a simple enough question, it was the way he said it-

"It's excellent, thank you!" the journalist said earnestly, which only seemed to wind up Carmy even more.

"Good, great," he rasped, then turned towards you. "Can I talk to you?" it was said in that clipped tone that meant he was stressed and he didn't have good news.

You followed him to the back and touched his wrist briefly, trying to convey how important this was.

"Carm?" you asked, your face wrinkling in worry and confusion.

"You mad at me or something?" he asked.

"No! Just nervous, stressed... I don't even know - it's just the interview," you tried to reassure him. "Can we talk later, baby?"

"Sorry to interrupt," the journalist had walked up to you without either of you noticing. "I just wanted to know - are you the chef here?"

"He is, yes!" you smiled, thinking everything was going according to plan.

“Carmen Berzatto,” he said without offering his hand, his frown furrowed and something deadly in his stare.

The journalist gave one look at Carmy and his face shifted from friendly to scared. "I'll give you guys a minute."

Carmy was burning holes on the back of the guy's skull and you couldn't be more embarrassed.

"What's wrong with you?" you whispered.

"That fucking guy."

"He's the fucking journalist! Are you out of your mind, Carmen?" you were losing the last shred of patience you had left. "I was trying to do a nice thing and you- We can talk about this later at home, okay? Now leave, please."

You turned away from him and didn't look back until you had paid for lunch and walked the journalist out the door.

"I'm so sorry about him," you explained. "It wasn't personal."

"Don't worry about it. I worked as a server once. I swear working in a kitchen does things to your brain..." he mimicked a spiral by his temple. You winced.

"Yeah."

"Hope he doesn't bother you again," he said, which made your stomach drop. "I'll send you the article when it's done. And you have my number if you ever find those bell bottoms."

He waved goodbye and you huffed in defeat.

Suddenly, you were being hugged by Nat, her arms around your shoulders.

"Did Carmy send you?" you asked, patting her forearm.

"Kind of," she let go of you with a sigh. "He walked in the kitchen and kind of lost it? I had to get it out of him. And when he explained, I came over."

"Thank you," you said softly.

"He can be an idiot," she said.

"Yeah," you nodded.

"He loves you, though."

"I know," you said, rubbing your temples. It had been a long day. "I'll text him."

You were pacing the carpet, waiting for Carmy to get back from work. You had a list of things you wanted to tell him ready to go: that making a scene like that had been embarrassing and hurtful, that he had probably ruined the whole interview acting that way -

Your train of thought and frantic pacing was interrupted by the key in the door. Carmy walked inside, a defeated look on his face, and every cell in your body wanted to go and hold him but you stood still, arms crossed while he closed the door behind him.

"Hey," you said.

"Hey, I, uh," he stumbled. "What I said... What I did... I mean, even Richie thought that it was fucked up so..."

He let it hang there, in the air between you two, keeping his distance.

"Carm," you took a deep inhale. "I need you to understand the store is just as important to me as the restaurant is to you. It's finally going well. And maybe that means I have less time for you. I need to know that you'll be okay with it - with me being busy sometimes - that whatever that was won't happen again."

"I know, I know," he said looking at the ground. "I'm happy it's working out. I am."

You tilted your head. "Then what the hell happened?"

He rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand.

"It's so stupid," he mumbled, embarrassed. "I got jealous. So fucking jealous. I had never- I didn't know what to do with it."

You uncrossed your arms - you actually hadn’t thought of that.

"No need to be, Carm," you reassured him.

"I just-" he blinked hard like he sometimes did when he was stressed. "This tall as fuck guy, with the fancy fucking shirt, just being charming around you..."

"You think I care about that shit?"

"I don't know, maybe?" Carmy looked at you with wide eyes. "I'm an asshole sometimes, I cancel plans, my family is a fucking mess-"

"Hey, I like Nat!" you interrupted his spiral.

"And I think she likes you better than me."

You stood in silence for a while.

"I'm sorry. I am," he said in the end.

You moved one step closer and pressed your forehead to his. "It's okay if you're jealous, Carm. Just- keep your cool if it happens again. Please," you said softly. "I don't know if I can handle you acting like that again."

He nodded. "Promise."

"I'm coming home to you, baby. No one else," you emphasized, running your hands over his chest.

"Mhmm," he tilted his head, eyes closed, like he wanted to kiss you but needed your permission. You surged forward, trapping him in a tight embrace and a searing kiss.

It got heated quickly.

He cornered you towards the kitchen, grabbing and pressing, until you were sitting on the counter, legs bracketing his hips, hands in his hair.

"Carmy," you gasped, as he kissed your neck like only he knew how. His tongue traced the contour of your collarbone and you moaned.

He undid the first few buttons of your blouse, burying his face between your breasts, kissing and nipping. You carded your fingers through his hair, and crossed your legs behind him, keeping him close. The heat between your thighs was getting more unbearable as time went by. He started kissing down, like he would eat you out, atoning for what happened, but you didn't want that.

You pulled on his hair and made him look up. "I need you inside me," he exhaled shakily. "Now."

He took a condom out of his back pocket while you unbuttoned his slacks, undressing him just enough to free his cock. His hands went under your skirt, eager, and moved your underwear to the side. When Carmy leaned to start fingering you, you grabbed his wrist.

"I need your cock inside me," you clarified.

You didn't want the tenderness of foreplay. You moved to the edge of the counter, taking his cock in hand and putting the condom on yourself. You guided his head to your entrance and felt him fill you out. It hurt a little, your pussy tight and unprepped, and weirdly that was what you wanted now. You whined once he bottomed out and he groaned at the feeling, the sound making you roll your eyes.

"Fuck," you held him close, arms around his shoulders, clinging to him for dear life. Without knowing where it came from, you said to the side of his face: "Show me I'm yours."

He inhaled sharply, his hands shaking where they held your waist. Then his hips moved back and forth in one long, agonizing stroke. You moaned. Again. And you held him tighter, letting drowned out cries pour out from your lips. He kept going for a little while, the pace so slow that it made you wonder whether all his anger had fizzled out by now.

Except he started going hard, hitting that spot that made you dizzy. Your breasts and legs were shaking with every thrust. You covered your mouth to stop from screaming.

"Holy shit, Carmy" you mumbled.

His hands touched all over, scratching your thighs and up, squeezing your hips, tracing your sides, caressing your arms and holding your wrists. You shivered. His cock kept hitting just right, his mouth exhaling on the side of your face. His hand traveled south, finding your clit like it was second nature, thumbing at it in small circles, just the way you liked.

"No one can fuck me like this," you whined. "No one makes me feel this good."

His hips stuttered and he moved so that your foreheads were touching and his eyes were staring right into yours, you could feel the sweat on his brow.

"Yeah?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

"Yeah," you replied, your jaw slack as you kept panting and moaning. His pace was so steady that it felt like Carmy could go on forever. Then, impatient, you started thrusting your hips against his, making it go twice as fast, making him groan into your mouth and start losing control.

"Fuck," he cursed, grabbing your hips, steadying himself. "I'm so crazy about you."

"Carmy," you managed to say, desperate, your voice getting high, and your nails scratching at his scalp.

His free hand squeezed your breast over your bra and you slipped your hands under his shirt, caressing the hair on his navel, and up his chest, pinching one of his nipples hard.

"Fuck, baby," he groaned again.

You were so close you could almost taste it. Just then you grabbed his face with both hands.

"Tell me," you pleaded. "Tell me you'll never do that again. Tell me I'm yours."

"Never. Never, I promise," Carmy breathed into your mouth, little desperate sounds escaping his throat. "You're mine, you're mine, you're mine."

He came with a strong exhale, drowning every other sound into your neck. His thumb on your clit kept moving until you joined him, completely spent, bracing on the edge of the counter to stop yourself from falling back.

He placed gentle kisses on your throat while you both recovered your breath. You clenched your walls around his cock, drawing a satisfied moan out of him.

"Did you get the guy's contact?" he panted against your skin.

"Yeah, why?" you replied ruffling his hair with your exhale.

"Thought I'd send him a cannoli or something," Carmy looked up from his place on your chest. "Make sure what I did doesn't make you look bad."

You ran your fingers through his hair, soothing.

"I don't think that's necessary but I'm sure he'll appreciate it. He said something about wanting to marry whoever made the desserts," you teased.

"Don't think Marcus'll be interested," Carmy inhaled deeply, his nose on the exact place you sprayed perfume every morning, though by now it had probably faded into a saltier scent. "When's the article coming out?"

"Couple of weeks," you hummed, caressing his back under his shirt.  "We have time, baby. So much time."

~

You were leaning on the kitchen door, watching as Carmy and Syd posed against the counter. A photographer was giving them vague instructions about where to stand and where to look. She was also complimenting Carmy and hitting on him like she was getting paid overtime for it.

"Sydney, lean forward, yes, nice! Carmen, hit me with those blue eyes! Gorgeous, what a handsome guy!" she said with a cat-like smile.

The restaurant was going to be featured in Food & Wine, which entailed a photoshoot.

They had both started wearing their chef's whites, going for a more professional approach. Then, to make them more comfortable, the photographer asked them to change into their street clothes. It had done wonders for Syd, who was now showing off one of her mother's beautiful shirts with a proud smile on her face. It hadn't been quite as successful with Carmy - he had a tortured look in his eyes. Now he was standing awkwardly in the middle of the kitchen, even more withdrawn than when they had started, every wink and cheesy one-liner from the photographer making him wince.

"Okay, Sydney, a little to the side. Exactly, chin up, please! And Carmen - why don't you stand this way? Yeah, let's show off those arms."

You bit your bottom lip.

"Carm?" you called him - he turned with wide eyes. "Can I talk to you for a second?"

He nodded. "Sorry, excuse us," he mumbled, leaving the kitchen quickly, trailing behind you. He grabbed your hand and squeezed it. "I'm sorry," he said, his blue eyes pleading.

"What for?"

"All the things she's saying..." he turned briefly, making sure the door was closed. "Fuck, I don't mean to-"

"You're not doing anything wrong, baby," you reassured him, cupping his face gently. "It looked like you needed a break, is all."

"Yeah," he exhaled heavily. "It's a lot."

You nodded. "The kitchen looks really nice," you commented to lighten the mood. They had done a deep clean the day before that had run into midnight.

"Thanks," he smiled. Then added: "This is a fucking nightmare."

You intertwined your fingers with his. "I think-" you paused, "that she wants you to look confident. That's why she keeps saying nice things."

"They don't feel nice," he bit his cheek.

You remembered how hard it had been for him to accept compliments for anything other than his cooking when you had first started dating. He would scoff and dismiss every word. Even now, sometimes it felt like he didn't quite believe them and maybe was just humoring you - which broke your heart. There wasn't enough time to unpack all that, so instead you leaned forward, placing one hand on his hip, whispering to his ear, flirtatious.

"Carm, I want you to go in there and eye fuck that camera like you would if it was me," he took a sharp inhale. "I will make it worth your while. Let you do anything you want to me," you promised.

He gulped. "Jesus," he mumbled, his pupils dilated.

You gave him a brief kiss on the cheek. "I'll tell them you'll be back in a few minutes," you said with a satisfied grin and went back to your place by the kitchen door.

"He went for a quick smoke," you lied to Syd.

When Carmy returned, he was in control, hands on his hips, like he had suddenly remembered he owned the place.

"Okay, guys, let's get this over with," he took his place next to Sydney, leaning on the counter and staring right into the lens, something defiant in his stance.

Your heart started racing. Even the photographer seemed affected by the shift.

"Uh, yes, good," after a few clicks she said: "I think we got it. Mmm, one more from this angle and we'll be good to go."

She led them to the main entrance to The Bear, Sydney crossing her arms and Carmy mirroring that same stance. They looked like they had stepped out of a magazine, modeling some understated and ridiculously expensive brand. Carmy looked in your direction for a second and licked his lips, before he turned back to the camera, unflinching and determined.

Another few clicks.

"Thank you guys, that would be all," the photographer went up to shake their hands and say her goodbyes. You were about to follow her out when Carmy took you by the wrist.

"See you tonight," he drawled and you felt yourself get wet.

"When I said you could do anything you wanted to me, I wasn't expecting this," you panted, your hands buried in Carmy's curls, as he kept kissing and licking every inch of your pussy. He was taking his sweet time too, biting on your thighs and going up to give some attention to your breasts and neck whenever he felt you were getting too close to your release.

"What were you expecting?" he asked, an amused glow to his face while he rested his chin on your hip, his mouth and nose shiny with your arousal.

"I don't know," you sighed, frustrated but so turned on. His hand caressed your pussy gently and you moaned. "Give you a blowjob, wear a silly costume, something like that."

"And are you into that?" he asked.

"I do like to suck your cock," you said honestly. Sometimes, with other guys, it had felt like a chore, not with Carmy, you loved to see him come undone, let go completely.

"See, the thing is," he kissed the curve of your hip, "if you gave me a blowjob it would be over so quickly," he exhaled right on your spread out clit which made you shudder. "And where's the fun in that?"

You giggled giddily when he squeezed your ass, manhandling you closer to his face, keeping his focus on your pussy.

"So you're just going to edge me until I beg?" you asked, half wanting for him to say yes.

"Don't worry," he gave a long lick, from the bottom of your lips to the top, making you arch your back and curse. "You will come," there was something dark in his eyes again, that same determination from the photoshoot back in his face - he was in charge. "When I want you to."

You shivered. "Fuck, Carm."

He started sucking on your clit, his tattooed fingers curling inside of you. You melted under his touch, feeling your pussy squeeze his fingers.

"Please, Carmy..."

He stopped sucking, messing with the rhythm, keeping you hanging by a thread.

"You will come," he repeated, "when I want you to," the speed of his fingers increased. "As many times as I want you to."

You moaned. His mouth latched onto your clit, licking until you were thrashing on the bedsheets, his forearm kept you in place on the mattress.

"Fuck, shit, baby," you mumbled. Your gazes met, his blue eyes fiery. He nodded and you came in a blur, desperately grabbing at anything - his hair, the bedsheets - the feeling all the more intense for the time he had spent working you up. He kept kissing and sucking until you stopped moaning and started chuckling breathily.

"Just like that," he praised, something playful in his voice and you would have teased back if you weren't so completely spent.

He kissed the outside of your folds, staying away from your clit and your entrance, just worshipping the skin around them and you caressed his hair lovingly.

"You make me feel so fucking good," you exhaled.

He climbed up your body and kissed you hard, mouth open, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. His cock, hard inside his jeans, grazed the lower part of your belly, it made you tremble in anticipation. "You gonna fuck me?" you asked between one kiss and the next, your hips lifting up to ground on his.

He clicked his tongue. "Not yet," he got up and opened the drawer of your bedside table, taking out your rabbit vibrator. "This charged?"

You nodded, biting your lip.

"Good girl," he praised and your hand squeezed your breast almost unconsciously; something happened to you whenever he talked to you like that.

He lowered himself next to you, held up by one arm; his hand teased your pussy, his calloused fingers spreading wetness around.

"D'you need lube, baby?" he asked, more out of politeness than anything since he knew the answer very well.

"I think I'm okay, Carm," you laughed and he kissed the side of your face.

"Mhmm. So fucking hot," he whispered and you felt the dildo poking at your entrance.

You placed your hand on the side of Carmy's face, your thumb near the edge of his mouth. He sucked on it thoroughly, then let go with a pop. You whined needily.

"Please, please, please..." it poured out of you.

He bumped your forehead with his, his gaze was intense and hungry.

"Keep looking at me," he ordered, and you obeyed, keeping your eyes open even as the dildo went all the way inside you and filled you up deliciously. The coldness of the toy reminded you it wasn't Carmy's cock - but he was holding it, he was right there next to you. Your face contorted in pleasure.

"Yes, like that," he encouraged you, his words tickling inside your belly. He seemed to be overcome just looking at you - it made you feel wanted, adored, beautiful. You wanted to make him feel that way too.

"Carm," you gasped. "I need you to know- Oh, fuck," he pumped the toy inside you, slow, so slow. "I need you to know," you repeated through the fog of pleasure, "all those things the photographer said. They're true. Oh, my God, baby," his expression softened even as he buried the dildo deep inside you. "Your eyes are beautiful," another thrust, you caressed his face. "Your arms are so hot," you held onto the arm that was fucking you, squeezing the muscle there. "Shit. You're handsome, gorgeous, fucking- oh!" you blurted all at once, turning the compliments into moans. "I swear - fuck!" you held his gaze. "Can't believe you're mine."

He leaned forward, kissing you tenderly, swallowing your moans.

"I love you," he said softly.

"I love you," you replied, a choked out sound leaving your lips.

He turned on the vibration and watched you lose control, becoming desperate with lust, thrusting your hips wildly. He kept you there a bit longer than necessary, torturing you a little with how long he was drawing it out. It was so good, so fucking good.

"Carmy. Please," you begged.

"I know, I know," he soothed. "You're doing so good."

It sent a shiver down your spine and made the very last thread inside you snap.

"Oh," you exhaled, coming harder than you ever had, scratching at his forearm, screaming into the skin of his shoulder.

"Sound so nice," Carmy mumbled, looking as pussy drunk as a man could be without actually fucking one. "Baby, baby, baby."

You stayed there for a while, the dildo still inside you, and Carmy's hands touching your waist tenderly while you kissed.

After a long while of that, he got up from the bed, and started getting undressed while you watched. You bit your lip and put your head on your hand, enjoying the sight. He caught you staring.

"You really meant all those things you said," it began as a statement and ended as a question, Carmy's voice going up slightly.

"Every word," you said, taking out the dildo as Carmy showed you his cock. You licked your lips. "D'you mind? Me saying things like that?"

You wanted him to be confident but you didn't want to make him uncomfortable.

He shook his head. "I liked it," he admitted. He stood right by you, beside the bed, fiddling with the condom he had retrieved from your drawer. "Made me feel good."

"I'm glad, Carm," you reached out to caress his leg, following the line of muscle there. Saying he was beautiful once while you fucked wasn't going to change his mind, but you were willing to keep trying.

In the meantime, you could show him. Even with the exhaustion of everything Carmy had done to you, you wanted him inside you, wanted to see him roll his eyes in ecstasy. You crawled to where he was, kneeling, near the edge of the mattress. His cock was hard, pulsing, and it made your mouth water. He stood still, dropped the condom on the mattress, probably guessing what you were about to do.

When you were an inch away from his cock, he pulled your hair and stopped you.

He gestured at the vibrator. "Put that back inside you," he said in that demanding voice and you rushed to do as he said, only uttering a small moan when you had it inside you. He leaned over, tracing a long line from your neck to your ass, reaching to turn it back on on the lowest setting. You writhed a little but after a moment of adjusting to the feeling you were able to stay still and look at Carmy.

"Good girl," he said again and you keened, leaning forward to suck his dick. The sound he made once your mouth was on him was heavenly. "Holy fuck."

His hands were tangled in your hair and you wished you could deep throat without choking, just to watch him lose his mind completely. You settled for going as far as you could, getting every inch of him slick with saliva, making him groan and sweat. You looked up, his eyes were white and his face was flushed, his Adam's apple bobbing as he tried to breathe. You hummed with satisfaction and that woke up his competitive streak.

He pulled on your hair lightly. "Gimme a second," he panted. You thought he needed a breather, but he actually moved to turn the vibrator up a couple of notches. You trembled and reached for his ass, bracing, leaving red scratch marks on the tender skin.

"Fuck, baby," you said between moans. "Not fucking fair."

"Mhmm," he smirked, caressing your scalp. It took all your willpower and concentration but you moved forward and went back to sucking his cock, feeling a pang of pride as he threw his head back and uttered some curse you couldn't quite decipher.

The vibrator set a pace you could follow, rocking forward as it pulsed, letting you give Carmy pleasure while you were ridiculously close to losing your mind yourself.

"Shit, baby," he gasped, his knees buckling for a second. "Make me feel- Fuck, y're so good, so good," he mumbled.

The steady pace of the vibrator was building up a tense knot inside you - you were close, and so it became a race of making Carmy come before you did. You doubled your efforts, speeding up, hollowing your cheeks, moaning into his skin.

"You're fucking killing me," he growled, pulling on your hair just the way you liked it, making you roll your eyes as you sucked on his length. You were completely overwhelmed; you couldn't help but whine over and over. "Holy fuck."

He stared right onto your eyes as he came. He had told you he didn't mind if you spit his cum but sometimes you felt like drinking it all, consumed with lust - today was one of those times. You stayed there, licking his slit, caressing his balls until he pulled you away.

"Fuck, baby," he sighed, kneeling on the carpet to look at you.

He was completely wrecked: face red and sweaty, hair messier than you had ever seen it and a glazed look in his eyes. He tilted his head to kiss you thoroughly, tasting the cum leftover on your tongue. You could finally let go. You put your hand between your belly and the mattress, maneuvering the vibrator so it hit right where you needed it and you came immediately, kissing Carmy, biting on his lips, and humping on the bed. It was too much and just enough.

Carmy helped you take it out once you started whining from feeling sore. He moved your body to lie comfortably on the bed, your head on the pillow and him next to you.

"Fucking insane," he exhaled. You chuckled in agreement, fucked out senseless. "D'you need anything?" he asked gently after a moment.

You shook your head, raising a hand to caress his face.

"I feel perfect, Carm."

You moved your index finger, tracing the contour of his eyebrows, the line of his nose, and the curve of his cheekbone. 

“Pretty,” you managed to say.

He smiled and brought you closer, inhaling the scent of your shampoo, his arms around making you feel safe.

~

[Part 7]

~

@th3h0nkz

#me; looking at a calvin klein billboard: how are we feeling ladies?! 🥵 #carmy berzatto smut #carmy x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x you #carmy berzatto x you #carmy x you #carmen berzatto fanfiction

[writingoddess1125]

More Sanji and Sunaki, please, especially showing her to the strawhats 🫶🏽 keep up the amazing work and hope you are doing well

I gotcha sweetie!

A Girl To Love ❤️

Sanji × Reader + Baby Sunaki

Headcanon

Support me on Ko-Fi!

Fun Fact! Oda picked Sanji name because it represents '3 o'clock { San Ji}' Aka Snack time! And Sunaki is a play on Sunakku aka Snack/Bitesize! So both their names are food based. 3'oclock Snack!

• You didn't realize it- but the day that you had introduced Sanji and Sunaki.

• And created two new monsters

• Sanji paraded around Sunaki everywhere. He showed his crew mates who were all swooned by the baby-

• As for Sunaki- She was getting spoiled rotten.. Most of the crew had extreme soft spots for kids so of course everytime she goes with her father she would come back with toys, clothes, sweets to the roof. You were sure Nami was the one responsible for clothes since they seemed to be a bit expensive- You didn't know her well but she didn't seem to be the type yo spend money so freely, but it seemed children were an exception.

• Sunaki seemed to adore Zoro the most however much to Sanji's irritation. The toddler often giggling for the swordsman to pick her up and he'd just carry her around or take a nap while holding her- Often some toy to keep her occupied.

• Zoro however curve the habit of sleeping while holding Sunaki. He had taken a nap and Sunaki the ever curious toddler she was reached her hand out at something shiny and grabbed one of the earrings of Zoros and yanked-

• The scream from the swordsman could be heard from across the village..

• Sanji laughed his ass off for 3 days straight- while Zoro had to get 2 stitches in his ear to keep the third ear hole and his famed earring.

• The whole crew had taken a liking to her and you as well. Inviting you to their ship to spend time with them all or offering to babysit so you could get some rest. Which you did take up since it had been over 2 years since you got a decent night's rest-

• While you and Sanji were still discussing the situation of your guys relationship you two did workout a decent Co-Parenting agreement. While Sanji and his crew were here you two would trade off daily if not just spend days together. But in the future when he did have to leave, he would visit regularly and when Sunaki turned 5 would spend 6 months with you and 6 months on the ship with Sanji till a better agreement could be arranged.

• But for now this was fine. Especially since it ment you got help on the days you worked. Today being one of those days.

• You had to go to work so you offered if Sanji wanted to watch her for the day which he jumped at. You giving him the diaper bag and some pre-made snacks from the local market.

• He looks at the cheap foods and raises a brow. "What is this?" He questions.

• "Well she's really picky, she would rather not eat all day if she doesn't like it. I've tried several recipes that most babies like and even went out. She will only eat 6 different things and milk" You admit and see Sanji clearly not impressed.

• "We will see about that- I won't have a picky or wasteful daughter" He stressed before heading into the ship. You smiling to yourself as you walked to work. This was going to be a disaster..

• 12 hours later you return to the crew eating like kings, Seemingly random assortments of things and laughing about Sanji- Walking into the kitchens were you saw the blonde looking drained of energy.

• It was by far the most brutal critics that Sanji had ever dealt with. Sitting in a half destroyed kitchen staring at his daughter in a high chair finally eating. Feeding her spoonfuls of whatever he had made.

• "How did it go?" You mused, Sanji sighing heavily with a unlit cigarette in his mouth.

• "14 dishes- It took 14 fucking dishes to figure it out... she's a God damn texture person-" He pointed out as you looked to see what he was feeding her.

• "Texture person?" You question and see to your surprise he was feeding her fried rice

• "Is that?-" Sanji nodded. "Curry fried rice and she had some diced up chicken earlier with garlic that she ate" He still looked tired but smiled with some pride.

• "She has an aversion to certain textures in foods, so taste isnt the issue but mouth feel. Truthfully her palette is more similar to an adult then a toddlers anyway- She just doesn't like mushy foods- All the snacks you gave me had one thing in common. They had something crunchy- She doesn't like tomatoes, cucumbers and probably anything seedy like that. I had to change shirts when I gave her Natto-" He deadpanned and sighed, Sunaki fussing for another bite which he happily gave her.

• You couldn't help but be impressed by this. He had spent all day figuring out his daughter's palette so she could eat a wider variety of foods.

• "You did really good Sanji" You praise. Earning a wide grin from him- before Sunaki gave another loud cry and opened her mouth to get more of the fried rice.

• "Alright Alright-" Sanji laughed as he continued to feed her, Clearly just filled with joy as he smiled at his little girl.

• He finally found the girl he was truly in love with from the bottom of his heart. Just who knew it would be his daughter.

Bonus!

• Zoro sends pictures and letters to Zeff of Sunaki. The old man cries a bit when he learns of the child and feels a flush of emotions.

• Will eventually meet the child and is just as in love with her as Sanji.

• Sanji sees first hand the difference a grandchild makes in even the crankiest of old men. How Zeff smiles, cookes special treats for Sunaki and even gives his chefs hat to wear while visiting.

• "When did you get so nice Old Man!?" Sanji screams as he watches the old pirate feed his daughter candy.

• "WHEN YOU BROUGHT ME SOMETHING TO BE NICE ABOUT! Now go clean the grills! I want to spend time with my granddaughter"

#x reader #one peice x reader #one piece #one peice live action #vinsmoke sanji #op sanji #sanji x reader #one piece sanji #black leg sanji #sanji #dad!sanji #Dad Sanji

[averyangrypossum]

Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce the

Flowerbroadcast AU!

Based on the two drawings I did of a fankid for the ship radiostatic.

The full-body one

And the one with both Vox and her

And now, I’m gonna tell you all about it and exactly who the fuck this little kid is.

Lotus is the daughter of Vox (as you can tell) and Alastor and is six years old. She was created shortly after Vox and Al broke up, oh yeah I should probably talk about their relationship status. Vox and Alastor, unlike in canon, weren’t only close friends but were dating at some point, mostly because Alastor wanted to manipulate Vox’s feelings to where he’d be more compilable but accidentally took it too far, and since Vox is a piss baby Alastor decided to entertain Vox for a while.

Was this relationship healthy?

NO!

Would Vox say these were the best years of his afterlife?

Yeah.

But anyways, in this au when Vox asks Alastor to “join his team” he was actually proposing and Alastor finally realized,

“Shit maybe this has gone out of hand” and breaks it off with Vox which leaves Vox heartbroken and with an incel breakdown. Now instead of trying to move the fuck on, he has our little darling Lotus, who he has trying to fill the hole that Alastor left.

So obviously having a child for that reason isn’t going to make you a good parent.

Lotus’ relationship with the Vees are as follows in the particular order.

1 Velvette: She does Lotus’s hair everyday and picks out outfits for her to post on her social media before Lotus immediately undos everything that Velvette does and just goes for pigtails and her nightgown. Velvette has wine aunt energy and is probably the only one of the Vees to know how to talk and get through to Lotus.

2 Valentino: Surprising I know, but Lotus doesn’t know what he does to his workers, she knows what he does for work but grew up with thinking that was just something normal since Valentino was never hush hush about his job around her much to Vox’s dismay. Valentino isn’t a big fan of children and doesn’t hang around her often, but sometimes he’ll draw along side her while bitching about a particular show she’s watching even though it’s literally made for kids.

3 Vox: Wow, how bad do you have to fuck up for a pimp who hardly spends time with her to be ranked higher than her own father?? Vox, despite making the conscious decision to have her, he isn’t around like at all. Hes a workaholic through and through, and mostly leaves her with nannies and Velvette. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t love her. Au contraire he loves her with all his heart and soul. Will give her anything except quality time. He uses her more of an accessory than a child.

Now how exactly Lotus was made is up to you.

A robotic creation Vox made? Sure!

Some voodoo magic shit? Yeah!

Some weird magic thing where she kinda just poofed into existence? Why not!

Mpreg? I mean, do what you wanna do ig?

Cuz it really doesn’t matter!

This whole au starts with Lotus running away from the Vee tower to explore hell since she's basically Rapunzel. She gets lost and terrorized by sinners until our deer Alastor rescues her. Seeing his chance to promote the hotel he takes her there where she is offered to stay there by Charlie when Lotus complains about how bad her dad is. She graciously accepts because shes only six but is going through her “My dad hates me and I hate him” era. Which I mean…I would get that impression too if I didn’t see my dad that much.

Wait my dad lives across the country…don't talk to me rn I’m busy dyeing my hair black and becoming emo 🖤

But anyways she stays there while Vox is loosing his fucking mind, and becoming more mentally unstable.

Meanwhile! She's having the time of her life with the hotel's residents and a new father figure who treats her well and pays attention to her! Alastor! Now Al doesn’t know she is his kid, but that doesn't stop him from being a better dad than Vox out of spite!

Anyways, thats all I have, for now! Stay tuned my friends~

#radiostatic #staticradio #staticlovetune #alastor x vox #vox x alastor #one sided radiostatic #hazbin hotel au #hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor #vox hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel vox #vox #fankid #digital art #fanchild #orginal character #hazbin hotel oc #flowerboradcast au #onewaybroadcast

[sugar-omi]

Qiu x mc?

omg i've been thinking about writing ol2 stuff im glad you asked even if its vague <3 also!! perhaps unrelated but needing to be said: i am NOT writing smut/nsfw for qiu + tama right now until at least the step 3 beta is released. #1 bc i want them to be 18+ in game #2 i want to have a better feel for them. but i'm happy to write fluff and dating/crush hc's n drabbles until then <3 also isn't the header i made so cute, i love it sm

tags : fluff, inbetween step 2-3

synopsis : what it's like having a crush and going through puberty at the same time.

you're the only person besides tamarack that qiu trusts and considers his dearest friend

but you're also his crush and it's hard sometimes...

on one hand, you're so sweet and caring

and you take care of him, even if you don't know how to comfort him you offer him a shoulder to cry on and a place to clear their thoughts

but on the other hand you're so beautiful/handsome and the way you look at them has qiu about to fly away from the butterflies

as you're growing up, qiu spends a lot of time with you.

i can see them sneaking into your room or throwing a couple pebbles to have you sneak out the front door

and you watch the stars together, all curled up together because it's cold and you only had half the mind to bring your blanket, which wasn't nearly enough

and even though your little midnight trips are frequent, neither of you prepare for the next.

and perhaps you're both "forgetting" a blanket on purpose so that way you have an excuse to cuddle up together, but who's to say?

no matter if you're shy or bold, there's this song and dance between you and qiu.

the longing glances across the room...

qiu flushes up to his ears, something he tries to hide by tugging at their long hair

and if you're feeling mischievous, you'll wink at him or perhaps you'll flutter your eyelashes at him, giving him a teasing smirk with a tantalizing stare.

or the way your hand lingers on his arm, making soothing circles with your thumb

you throw in an occasional heart, but with no way to trace the small action, qiu just flushes and stares blankly at his ceiling during the night wondering if it even happened

you two also hold hands whenever possible

only if there's a reason to of course

like crossing the road, very dangerous!

or walking on a log, you could fall into a pile of leaves!!!

so it's up to qiu to hold your hand and if he doesn't let go even when Tama is around, well you didn't let go either so why are you scolding him?!

mmm, if your hands were cold they would put your hand into his pocket and cover it with his own warmer ones

or even better, if you're parting and you came to school with cold hands, they would give your their gloves and pat your hands together

qiu doesn't particularly like jewelry, but if you gave him a piece of jewelry they'd wear it pretty often

especially if it's made by you

wouldn't wear it to school too often just in case it got ruined

omg imma have to write this but

think abt confessing to qiu while you're having one of your lil midnight excursions

you're on the floor of one of your bedrooms, or perhaps the forset floor I can't decide

and they're laying there, hair splayed out across the floor and looking at you with those eyes that are so welcoming yet bore holes into with the passion and fire behind them.

qiu is like a sunflower in a sea of poppies.

or a butterfly in the snow

and even if the words don't escape your lips

even if you can't bring yourself to kiss him

somehow you still find yourself flushed, perhaps with your lips meeting in the middle and suddenly tomorrow looks so much brighter

#our life now and forever #our life now & forever #qiu lin x reader #olnf #qiu lin #qiu lin x mc #fluff #qiu lin fluff

[strangeshoepatrolbandit]

Brotherly Love Pt.5

J.T. D.W

Jason Todd x Al-Ghul/Wayne reader(platonic)Gender Neutral

Pt.[1][2][3][4]

Summary:Jason keeps finding ways to connect with you, Damian's a little jealous.

Warnings:Light fight scene, cigarette, a knife. (Also the pie recipe is a copy and paste from google)

~☆~

Bruce awoke with a fright, running down the stairs and down to the living area of the Manor. His short red robe riding up his thighs as he ran to try and find the cause of the loud bang he had heard.

"Hey, Bruce." Jason had lazily greeted, not taking his eyes off of the newspaper infront of him, hand scratching the top of Aces head.

"What was that sound?" The older man questioned, not even asking what Jason was doing at the Manor.

"You got new locks." Jason deadpanned whilst finally looking up at Bruce from where he sits.

"Why are you here?" Bruce finally asked.

"Waiting for Y/N, they sleep so much later than Demon spawn." Jason complained.

Bruce paused, thinking of what to say. He just knew he was glad Jason was finally coming around, and that you had a brother again, even if he isn't your actual blood brother.

"Can I borrow them for the day?" Jason asked, almost shy but Bruce knew better.

"Yeah, go wake them up." He told Jason, before patting his shoulder.

~☆~

"Y/Nnnnn.." Jason sung out, trying to wake you. You could feel the almost inhuman warmth radiating from his hand that rested on your shoulder.

"Y/Nnnnn.." The living dead man next to you sang again.

"What?" You moaned out, eyes stinging from the sleep wridden in them.

"Get dressed, were hangin' out." Jason informed, leaving a pat to the arm that his hand rested on.

~☆~

Jason ended up taking you to his apartment, asking you if Alfred had introduced you to his baking yet. Your answer left Jason at a loss for words, what do you mean Alfred hadn't introduced you to his infamous cookies, or his brownies?

"Well we may not be making his cookies, because he won't give me the recipe, but we will be making pie!" Jason exclaimed, a giddy grin resting on his face.

~☆~

The memories of rarely baking pies with Jason's mother when they had the supplies clouded his mind, how after her death it moved to baking with Alfred. Now as if it's some family tradition he's moved on to doing it with you, only this time he's the teacher.

Jason sprinkled flour onto his counter, before plopping half of the dough Alfred made for you to that morning on top of the thinly dusted surface.

"You ever baked?" Jason asked, his Gotham accent dripping in his word. You shook your head and Jason offered a smile whilst grabbing a rolling pin.

"Watch me." Jason's arms gripped the utensil, rolling over the dough just a bit so you could get the gist. His arm nudged against your own as he handed you the rolling pin so he could peel the apples for the filling. You delicately pushed down and rolled the dough into a thinner circle, Jason eyed you from where he stood peeling fruit so that he could tell you when it was thin enough.

"Alright, flour your hands." He whispered, walking back over to your side and taking the rolling pin. His hands peeled the edge of the dough off of the counter, before placing it onto your newly dusted hands. Jason placed a pie tin in front of you and helped you set the dough into it.

"Make sure it's tucked in." He instructed, pulling your wrist so that you could push the dough fully into the tin pan. You watched as Jason cut off the extra dough, and prick holes into the bottom with a fork before placing it into the oven.

"I'll peel the apples, you roll out the other half."

~☆~

Jason had peeled and cut all of the apples, now they were placed into a big bowl. The pre-baked crust had already been taken out of the oven, and all of the filling ingredients have already been measured.

Jason situated you infront of the bowl, handing you a spatula for mixing.

He handed you the sugar and the cinnamon to add to the bowl, pouring the flour himself. A spinkle of salt, and some nutmeg came afterwards, Jason poured in the little bit of lemon juice that came last.

"Stir gently." He whispered, watching as you mixed all of the ingredients into the apples.

Jason placed the pie tin infront of you once again, ordering you to spoon the ingredients into the crust-lined pan. Jason's fingers pinched the top layer of dough onto the top of the pie, before cutting a slit into the encasing. He placed tin foil onto the top of the pie, and placed it into the oven.

"Let's clean up." Jason spoke as he held up his hand for a high five, you stared at him for a moment before his opposite hand grabbed your wrist so he could guide your hand to meet his own.

~☆~

*After cleaning up*

"Okay, show me what you got."

"What?"

"Hit me."

Your fist came up without hesitation, aiming a blow below his sternum, his own hands grabbed at you before your fist collided with him. Jason moved quickly, prying a finger into your side, right under your ribcage. Your hand twisted from his grasp, and you landed a kick to his knee. Letting out a grunt in frustration he fell onto one knee. His hands wrapped around both of your legs before pulling you forward, letting you fall to your knees as well. Jason shot out an arm to grab you with, but you quickly caught his hand and got back onto your feet, rounding behind Jason's body so his arm was twisted behind himself.

The front door flying open alerted both of you, forcing you both to stand up in a correct fighting position.

"Hey!" A redheaded man yelled when he caught sight of the both of you.

Jason let out a sigh before wiping a hand over his face.

"Y/N, this is Roy." Jason introduced the redhead for you. The man stepped forward, shooting a hand out for you to take whilst a grin rested on his lips. You glanced at his hand, giving it a dissatisfied look before hesitantly taking it in your own.

As Roy dropped your hand he walked off into the kitchen, snooping around to see is he could find the food he smells.

"Whatcha' makin'?" He asked, neither you or Jason answered, only glancing at each other.

"Damian's more of the fighter, anyway." You shrugged, before walking off to follow Roy.

~☆~

You watched as Jason and Roy played a video game on Jason's TV. Your slice of pie that had previously been made was still being eaten by you, the two men that resided beside you and on the floor had already scarfed down their own slices.

You watched as their characters fought each other on the screen, your mind wondered, what if you and Damian were raised like this? What if the two of you were raised away from war? Gotham it's self had its own spike of violence but still nothing to what you and Damian were raised with. What if the two of you were "normal", raised playing video games, having sleepovers, playing catch with you father?

Part of you resented Talia for raising you the way she did, but another part of you loved her and thought about the times she actually acted like your mother. Like how when you were younger there were certain times when she would sit in her bed, you and Damian tucked on either side of her and she would read a book to you. She even had a painting that was made of you and your brother hanging on the wall of her quarters. But still, she raised you with all of that violence, training as the Al-Ghul heirs. Just because she was a little soft with you at times doesn't make her mother of the year.

~☆~

Before Jason dropped you back off at the Manor he cut a slice of pie and put it in a container with your name on it. Giving you firm instructions to immediately give it to Alfred, then he placed it into your bag.

"Y'know if you want more, call me." Jason told you, handing you the phone of yours that you didn't even know he had. "Roy's is in there too."

The redhead looked over at the sound of his name before throwing a smile and a peace sign.

"See ya' little dude." Roy bid goodbye as you passed him due to Jason pushing you out of the front door.

~☆~

After pulling up to the front of the Manor, Jason leaned on his motorcycle, a hand in his pockets, and the other holding his newly lit cigarette.

The two of you sat out there together, staring at the gothic chic Manor.

"Would you like to stay for dinner?" You broke the silence, not ready to watch Jason leave. The taller man only snuffed his cigarette out and put on his helmet.

"Sorry, kid." Jason muttered as the threw a leg over his motorcycle and drove off.

~☆~

Alfred opened the door as soon as you reached the front steps, he always had this strange way of forming at the door before you could even knock. As he held a hand out for your backpack you reached in and handed him your slice of pie that Jason had given you.

"Dinner is set."

"Thank you, Alfred."

~☆~

You headed straight for the dining room, without even changing your clothes first. It's not that you were hungry, you Jason and Roy had snacked on things that you could've never eaten back with Ra's, you just didn't want to be alone yet.

Your socked feet dragged against the hardwood floors, Jason had woken you up too early for your liking. After your grandfather's death and coming to America you've indulged in some things you've never done before, like sleeping in.

Your hand grasped the wooden chair that came in a set with the dining table, after slumping in the chair you sluggishly filled up your plate with food. Both your father and brother had stopped their movement's as they watched your tired state.

"Woke up to early." You sighed, before giving Bruce a big smile, one that he returned.

"Did you have fun?" Bruce asked, cutting up a piece of his dinner.

"Yeah, we baked...an-and I watched him play video games!" You excitedly revealed, missing the expressionless face Damian watched you with.

~☆~

After dinner you started walking to the bathroom for a shower, then you could pass out. Footsteps could be heard walking in sync with your own, familiar footsteps, the ones you know all too well.

Damian pulled you to a stop with a firm grip to your arm, one that your sure will leave Red marks for the next few minutes.

"Why do you keep spending time with him?" He asked as his green eyes bore into your own. You watch as he quickly swallows, before chewing on the inside of his bottom lip.

"That's none of your concern." You hissed before yanking your arm out of his grip before walking off, leaving Damian standing in the empty hallway.

~☆~

Where are you from, or at least what time zone? Because I've noticed you guys are mostly active during 12-5 AM (my time). I promise that the next chapter will have action in it....just bear with me people...<3

Taglist:

@sanjanapm

@unofficial-jaytodd-wife

@morii-vx

@godknows-shetried

@wendds

@celestair

@lorosette

@knoxx-seresinbradshaw

@agent-nobody-knows

@5sos-wdw

@lil-baby-nor

@simligul

@luvly-writer

@neptunesdreams2007

@zonked-times

@i-3at-kidz

@myxticmoon

@xxgrimripp3rxx

@samstersv

@vanessa-boo

@greengarsstuff

@illya-roma

@luna025

@fruittiest-of-loops

@classymusicgalaxy

@randomlyappearingartist

@bluejay390

@venomsvl

@marvelworldlover

@ceshacat

@killercranberries

@hypnobanditprofessorhorse-blog

@greenkiki

@herascave

@cryinghotmess

@ladyagagaslefttoe

@b-barnes04

@theitchbbbb

@theclassicvinyldragon

@loxbbg

@tami123

@lunalixya

@randobeetlehouse

@1lovehotmoms

@esposadomd

@american-idiot21

@mildvalue506

@ziaphene

@cryinghotmess

@persephil

@ya-mya-22u

@lilylovelyxo

@soupasses

@dnarez

@mandyboolove

@scorpionmotordemon

@dangerous-girls-world

@darkfaethedestroyer

@violet2507

@urminebutidontwantyou

@d3m0nch1ld

@mxtokko

#x reader #batman #batboys #batbros #batsiblings #bruce wayne #jason todd x reader #batfam x batsis #damian al ghul #damian wayne x reader #jason todd fluff #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd fanfic #jason todd #jason todd imagine #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #reader x jason todd #damian wayne x batsis #batboys x batsis #batsis!reader #damian wayne #bruce wayne x reader #roy harper

[the-bad-batch-baroness]

A Man's Worth

Tup x Fem!Reader

Chapter 1: Death in the Shadows

gif by @kamino-coruscant

Summary: Your date-night with Tup is interrupted when your stalker finds you and won’t leave without you. Tup heroically comes to your defense, but is overpowered by the assailant and you are taken away. After your rescue, Tup struggles with his insecurities and self-worth as he tries to heal physically, mentally, and emotionally.

Pairing: Tup x Fem!Reader

Characters: Tup, Echo, Fives, Fox, Rex, Kix, Jesse, Dogma, Hardcase

Tags & Warnings: 18+, established relationship, domestic fluff, minor suggestive themes, stalking, kidnapping, violence, blood, major injuries, whump, trauma, angst, hurt/comfort, self-worth, masculinity, depression, PTSD

Word Count: 6.7k

Author's Note: This was supposed to be a one-shot, but it decided it wanted to be more. Don’t ask me where the idea came from. It was the first thing that popped into my head when I read the bingo square. Writing this was painful, but chapters two and three are worse, so... As always, please enjoy 💚

Beta Read: By the lovely @commander-sunshine because sometimes I think my work is trash.

@clonexreaderbingo Square: Obsession

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3

“I am so full,” you groan while exiting the restaurant. The fresh evening air hits your face and you take a deep breath to refresh yourself.

“Me too,” Tup agrees as he rubs his stomach. “I’m kind of glad the other place messed up our reservations, because this place was amazing.”

“Right?” you pop a mint into your mouth and offer one to Tup. “This is definitely going on the list of favorites.”

“Absolutely,” Tup agrees while taking the mint. He clasps his hand in yours and you stroll leisurely down the sidewalk together.

Date nights are your favorite nights. You and Tup always make it a point to set aside one night, while he’s on leave, dedicated solely to each other. It’s a time of bonding and learning about each other. Even though you’ve been together for two years now, you don’t want to get complacent and lose the spark that you had in the beginning. In order for the night to be considered a true date night, it must consist of three things: food, fun, and intimacy.

The food portion of the night has happily concluded at the new restaurant you just left. After your original reservation was mysteriously lost, you wandered down the streets looking for somewhere else to have dinner and this little hole in the wall with a crooked neon sign piqued both your interests. The inside had a lively atmosphere and good music. And although the menu was limited, the portions were huge and you barely finished your shared dessert.

The fun portion was completed before the food. You found out the hard way that food before fun only ended up making you both sick, so you switched them around. Tonight you swept the floor with Tup at mini-golf. He talked a good game, but his mini-swing lacked any sort of form. His golf balls landed in the water, in the dirt, over the fence, and in someone's drink cup. You really didn’t think someone could be that bad at mini-golf, but Tup is always surprising you.

Now, all that’s left is the intimacy portion. Intimacy can be anything as long as you do it together and are completely alone. Some nights you will bake cupcakes and make a mess with the frosting, or take a hot shower and wash each other’s hair, or cuddle up with a good holo-film and eat copious amounts of junk food, or just have sex. The day usually ends in sex, but it isn’t the point, or the main focus of date night, so it always falls to the bottom of the list of priorities.

The sun is setting beyond the horizon as you make your way home and you sigh in contentment as you lean your head against Tup’s shoulder. He glances down at you, smiles, raises your clasped hand to his lips, and kisses your knuckles. You smile warmly in return for his affection. Today’s date night is perfect and the weather could not be better. It’s not too hot, which is always a concern in the summer, with a light breeze that brushes gently by your exposed skin. 

You continue walking down the street, clasped hands blithefully swaying in the air like a young couple in love, relishing in each other’s presence. You see a bench coming up in your path and instead of letting go of Tup’s hand and going around it, you climb up it to walk across. Tup doesn’t miss a beat and continues holding your hand from the ground while you stretch out your other arm to balance. Once across, you gracefully hop off the end and continue your journey.

“You’re adorable, you know that?” Tup praises as he leans over and plants a kiss on your temple. 

“Stop it,” you laugh and tap his arm in jest.

Tup flexes his bicep and twirls you around to rest against his chest. He crosses his arms over your stomach to trap you and you giggle. He leans his chin atop your shoulder and whispers in your ear. “Never.”

You close your eyes and place your hands on his forearms as he sways back and forth, slowly dancing on the sidewalk to non existent music. You let yourself melt into his body’s warmth, feeling his firm chest against your back and his strong arms holding you, securing you in a gentle embrace. You don’t care who’s watching and you don’t care what they think. When you're with Tup your inhibitions and insecurities dissipate like clouds on a sunny day.  

You open your eyes and continue to sway when you catch a glimpse of a figure out of the corner of your eye. Your body stiffens and a shiver runs up your spine. You study the figure and your stomach drops as your heart rate increases. It’s him. You can’t believe it. You don’t want to believe it. How did he find you? You try to look away from his menacing presence as he observes you from the shadows, but you can’t. Your blood runs cold as fear washes over you.

Tup feels your muscles tense against his own as you stop swaying with him. The sudden change in your demeanor demands his attention. He notices goosebumps forming on your arms and wonders if you’re getting cold. He mentally kicks himself for not bringing a sweatshirt with him in case you needed it, however, something about your shivering feels off. The evening air is warm, not cool, as demonstrated by the sweat forming on the back of his neck.

“Cyare?” Tup asks in concern while cocking his head to the side.

You don’t answer, too afraid to form coherent words. It’s as if someone glued your mouth shut.

“Cyare?” Tup asks again, this time gently turning you around to face him. The look in your eyes tugs at his heartstrings. He can finally see what he was feeling emanating from your body, pure fear. 

You startle at the movement and look into Tup’s deep amber eyes, searching desperately for safety and comfort. Tup stares back, silently asking what you need from him, waiting for you to speak. You finally mutter the words. “I want to go home.” The syllables are soft spoken, almost broken, as if one more utterance would break an invisible dam, releasing a cascade of emotions. 

Tup doesn’t understand what is happening, but he does understand you, and if you say it’s time to go home, then it’s time to go home. For him, no more words need to be spoken. Whether you want to talk about it when you get home or not is up to you, but that’s not his main concern at the moment. His only concern is your safety and your wellbeing. He nods at your request, giving you assurance, clasps your hand in his, and begins walking towards home.

Tup takes ten steps and you abruptly stop. He doesn’t notice at first and continues walking, but stops when he feels the resistance as your hand strays from his. He turns on his heels and furrows his brow with concern. He doesn’t understand what is causing this sudden trepidation, but he’s growing worried. Is it him? Did he do something to cause this? The thoughts nag at the back of his mind, but he shoves them away in search of something more definite from you.

“Can we take the long way home?” you ask nervously, your gaze fixated on the shadowy figure Tup was inadvertently walking towards.

Tup’s confusion continues. The long way is ten blocks from your position. The short way is only two blocks. Tup scratches his head and searches your features. He watches you pick at your fingers, biting your lip, your legs trembling, and the way your chest heaves as if you’re being deprived of oxygen. He scans past you, desperately wondering what or who is scaring you so fiercely that you want to walk an extra eight blocks home, but nothing catches his eye.

Tup is snapped out of his focused gaze by you tugging on the sleeve of his t-shirt. “Please?” you plead with shaky breath, tears threatening to escape your eyes.

Tup’s heart shatters. He’s never seen you like this before. “Yes, of course,” Tup rushes to say when he realizes he’s taking too long to respond to your original question. “We can stop by that ice cream stand in the park on the way. Sounds good?” 

He gives you a small smile, hoping for your bright and cheery disposition to return at the prospect of your favorite summer treat, ice cream, but you don’t smile back and answer only with a slight nod. Tup frowns, his efforts to lighten the mood fail, but he takes your hand in his and grips it tightly to reassure you of his presence. If anything, he wants you to know he’s there for you, even if you never tell him what’s wrong, he’ll always be there.

You both walk in silence as you wind the long way around to your apartment. Tup continues to scan the surroundings, still searching for the source of your sudden fear, but he can’t locate it. The thought of him being oblivious to such an enormous fear of yours makes him feel insecure about how attentive he is. Maybe he missed it in a conversation or maybe you said it in passing and he forgot. He racks his brain trying to figure it out, but the dots won’t connect.

A cold shiver runs up Tup’s spine and the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, stopping him dead in his tracks. This feeling. He knows this feeling, intimately. He first felt it on Umbara as a shiny and he never forgot it. The feeling of cold eyes watching him from the shadows, waiting to strike him down. Is this what you saw? Is the source of these threatening eyes what is terrorizing his love? His breath quickens and he turns around, putting himself between you and the menacing gaze.

Tup steels himself, his eyes scanning for the source. He knows it’s out there, waiting, coiled, and ready to strike at him with venomous fangs. Then he sees it, the figure in the shadows that’s been watching and following. How long it’s been following you both, he’s not sure, but he’s going to end it here and now. He lets his training kick in and prepares himself physically and mentally. He’s faced many enemies and he’s not going to back down from whatever this one is.

The figure, realizing it’s been noticed, steps out of the shadows. Tup’s eyes grow wide as he looks at the towering figure and he takes a cautionary step back. The man is massive, at least three times his size and built like a gunship. Tup’s heart rate increases as he feels naked and exposed without his armor and his blaster. He understands now, your fear, because that same fear is biting at the back of his spine, threatening to alter his fight response into a flight response.

The large man takes a step forward, and Tup takes two steps back, pushing you back along with him. This isn’t good. Tup scans his surroundings quickly but there’s nothing he can use as a makeshift weapon. If this encounter turns violent, it’s going to be a fist fight and it won’t be pretty. The man steps forward again, chuckling darkly as Tup takes another few steps back. Tup glances over his shoulder and grimaces as he notices you’re both being backed into an alley.

“You thought you could run away from me again, did ya?” the man sneers.

Tup is baffled by his words, but he feels you bury your face into his back and a few pieces begin to click in his mind. “Do you know this guy?” Tup throws over his shoulder as he continues to back you both into the alley.

Your legs tremble as you try to move in step with Tup. “He’s…” you attempt to force the words out. “He’s my stalker.”

Tup curses under his breath as he mentally calculates the different outcomes, none of them ending well. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Tup asks, trying to swing his voice to sound more inquisitive than condemning.

“I thought he couldn’t find me here,” you answer through a shaky voice. “He’s been obsessed with me for years. I have eight restraining orders on eight different planets.”

Tup curses under his breath again. “Do you have a restraining order for him on Coruscant?” Tup continues his inquiry, well aware that it’s a dumb question. 

You nod your head and ball his t-shirt tightly in your fists. This is your worst nightmare. You’ve been moving from planet to planet for years attempting to shake him, but he always ends up finding you. There’s not a police force in the galaxy that has been able to catch him. He’s elusive and cunning, a stark contrast to his brutish appearance, and he’ll do anything to make you his. The sheer terror you feel in this moment is overwhelming and you want to vomit.

“What’s the matter baby?” the man asks. “Why aren’t you happy to see me?”

You flinch at the words. A muscle in Tup’s jaw tics as anger brims under the surface from your terrified reaction. He gives your arm a reassuring squeeze. 

“She’s not your baby,” Tup scoffs at the man’s false insinuation. 

“Oh?” the man raises an eyebrow. “And what are you supposed to be?”

“I’m her boyfriend,” Tup states confidently while using every bit of conviction he has. 

The man laughs loudly and points at Tup. “Him? You chose a clone over me? This subhuman blaster fodder is your boyfriend? Don’t make me laugh baby.”

Tup narrows his eyes as ire burns in his gut. The insults about his existence don’t bother him anymore. Not everyone has the same view about clones, but he’s still flesh and blood, like any other lifeform, and it doesn’t make him any less human if he shares the same DNA with a million other men. He has feelings, a personality, likes and dislikes, just like everyone else. No. What’s really bothering him is your tears soaking through the back of his shirt and it fuels his anger.

The man walks forward. “Come on baby, I’m taking you back home.”

“Over my dead body,” Tup snarls as he steps forward to meet the man’s movement. It no longer matters that he doesn’t have his armor or his blaster. This is carnal. This is something ingrained in him that just feels right. An overwhelming instinct to protect what’s his. No one is taking you away from him, not while he’s still alive and breathing.

The man straightens up to his full height, flexes his muscles, and cracks his neck. “I was hoping you would say that.”

His intimidation tactic is working as Tup feels an incredible wave of dread wash over him. He discreetly slips his hand in his pants pocket and activates the distress beacon on his comm link. Whether anyone will actually see it and come to his aid he doesn’t know, but it’s better than nothing. Tup takes a deep breath, gently pushes you aside, and stands his ground. He’s a clone trooper after all and he was bred to fight. This is what he’s good at, and he’s going to do it.

“Come on, clone,” the man taunts with a wave of his hand. “Show me what those little arms can do.”

“Sooran ni’jagyc,” Tup shoots back as a challenge.

Your jaw drops in shock. You’ve never heard something so vulgar come from Tup’s mouth, at least not when he’s with you. You imagine his vocabulary must be pretty colorful as a soldier, so it’s not surprising, but it sounds weird coming from his lips. You watch nervously as the two men square each other up, like predator and prey. You slink back to a reasonably safe distance into the alley to give Tup the room to maneuver without you getting in his way. The tension in the air thickens. 

The man lunges forward and Tup quickly evades his first strike. The attacker is large and his movements are sluggish and unrefined, whereas Tup is smaller, quicker, and more precise with his movements. Tup remains weary, even with his slight advantage from years of training. They play a game of hit and miss for several minutes and you fidget with your fingers and tap your foot as you watch. Your stomach lurches at the brutal swings as you wait for one to find its mark.

Sweat begins to form on Tup’s brow as he dodges another swing. His stamina is still good and if he can keep outmaneuvering his opponent, he just might tire him out. The man is getting frustrated that he can’t land any hits and his movements become more erratic and desperate. Tup takes the opportunity to look for an opening, anywhere he can land a hit. He finally sees one and goes for it, but Tup’s fist is caught mid-flight, the man’s hand encapsulating his entirely. 

“Gotcha,” the man says as he peers down at Tup with a devilish smirk.

Dread washes over Tup’s face at the realization that he’s been caught. He knows it’s over. He knows he can’t break free, not from the iron grip surrounding his hand. He once again feels small, naked, and afraid for not only his life, but also yours. A part of him recognizes he may not survive what comes next and he glances back over his shoulder to give you the best smile he can, knowing it may be the last one he gives you. 

“Look away, mesh’la,” Tup orders as calmly as he can. He doesn’t want you to see what’s going to happen next.

You nod, but you don’t intend to look away. At your confirmation, Tup’s gaze snaps back to the man towering over him. He tries to yank his fist out of the man’s grasp, but it won’t budge. The man watches Tup’s feeble attempts at breaking free and laughs. He rotates his fist outward, slowly bending Tup’s arm, forcing the clone to his knees as he winces from the twisting force. Tup grabs the man’s arm with his free one to try and stop his movement, but it’s not enough.

Crack

You gasp at the sound of breaking bone and the agonizing scream that follows. You put your hand over your mouth as your stomach churns. You’ve never heard Tup make a sound like that. It’s an unnerving and frightening sound that reverberates in your mind and echoes through your eardrums as it bounces off the walls of the alley. You should have listened and looked away. The sight of his arm twisted and mangled into a position inhumanly possible is not one that will soon leave your mind.

“Tup!” you yell as tears roll down your face.

“I said, look away!” Tup cries through labored breath, pain radiating through his broken voice.

This time you listen, clamping your hands over your ears and squeezing your eyes shut. You slide down the alley wall, slumping to the ground, and place your head against your knees. You don’t want to see it and you don’t want to hear it. You don’t want to witness this horrific display. It’s unfair that Tup has to suffer because of you. He didn’t do anything wrong and you wonder what you could have done differently to prevent this from happening, but nothing comes to mind.

Crack

You flinch at the fracturing of more bone and the excruciating shriek that follows. You press your hands firmly over your ears, but no matter how hard you try, you can’t drown out Tup’s tortured voice as he groans in pain. You want it to stop, all of it. You want him to stop. You want him to leave Tup alone and both of you go back to the way your night was before your stalker arrived. You flip through images of Tup in your mind and try to focus on his soothing voice and warm smile.

Crack

Your happy memories are shattered like Tup’s body while his anguished cries float across the air and find their way between your fingers and into your ears. You let out a frightened whimper at the noise, even though the sound of his suffering is your morbid reminder that he’s still alive. You want to open your eyes, but you're afraid. Then you hear a different sound, a gasping of breath. No. He’s going to kill him. You finally brave a peek at the scene and you gasp in horror at the sight. 

Your stalker has his hand wrapped around Tup’s throat, holding him several feet off the ground as blood drips from his pant legs and puddles on the ground beneath him. Tup’s limbs are twisted in a way they shouldn’t, with pieces of bone sticking out through bloody skin and ripped clothing. The pain he must be feeling is indescribable. You watch helplessly as Tup wriggles his mangled body gasping for whatever breath he can while using his only good hand to pull at the hand choking him. 

You slam your fist on the ground and sob. You’re desperate for someone to save him, anyone, but there’s no one. It’s just the three of you. The only person who can save Tup is you and you’re not even sure if you can. You think about how Tup selflessly threw himself at his adversary to protect you and you want to do the same. You want to protect him, save him, because it’s better for Tup to be alive without you, than to live knowing his death was your fault. 

You pick yourself up off the ground and stand on shaky legs like a newborn bantha. With one step at a time, you approach the man holding your mutilated boyfriend, stopping as you reach his side. You look up at Tup, his face is almost unrecognizable and his hair has left the confines of its tie with locks of curls pasted to his face with blood. Your heart breaks. “Please,” you beg with a shaky breath. “Please, let him go.”

The man moves his gaze from the bloody toy in his grasp and peers down at you. “Why should I?” he asks with a huff.

You take a sharp inhale and steel yourself. “If you let him go, I’ll go home with you,” you breathe out, completely surprising yourself with your resolve.

The man raises a curious eyebrow at your proposition.

“N… o…” Tup croaks out from beneath the man's chokehold, his eyes trying to meet yours, but all he sees is a film of red.

Annoyed by the talking piece of meat in his grip, the man takes his other hand and slams it against Tup’s jaw, knocking it out of place with a single deft movement. Blood flings from Tup’s face and splatters across yours as he lets out a stifled groan. His head rolls back as he fades in and out of consciousness. You gasp in horror at the violent act and you raise a trembling hand to your face to wipe Tup's blood off, taking a moment to stare at the crimson stain on your fingers. 

“There,” the man smiles satisfactorily. “Now we won’t be interrupted.”

New waves of terror wash over you as shock threatens to take over your system, but you continue to stand your ground, determined to save Tup. “Please,” you ask again with as much sincerity as you can muster. “Please let him go and I’ll go home with you.”

The man contemplates your offer and finally drops his toy. Tup gasps, with what little ability he has left, as he hits the ground hard. You sigh in relief, but it quickly turns to more horror as you watch the man kick Tup in the stomach and hurl him against the wall of the alley. At this point, Tup can’t make any more noises. He just lies against the wall, limp, bleeding, and broken. You look up at the man and beg him to leave Tup alone. You beg and beg and beg, crying for him to stop.

The man walks over to Tup’s mutilated, bloody body and picks him up by the neck again, his twisted arms and legs dangling lifelessly. The man looks at you and smirks. “Do you know where clones belong?” 

You whimper, stifling back a sob, and shake your head. 

“In the trash,” the man laughs as he tosses Tup’s body in the closest dumpster.

You tremble at the echoing thud Tup’s body makes when it lands in the dumpster. You wonder if he’s dead. He must be dead. No one can survive that level of physical abuse. You fall to your knees and sob. You sob for your lost love and you sob because it’s all your fault. You brought your past into Tup’s present and now he’s paid for it with his life. This wasn’t supposed to happen. This wasn’t the life you wanted and now you’re mourning the life you had. The life you loved.

The man grabs your arm and yanks you up from the ground. There’s nothing more you can do now. You don’t have a choice. All hope has been lost. You have found yourself at the end of a very terrifying road with no one to protect you and no one to save you. You swallow hard and accept your fate, a fate that Tup died in vain to prevent. You reluctantly go with the man who murdered your love, turning back to look into the alley one last time to mouth a silent I'm sorry.

“You’re overreacting,” Fives criticizes while putting his hands behind his head. “He probably hit it by accident.”

“That doesn’t sound like Tup,” Echo argues as he concentrates on the beacon. “He could be in danger.”

“It’s date night,” Fives reminds Echo with a cheeky grin. “The only danger he’s in is getting blue balls.”

“Real mature, Fives,” Echo rolls his eyes without looking up from the data-pad. 

“Listen,” Fives starts, “I was having a great night until you dragged me out here, in full kit no less, to track down Tup and his girlfriend.”

“Yes, I’m sure your hand is missing you very much,” Echo jokes with a small smirk.

Fives flicks an unamused look towards his brother and scrunches his nose to mock him. “Ha-ha, very funny.”

“Just shut up and focus,” Echo says with annoyance.

Fives crosses his arms against his chest in protest and continues walking beside Echo in silence. They follow Tup’s distress signal, winding their way past shops and restaurants illuminated by fluorescent neon signs. The vivid colors and bright lights dance across their armor against the dark backdrop of the night. They stop momentarily when the beacon alerts them to the location of Tup’s comm link being only a little distance up ahead. 

Trading concerned looks between each other, they warily continue forward. Echo watches the beacon closely, the beeping pattern matching his anxious heartbeat. There’s no reason for Tup to be here in an empty street like this. They walk past an alley and the beeping from the beacon slows. Echo puts a hand across Five’s chest to halt him, then takes a few steps back. The beacon beeps faster as he approaches the entrance of the dark alley.

Odd is the only word the two Arc Trooper’s can come up with as they share a nervous look. They step into the damp alley, flicking on their helmet lights to see into the darkness, but nothing catches their gaze. There’s nothing in the alley other than garbage, dumpsters, and mysterious liquids littering the ground. They continue to look around, the beacon guiding them to the distress signal. The beeping is loudest by the dumpster and they move towards it to investigate.

“I knew it,” Fives sighs as he puts his hands on his hips. “He lost it and it ended up in the trash. I told you it was nothing to worry about.”

Echo grumbles at Fives’ words, crosses his arms in annoyance, and leans against the opposite wall.

“He owes me for this,” Fives says as he walks toward the open part of the dumpster. He grips the metal side with both hands and hoists himself up to peer inside. He prepares himself for the stench, but nothing could have prepared him for the horrific sight. A beaten and bloody clone. His breath hitches and his stomach jumps into his throat. He swings his legs over the side of the dumpster and jumps in.

He kneels next to the clone. Their body is so mangled and twisted, he can’t tell who it is. He brushes the hair out of their battered face and his heart sinks. A blood stained teardrop under their right eye. No. It can’t be. This can’t be Tup. Fives’ heart races. He puts two fingers to the side of his brother’s neck, checking for a pulse, repeating ‘please don’t be dead’ to himself over and over again, a silent wish. Then he feels it, a faint rhythm pushing back.

“Hang on vod’ika,” Fives whispers as he gently brushes more strands of the blood-caked hair away from his face. “Hang on for me.” He debates whether he should move Tup himself, but with the amount of bodily damage, there’s no good way to pick him up without injuring him further. Fives curses to himself. “Call the corries,” He orders through comms. His voice is steady, but conceals a bitterness.

Echo is startled out of his roaming thoughts and pushes himself off the alley wall he was leaning against, “What did you find?”

“I said call the corries!” Fives yells, his voice now demanding as anger and worry seeps through. “And get a medic!”

Echo is taken aback by Fives’ aggressive tone and jogs over to the dumpster to see what he found. If they need the Corrie Guard and a medic, it can’t be good. He jumps up the side of the dumpster and leans over to see Fives kneeling next to a bloody body, a clone trooper’s body. Echo’s face contorts beneath his helmet and he wants to gag, not just at the smell, but also at the morbid sight of bones sticking out of the beaten trooper’s lifeless body. 

He stares for a moment longer when the realization washes over him like the raging waves of Kamino. The distress beacon, the alley, the dumpster, the bloody clone. It’s Tup. There’s no denying it, those lengthy curls, the tattoo under his eye. It’s him. Echo’s blood boils and he lets go of the side of the dumpster, landing back on the ground with a soft thud. He calls it in, his normally stoic voice steeped in fear and anger. Fear for his brother’s life and anger at the perpetrator.

After the call is made, Echo makes a second terrifying realization. He looks farther down the alley, scanning it for another life. A second cold wave washes over him. You’re not here. You’re not in the dumpster. You’re not in the alley. You’re nowhere to be found. The thought that you did this to Tup flashes across his mind, but dissipates just as quickly. There’s no way you could do this type of damage to a clone trooper. No, it must have been someone else.

The Coruscant Guard, led by Fox, finally arrive on scene. Flashes of red and blue illuminate the area and the alley is marked off with yellow crime scene tape. Late night bystanders stare in curiosity at the commotion, crowding the corrie guards as they try to keep the public out of the way. Echo gives Fox a rundown of the situation and mentions that you were out with Tup and are now missing. Fox records the information and places a reassuring hand on Echo’s shoulder.

“We’ll find who did this to your brother, and locate the missing girl,” Fox promises. 

Echo worries his lip and takes his helmet off, tucking it neatly under his arm. “With all due respect, sir,” Echo begins, pausing for a moment to decide whether he’d like his next words to be a question or a statement, "we’d rather take this one.” He knows they have no jurisdiction on Coruscant and no business taking on local crime, but this is different. This is one of their own. This is their brother. He has to try. He has to find a way for them to be involved, to get revenge.

Fox pauses at the bold statement, his expression hidden behind his helmet. He studies the ARC trooper in front of him, a level of burning passion and rage alight behind his eyes. He can already tell there’s no stopping this clone, or his brothers. Even if he orders them to stay out of it, they’ll never obey, and that will just create more paperwork for him. Fox sighs, hoping he doesn’t regret his decision. He points to his men. “The boys will give you what you need.” 

Echo nods his thanks and Fox nods back before returning to his men to explain the new situation. Echo grits his teeth and clenches his bicep around his bucket. He’s angry. No. He’s furious. His brother is lying in a pool of his own blood, straining for air, and walking a thin line between life and death. His only thoughts now are retribution. Whoever did this is going to pay in blood. He takes a deep breath to calm himself and walks back to the alley to check on Fives.

Extricating Tup from the dumpster is no small feat, not with the amount of damage done to his body. The corrie guard had to bring in special tools to take apart the side of the dumpster piece by piece. Fives stays inside the dumpster with Tup and shields him from the sparks as they cut the bolts loose. Once the side of the dumpster is removed, medics work delicately to lift Tup out of the garbage and onto a stretcher. Fives does his best to help, but the medics push him away.

Echo watches the medics work and approaches the hole in the dumpster once Tup is safely removed. He peers inside and sees Fives still kneeling in the garbage, his armor covered in blood. Covered in Tup’s blood. He watches as Fives picks up the flashing comm link that was hidden beneath Tup’s body. He grips it in his hand and chucks it past Echo while yelling in frustration. He pulls his bucket off his head, leaving blood stains behind from his soaked gloves. 

“How did this happen?” Fives asks, his voice angry and quivering.

Echo drops his gaze and kicks the ground. He has the same question with the same nonexistent answer. He lifts his gaze back up to meet Fives and offers a hand to help him out of the dumpster. Fives takes a deep breath and grabs his brother’s hand to pull himself up. They both sigh and lean against the wall of the alley, neither knowing what to say. Their silence is broken when Fox comes back around to grab their statements and to let them know he contacted Rex.

It didn’t take long for the rest of the squad to show up. Some in their civvies, some in their armor, and some in gym clothes, but all with worried looks plastered onto their faces. Echo and Fives maneuver out of the alley to greet them, waving back to Fox in thanks for his help. Their brother’s eyes plead for answers, for explanations, for anything that will tell them what’s going on. They see the blood stains on Fives’ armor and murmurs erupt between the clones.

“Maker!” Captain Rex exclaims when he sees Fives. “What happened to you?”

Fives chews on his lip, unsure of what to say when he realizes Fox didn’t tell them what happened. “It’s...” he pauses, the thought forming into a painful crushing weight on his chest. “It’s not mine.”

“Then who’s is it?!” Rex questions vehemently while looking around and doing a mental headcount of his men, desperately trying to figure out which one of them is missing from the ranks. 

Fives casts his gaze to the side, unwilling to meet his captain’s anxious and questioning eyes. He doesn’t want to say it. He doesn’t want to keep saying it. The amount of times he’s already had to recount what he’s seen is one too many. The words are like poison, slowly peeling away at the layers of his tongue, making it raw with emotion. He doesn’t want to think about it anymore. It makes him sick. The words, the smell, and the image twists his gut in discomfort.  

“It’s Tup’s,” Echo answers when he notices the distant look in Fives’ eyes. The words are like sharp needles pricking his lips as they exit, leaving a bitter and bloody aftertaste. 

Shock sweeps over the group of clones like billowing smoke, stinging their eyes and stealing their breaths. Their respective nights had been interrupted by an emergency comm from Rex notifying them that one of their brother’s was the victim of a crime. Dinners had been left cold, warm beds had been abandoned, and activities had been ditched at a moment's notice. They thought they were prepared for whatever this crime was, but they were wrong, very wrong. 

“Hey!” Kix hollers after scanning the area to locate Tup. “That’s my trooper!” He runs over to where the medics are attempting to stabilize Tup for transport and demands a debrief from the lead medic. 

The two medics argue back and forth about Tup’s condition and who has jurisdiction. Kix gets in the lead medic’s face, pointing a finger at his chest, and yelling expletives. No one gets in Kix’s way or tries to stop him, because they all feel the same way, the same fear and anger. Fox overhears the heated discussion and intervenes between the two clones before a fight breaks out. He sees the same fire in Kix’s eyes as the ARC trooper and lets him take the lead of the medics on scene.

Fives watches the ordeal and rubs his hand across his chin, pulling at his bottom lip in exasperation, while absent-mindedly leaving a trail of blood across his chin and goatee. Echo notices the striking smear and cringes at his brother’s appearance. He steps in front of Fives and brings his hand up to his twin’s face to wipe it away. Fives leans his head back in resistance to the odd gesture, but the glint in Echo’s eyes convinces him to trust what he’s doing. 

“You should change into something else,” Echo mentions as he works to wipe the blood off. 

Fives looks down at his armor and a small alarm sets off in the back of his brain. He drops his bucket and looks at his hands, pressing his fingers together while watching the blood ooze from his soaked gloves. He was so wrapped up in helping Tup, he didn’t even notice just how much of his blood was on him, staining him with a constant reminder of his brother’s mutilated body. He rips his gloves off and starts yanking his armor off, stripping like a madman in the street.

He needs it off. All of it. He doesn’t want to see it anymore. He doesn’t want to remember the disgusting images in his head. He’s seen blood before, lots of blood, but not this blood. This blood is different. This isn’t the blood of the faceless enemy, this is the blood of his brother. He claws at his blacks, desperately trying to remove them from his body in a frenzy. Through his hysterical haze, he feels Echo place two firm hands on either of his shoulders and he stops. 

Fives looks into Echo’s eyes as Echo breathes in through his nose and out through his mouth. He copies Echo’s breathing, slowly bringing his panicked breath in sync with his brother’s calm breath. Once he settles in the new rhythm, Echo closes his eyes and leans his forehead against Fives’, silently reminding him that he’s not alone and that Tup is still alive and fighting. Fives closes his eyes and lets his mind go blank, mentally preparing himself for what comes next.

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3

Masterlist

A03

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[levi-venn]

Cross and Crow

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 (Final) Available also on AO3

The Mount Tantiss cell where they kept Crosshair had a window, fortified with durasteel bars and a view that showed an indifferent blue sky with thin, half-hearted clouds.

The bastard scientists said the window was a show of kindness.

Crosshair found it cruel. 

The view told him very little of his surroundings. He was facing North, two levels above ground. There was a docking bay to the East. No air traffic besides the occasional Imperial freighter carrying supplies.

He hated the view.

His eyes would snap to any movement outside, his heart betraying him with painful lurches, hoping that one of those damn supply ships would be the Marauder. His brothers swooping in to his rescue, forgetting every cruel thing he had said and done to them. End his nightmare. Take him back.

After two weeks of false hopes and bitter heartache, he sacrificed his thin blanket to cover the window.

Fuck them, he decided. They abandoned me first, anyway.

On that first blanketless night, his sleep was broken. He shivered through fractured dreams of a remote outpost, Mayday in his arms, staggering towards the warm light in the distance that seemed to drift farther away the longer he walked. 

“Almost there…” He lied to his brother. “Hang on…Just a little farther.”

***

The next day, sunlight burst into the cell with laser precision, blinding him with thoughtless cheer. Crosshair snarled awake, squinting at the window. 

There were holes in the blanket. It looked like the cheese he’d pull off his sandwiches and toss to Wrecker, only to have Tech point out the importance of calcium in Crosshair's diet.

He pulled back the blanket and peered out the window. The sky was empty. Even the clouds had abandoned him. 

Still…something made these holes. 

Breakfast came soon after. They fed him generously. Wanted him healthy for the experiments that came at him every three days. 

He collected a piece of bread, a few bits of whatever the Empire considered "sausage", and a clump of egg whites. He placed the offerings on the sill. 

At worst, ants would come.

At best...

The crow swooped in immediately, soundlessly landing, but cawing bombastically in Crosshair’s face. He nearly fell backwards into his cell. 

He growled back at the corvid.

The crow ignored him and pecked at the food experimentally before accepting the eggs, knocking the bread and sausage back into the cell. 

On training missions off-world, Crosshair would birdwatch through his rifle's scope. First out of boredom, then out of fascination. Birds didn’t thrive on Kamino so any chance he could, his scope would search for these creatures that took for granted the stormless skies.

More often than not, Hunter would toss something at him, pulling his brother’s focus back to their training. Once Crosshair deflected the pebble Hunter threw at him and it pinged Wrecker in the head. Wrecker turned and slapped the datapad out of Tech's hands. Tech, fuming at being wrongfully accused, tackled Wrecker and Hunter dove in to break them up. Crosshair sat in his perch, pleased with himself at the chaos below while above him two territorial hummingbirds fought over a tree too big for either of them.

The squad got black marks on their record that day. It was worth it. 

After eating the eggs, the crow tilted its head left, then right, thoroughly examining Crosshair in every direction it could turn its large, midnight head. After its studies were complete, it flapped noisily away, leaving two black feathers behind. 

Crosshair kept the feathers hidden under his pillow.

He didn’t know why.

The crow didn’t return for the rest of the day.

But Crosshair started looking out the window again. 

Three days went by. 

A full day of experiments. Poking. Prodding. Gassing. Drugging. Restraining. Isolating. Breaking. Rebuilding. 

By nightfall he was dragged back to his cell without being told why they did any of it. They owed him no explanation.

And if I knew, would it be better? Worse?

They gave him stew. He could barely stomach smelling it. 

Fighting the tremors in his hands, he plucked a piece of potato, shredded meat, and a few beans from the bowl and climbed onto his bed to the window. He placed the offering, then passed out onto his mattress, dead to the world.

The next day he awoke to a shrill caw. 

His heart leapt in a dangerous way. He didn’t want to feel this. He didn’t want to experience a reprieve from this nightmare, a joy that could be ripped away at any moment. The crow was just a scavenger, a hungry opportunist. Eventually, it would move on and Crosshair would be alone again. 

The crow looked at him and he scowled back. 

It ate a bean. 

It ate some meat. 

It rolled the potato back into the room and onto Crosshair’s bed, which- 

Wait...no...

Crosshair blinked. It wasn’t a potato the crow had give him. 

It was a pinecone. Young. Unfurled. A little green. 

When he looked up again, the crow was gone. 

He hid the pinecone under his pillow, next to the two feathers. 

He didn’t know why.

***

Dreams were more dangerous than hope. On nights after an experiment, he was usually too exhausted to dream. But this night he had pulled the pinecone from beneath his pillow. He clutched it as he slept.

And he dreamt of an ocean. 

Loud waves crashing against the sturdy pillars of Kamino’s science facility. Crosshair and his brothers, too young to be soldiers and old enough to know better, sat preciously on a ledge overlooking the endless sea. They snacked from a tin of biscuits Tech and Hunter had stolen as a “stealth exercise”.

Crosshair balanced the tin lid on his finger and spun it for Wrecker, who giggled and clapped, getting biscuit crumbs everywhere.

Hunter said something to Crosshair, but the words were lost under the roar of relentless waves. Crosshair tried to shout back, but his words turned into a shrill-

Caw! Caw!

Crosshair snapped awake, his cheeks cold and wet. 

He hissed and wiped the tears away, squinting up at the crow who was waiting for breakfast, beak pressed through the bars impatiently. 

Breakfast came in the form of pastry discs, eggs, strips of meat that weren’t bacon. 

The crow seemed to like the eggs best. Crosshair added more to the sill.

They ate together. 

And the crow rolled another trinket onto Crosshair’s bed.

A piece of white plastoid. 

It joined the pair of feathers beneath Crosshair’s pillow.

The pinecone stayed with Crosshair as he slept at night. It helped him sleep. It kept nightmares away. 

He didn’t know why.

***

More experiments. Suffocating. Burning. Freezing. Breaking. Rebuilding. 

When he was dragged back to his cell, he saw food was waiting for him. Some sort of egg hash, leftovers from the morning. 

Egg will be pleased.

He left his offering on the sill for Egg, then he and the pinecone slept.

Too exhausted to dream, Crosshair woke to the sound of two loud caws. Always two.

Good morning.

Crosshair added more eggs to the sill and a piece of the terrible bacon. 

Egg pecked at the bacon suspiciously, letting out a little disgruntled cluck that made Crosshair’s lips to twitch unexpectedly. 

He didn’t smile. But he wasn’t scowling.

The tense knot of hopelessness was loosening in Crosshair’s chest as if Egg had been pecking at it each morning, fraying his sanity, giving him false peace. 

Throw the tray at the window, he begged himself. Bang the cup on the bars. Shoo Egg - shoo the crow - away before reality kicks in. You’re in here. Egg’s out there. One day, he won’t come back. 

Crosshair stared at his tray. It shook in his hands.

Do it. Get it over with. 

But then something clattered on the tray.

Crosshair stared at the object. 

Too late. Sanity gone. This isn’t real. It can’t be. I want this too much. 

A piece of crudely crafted wood, a message carved in. 

[Look down]

Crosshair stared at the words, struggling to keep his hope smothered.

[Look down]

He knew that handwriting. Meticulous. Precise. By a hand that taught Crosshair how to write, that comforted him when the thunder was too loud and the lightning too bright, that would ball into a fist when regs teased him about his hair, his lankiness, his uniqueness.

Crosshair climbed onto his bed.

Both he and Egg looked down together.

Crosshair hadn’t spoken in months, but there was no one else in the galaxy he wanted to speak to more than his brother at this moment. 

With a raspy hiss he asked: “Where the hell are your goggles?”

Part Two: Tech and Crow

#Bad Batch #Crosshair #Bad Batch Crosshair #Star Wars #After Season 2 Finale #Wrote this to cope #Crosshair is fine and we're fine and everything is fine #First fic in Bad Batch fandom so be kind #This is part one #Part two will be Tech's part #Tech is also fine and we're all fine here now thank you how are you?

[courtforshort15]

Chapter 4

Pairing: Matt Murdock x fem reader

Word Count: 5,600

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

Trigger warning: This one has a fairly graphic description of something towards the end regarding death. 

Masterlist

Chapter Index

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8

The small bookstore looks nothing short of a location where a bomb had been detonated.

It hardly resembles the haven you had run into a little less than an hour ago, dust-covered and shaking, head and body increasingly vulnerable with every second that passed by. When you’d entered the building, numerous bookshelves had been standing throughout the floor space, symmetrically and strategically placed for maximum efficiency and exposure, each one bold and welcoming in the face of new and experienced readers. Rows and rows of colorful books had been placed lovingly on the shelves, every single one of them looking ready and eager for someone to pull it out and bring it home. Displays and racks of reading materials ranging from cook books to self-help guides to religious texts, and it was as if each item was a swift and earnest reminder of New York City’s diverse population and their reading needs and enjoyments.

The small shop had likely belonged to a small business owner, their blood, sweat, and tears shed in its foundation, a testament to their love for the written word and the journeys it could take a person on. 

And it was just…gone.

“Jesus.”

His response is soft. “I know.”

“If you hadn’t pulled us into the bathroom, then we—”

“Let’s not go there, okay?”

Your heart aches as you take in the scene, and your eyes lock onto the lone bookshelf that had somehow endured the chaos. It’s as if it exists solely to offer some sort of twisted and miserable reminder of the way the shop had stood so proudly only minutes before. Books are strewn across the floor, and though some are relatively unharmed, there are others that are burnt with only the spine and a few pages remaining, nothing left but words that have turned into ashes. 

Glass crunches under your shoes as you leave the bathroom and walk slowly into what remains, a soft breeze drifting in from the large hole in the store that had once been wide, clear windows. Heat drifts in, too, the feel of it sweltering, and where it had once been the simple heat of a beautiful spring day, it’s now sticky and bitter and utterly unwelcome. 

Matt walks cautiously ahead of you, hand slowly dropping yours as he makes his way to the front of the store, dark head tilting here and there as if focusing intently on something before deciding to move on. He expertly navigates his way around fallen bookshelves, sidestepping piles of books that have fallen and huddled together, and you follow behind slowly, your feet instinctively taking you through the same path he’s seemingly mapped out for you.

When he reaches the space where the windows had once rested, he stops and situates his body so that he’s angled halfway between you and the street, head once again cocked to the side. He lifts a finger to his lips as if encouraging you to be as quiet as possible, but it’s a hard task to accomplish with the way your heels continue to press into the glass, and each step clinks far too loudly. Your shoe catches on something, and you can’t help the swear word that loudly leaves your mouth as you regain your balance.

Somehow you manage to make your way to his side, cringing as you take in the full view of the street. You don’t have words for the destruction, to be honest. A slowly burning car lies on its side up the block from you, the freshly planted trees and flowers across the street are crumbled and smashed into the sidewalk, buildings are torn apart, gaping holes yawning wide with heaps of glass and brick spilling onto the street. The sight is something you’ve never seen before, and each second you spend staring at it, the further it stains and bleeds into your memory.

You guess you’ve joined the millions of people who have witnessed a New York tragedy. It’s a club you hadn’t ever thought you’d have to join, the kind of club that offers memberships with PTSD as the recurring charge, and it rocks you to your core. 

“This isn’t…this isn’t something we’ll ever heal from.”

Though he only says it in a barely-there whisper, the tone that manages to seep in is solemn and grave. “No. No, it’s not.”

Utterly sick to your stomach, you turn your head to face Matt, needing to see something besides the trauma seeping out onto the road. The cut above his hairline is still bleeding, leaving a small line of red trailing down the side of his forehead, and in this lighting it seems to be more severe than you had maybe thought it was. With a wince, your hand twitches at your side as if you want to wipe it off, but you force yourself to remain still. He had seemed surprised when you’d tried to help earlier, and you don’t want to throw him out of whatever he’s focusing on.

Your eyes shift back to the street reluctantly, and you note that, for some reason, you’ve been instinctively waiting on his go-ahead to begin the arduous journey to the subway station. Opening your mouth, you start to ask him what he’s waiting for, but he interrupts you.

“I think we’re good to go,” he says as his head snaps back towards yours. His mouth is twisted in a grimace, and you can see the glimmer of fear that flashes over a face that’s just as weary and exhausted as yours. “I don’t hear anything nearby.”

You nod immediately, sucking in a deep breath. “Okay. Which way?”

His head swings to the side. “The subway station is a few blocks north and two blocks west, right?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

Matt blows out a loud breath, and you watch as he steels his spine in front of you. “Then we need to go right.”

You don’t question how he knows, instead choosing to gather your strength and wits for a journey that would normally be considered a short walk. But four blocks feels like a marathon away, feels like you’re making the walk between the Shire and Mordor, the trek likely to contain danger and trauma and fire lying in wait at every twist and turn.

The whisper of your name pulls you back to the bookstore, and the tone conveys a softness that is at an extreme clash with everything going on around you. Your head turns so that you’re facing him head on, his body seemingly undaunted and thrumming with an energy you haven’t yet seen on him. It’s almost like he’s taken all the chaos around him and suddenly focused it into something even stronger, something more determined than the things flying around the city like they own it. 

“You ready?” he asks, his voice shockingly calm for someone who is about to leave behind the only semblance of shelter he’s had since this all began. 

It’s your last chance to back out, but you wave it swiftly aside. “Yes.”

His nod is almost curt in its movement, the jerk of his head brusque and determined. Without a single second wasted, he steps over the small wall of brick that had once held up the glass, only a foot or so in height, dress shoes making their way from the carpet of the bookstore to the concrete of the sidewalk easily. He turns back to you before he’s even finished stepping outside, wordlessly offering his hands to you to help you clear the brick as well, fingers grasping yours tightly to help you maintain balance.

Matt lets go of your left hand once you’re settled next to him and swiftly takes a right, pulling you along behind him for a few seconds as if to make sure you’re still by his side, before releasing contact altogether.

You can’t run, not without risking a major fall or sprained ankle, but you trail after him as fast as you can, walking briskly and jogging at random moments to keep up with him. He notices pretty quickly that you’re unable to keep the pace he has set and immediately slows, keeping himself just a few steps ahead of you. He’s somehow able to dip and avoid large pieces of fallen debris that litter the sidewalk, and you once again follow the path he’s all but laid out for you.

His coordination and agility is far beyond what you had anticipated, even far beyond what you would expect from someone who has perfect vision, and you’re left feeling both confused and grateful for his navigation through the wreckage.

There’s a haze that’s settled over the city, one filled with ash and dust that’s been both kicked up from the normally filthy streets and created through the destruction of concrete. You do your best to breathe through it, do your best to see through it, grateful that the lenses of your glasses offer some sort of protection from something getting into your eyes. 

You try your hardest to focus on the mission, focus on the goal of finding shelter, but you can’t help the sheer horror and sadness that hits you whenever you look up long enough to see the level of devastation present. Your heels feel more unstable than ever as you walk, and each step you take is clouded in fear and anxiety, even as you move as swiftly as possible with every ounce of determination you can drag up.

“You with me?”

“Yes,” you quickly reply, fleetingly puzzled, because surely he can hear your heels scraping along the concrete and the way you’d stuttered out the word fuck when a distant crash startled you. It only takes a split second to realize he hadn’t been asking if you were behind him, but rather checking in on you to see how you were doing.

What strikes you, perhaps the most, is how deserted the streets are. Or, at least how deserted these specific blocks are, though, to be fair, you aren't super close to the hole in the sky. It could be a completely different story closer to Stark Tower, which sits a few blocks south and a few blocks east, and you're exceedingly grateful that your little slice of Hell's Kitchen is just far enough away from the main action. But still, even once you turn the corner, there’s no one. You’re not quite sure how it's possible. The island of Manhattan is home to over one million people alone, and the number of people around the city doubles during the work day. It’s a place where people flood into and recede from daily, like some sort of tide that washes up and retreats.

You leave your answer at the yes you had responded with, figuring it’s easier to leave it there rather than explain the way your heart continues to drop with every step you take. You don’t expect to get to the subway station unscathed, there’s too much going on around you, and far too much out there that can cause you harm. 

It’s the city that never sleeps, but even with the crashing and the explosions and the police sirens, it’s never felt more quiet. 

Where the fuck is everyone?

You guess, you hope, that people have found shelter. The opening of whatever portal had appeared over Stark Tower had caused widespread panic, people fleeing for their lives, crashing into and around each other in an effort to get away and get inside. But it doesn’t explain why New York suddenly feels like a ghost town. 

He may not be able to see the streets, but you’re completely positive he can feel the emptiness of them.

You suppose the invasion, if that’s what this should be called (how could one word ever begin to accurately describe the chaos?), had first happened approximately forty five minutes ago, give or take, plenty of time for people to find somewhere to go to wait out the shit storm that’s reigning down. For a quick moment, it makes you suddenly second guess your decision to head towards the subway station when everyone else is staying indoors, and you briefly wonder if Matt is feeling the same way. 

But you don’t know how long this is going to last, and while the bookstore had been a temporary solution, it certainly had not been a sustainable one, and right now the focus needs to be on finding something that could outlast the onslaught for as long as possible. 

The first crosswalk lies not too far ahead, and some part of you slows as you would at any other normal instance, but he keeps moving swiftly, clearly aware that there’s no need to pause for traffic. Cars and vans and trucks have been abandoned and left for fate to decide what will happen to them, many of them already damaged beyond any hope for repair. Most have their driver side doors open, as if the drivers barely had time to exit their vehicles, much less worry about closing the doors. Some vehicles have crashed into others, and you’ll never know if it was purposefully as someone tried to escape, or if cars were thrown into each other from the force of various explosions and blasts.

But all vehicles, or at least the ones you can see, are empty of people. You’re grateful for that, at least, knowing it means that the people on this particular block were able to find relative safety.

It’s a pretty straight shot from one street corner to the one across the intersection, and Matt makes his way across briskly, you hot on his heels, doing your best to keep the pace despite the way your feet are throbbing with each and every step. He’s extremely patient even in the urgency of the moment, somehow knowing every time your foot catches on something, quickly turning around and placing a hand on your arm for balance. 

It happens more often than you care to admit, knowing that each tiny tumble, however miniscule, is delaying the progress to the subway station. 

You’re not too far past the intersection, crossing in front of an alleyway, when he turns abruptly on his heel and pushes you into the gap between the two buildings.

“What–”

But he’s shoving the two of you down behind a giant green dumpster before you can finish your question, and his body twists slightly over yours. You cling to his suit jacket for balance with one hand, and place your wrapped up hand on the brick of the wall for additional support, your quads burning slightly as you hunch over. His form may be covering you slightly, but your face is still turned towards the entrance of the alley, and your eyes are wide as they stare over his shoulder, waiting to see whatever had spooked him. Nothing happens, not for a few seconds at least, and it rattles your nerves, your body already anticipating another round of terror.

Matt abruptly shifts, moving as if to cover you more completely, and it momentarily pulls your attention from the mouth of the alley. But you don’t think his movement succeeds in his goal, largely because your head is still completely exposed, and it certainly doesn’t stop your eyes from suddenly tracking the things that fly past the gap of the buildings, some sixty or so feet above the ground. 

They come out of nowhere, sliding into your vision as quickly as they leave, too far away and too fast for you to get a clear glimpse, but you’re one hundred percent certain that it’s one of the things that had been standing outside of the bookstore when the glass had shattered, stalking down the street looking for people to kill in cold blood, no remorse or empathy for the humans who call Earth home.

“They’re too fast,” he mutters, the sound harsh even in its low volume. “I can’t–I hear them coming, but they get too close way too soon. Not a lot of time to hide.”

“Fucking hell,” you hiss under your breath, twisting your head so that you can see better over Matt’s shoulder. “They’re everywhere.”

Your eyes shift to the face that’s mere inches from yours. “You can hear–? How far away can you hear them from?”

He hesitates for just a brief moment. “Far,” he says before taking a large, shuddering breath. It almost sounds painful, as if his lungs are protesting the sudden intake of oxygen. “But like I said, they’re too fast. I hear them and suddenly they’re right on top of us.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.” 

“I…yeah. That about sums it up.”

Matt stands up slowly, bracing his hand against the wall as he reaches up to his full height. You follow the motion, not bothering to cover the quiet groan that escapes you. Your body has been turned and twisted into far too many uncomfortable positions today, and you find yourself internally grumbling about the lack of effort you’ve put into exercise lately. Every muscle in your body hates you right now, and you don’t want to think about how sore you’ll be once the adrenaline has left your system.

“Are they gone?”

Head facing away from you, Matt takes a small step forward, his focus on something you can’t see or hear. You stay where you are, ready to duck back down the dumpster if needed. The ground is filthy, the pieces of trash that hadn’t made it into the dumpster littering the concrete, and you can’t help but allow yourself a moment of disgust. 

“It’s hard to tell” he finally says with a sigh as turns back to face you. His face is hard in its frustration. “They’re–they’re everywhere. Moving too fast to track sometimes, especially with so many of them. I can’t quite…I can’t be completely positive of where they’re at or where they’re going.”

Swallowing, you nod your head as if you understand, but you really don’t. “And you’re–you’re relying on your hearing to tell you where they are? From blocks away?”

“Yes,” he responds simply as he rolls his shoulders. The look he sends your way is as dry as it is nonchalant. “It’s not like I can use my eyes, so…”

You flush. “Right. Stupid question.”

Matt waves it off without much thought and places his hands on his hips. A loud bang sounds off from somewhere in the distance, far too close for your taste, and he flinches at the sound before straightening his shoulders. 

“So,” you say, resting back against the brick wall. Your voice is shaking, just a tiny bit, but the two of you don’t acknowledge it. “I don’t think the coast is ever going to be completely clear.”

He grimaces. “Agreed.”

“And we’re definitely worse off right here than we were at the bookstore. But we’re still a few blocks away. Do you think….? Should we just find somewhere else to go inside?”

“Then we keep heading north,” you confirm with a quick and decisive nod of your head. A bead of sweat trickles down the side of your face and you hastily wipe it away. “But we need to keep sticking to the side of the buildings. The alleys can help hide us if something comes our way.”

Shaking his head, Matt immediately rejects the idea. “There’s too much glass. And everything–everything seems so vulnerable here. They’re crumbling buildings so easily. We're so lucky that the one we were in didn't collapse completely when that thing landed on it. I still...I really think it’s safest to be underground.”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s probably the best we can do right now.”

“Right. Ok. Let’s go.” You pass by Matt and make your way to the front of the alley entrance fully intending on taking a step back out onto the sidewalk, ready for this to be over and dreading every inch you’ll be walking. He walks up quietly behind you and appears at your shoulder, but somehow he must sense your reluctance because he doesn’t exit the alley.

The frown on his lips isn’t as severe as you’ve seen it so far, but it's definitely pronounced. “You’re hesitating.”

You deny the comment with a shake of your head, even though he’s partly correct. “No, I’m ready. It’s just…it’s a ghost town out here,” you remark almost helplessly, motioning towards the empty streets that he can’t see but can surely hear. “I haven’t seen a single person since we entered the book store. Where is everyone? Where did they go?”

Head cocking slightly, Matt’s quiet for a moment before answering a question that had been kind of rhetorical. “There’s people in the surrounding buildings.”

“What?”

“Yes, everyone has run inside at this point, I think.” He opens his mouth like he wants to say more, but he stops himself. Running an aggravated hand through his hair, he sighs and appears to give into what he was about to say. “But I…I think the glass makes them too vulnerable. People are standing too close to the windows, makes them too much of a target.”

“It’s a long story,” he tells you, and you watch as he sort of folds in on himself as if he’s let go of some sort of large secret he’s still not sure he should have revealed. But it only lasts a moment before he’s standing up tall again, head tilted up and mouth set in determination. “And I…I promise to tell you when we get through this. Alright?”

“How do you even know that?”

When. 

There were so many things to live for, so many things to keep fighting for as hell continues to break loose around you, but you’d be lying if you said that the thought of this man sharing something with you hadn’t just become one of them. You have a feeling it’s not something he’s shared with many, and you have the weird inkling that maybe he needs to tell you just as much as you need to hear it, if only to hold on to the thought that there could possibly be life after whatever the hell is going on in the city.

Not if. 

You stare straight at him, taking in the way he’s somehow managed to expose a vulnerability while also demonstrating his strength and determination. “I’m going to hold you to that.”

The smile he sends you is hesitant, clouded by the heaviness of the situation, but it’s there, and it’s beautiful.

“Deal.”

Things continue to boom and shake, sirens continue to blare, but you follow Matt out of the alley way without question, once again allowing him to navigate and lead you through the piles of debris. He stays a few steps ahead of you, black suit jacket covered in dust and tiny tears that must have been a result of the windows that had shattered. His hands are clenched fists at his side, and the haze that has fallen over the city does its best to pull him in, but you refuse to lose and be lost by him.

The sun is still bright up ahead, even through the smoke and the fear, and the sight of it leads you forward, wanting nothing more than to have the opportunity to live and feel it heat your skin on a day that’s not shrouded by terror.

This block is just as eerie, just as desolate, as the one you’ve already walked down, nothing but random empty cars and scorched pavement, likely from the blast of whatever sort of weaponry these things are firing around with little care as to who or what would be in its path. It reminds you of a post-apocalyptic movie, the kind where there’s nothing left to save except the gas from a gas station or non-perishables from a corner store. 

You do your best to stare straight ahead at Matt’s back rather than the disaster that’s been painted around you, but you can’t help but glance up and down, left and right, mind still struggling to link the peaceful Wednesday afternoon to where you are now. You’re in a constraint state of disbelief, some part of you still on that street corner with your iced coffee in your hand, lip curled as you send Brenda’s call to voicemail, nothing on your mind but your painful shoes, unfinished spreadsheets, and the warmth of a sunny spring day.

The loud screech and following crash from a few blocks over pulls you back into your body with a jolt, and it leaves you feeling bitter and broken. Your skin feels itchy with the dust, your feet throb with every step you take, but you’re here, and you’re alive, and you—

Out of the blue, Matt falters. 

He’s not facing you directly, but you can see that his face has lost its color. 

You almost crash straight into him, the speed of your body nearly too fast to avoid running into his back, but you’re able to swerve at the last moment, coming to a stop just slightly ahead of him. He hadn’t tripped on something on the sidewalk, but he had stumbled, his body briefly losing his coordination as his focus shifted elsewhere.  

“Matt?” you immediately question, alarmed at how pale he’s gone. His name leaving your lips is half a started yelp and half a demand for an explanation.

He whips his head toward yours, seemingly startled at your presence, and you take a quick step forward to rest one of your hands on his shoulders. Shuddering, he leans slightly into the contact, face still far too pale for your liking, and you don’t hesitate to take another step into his space.

“What’s wrong?”

He shakes his head, lips open and dragging in a panicked breath. “At the next intersection,” he begins, throat bobbing dramatically, and it sounds like he’s forcing the words out. You wince in pain for him, because whatever he’s trying to say doesn’t sound like it’s coming easily. “Not the one we’re about to cross, but the next one…don’t…don’t look left.”

Confusion floods through you, and your eyes can’t help but narrow. “What? Why not?”

Matt’s mouth opens and closes twice before he speaks again, body once again shuddering even as he tries to reel himself back together in front of you. “You shouldn’t–it’s not…” He swallows, and the motion almost looks painful. The sun hits his glasses just right, and from this angle and distance, you can see the eyes that shift and dance over your face and beyond your shoulder rapidly. “Just try not to look left, if you can help it. Okay?”

You frown, unable to stop the expression. “I’ll try.”

And you’re not lying when you tell him you’d try not to look left at the intersection, but in all honestly, you wish you’d tried harder.

The bus is turned over on its side just a quarter of the way down the block when you take your first few steps into the intersection, and its hulking mass out of the corner of your eye catches your attention unconsciously. Before you’ve even thought it through, before Matt’s suggestion has a chance to repeat itself in your head, your head is turning to look at it.

You shouldn't have. 

You really shouldn’t have.

It's definitely not the only vehicle in the street, definitely not the only one that's been completely destroyed by the disaster, but it stands out, for obvious reasons. The whole thing is covered in flame, dark smoke weaving its ways out of the pores left often by the shattered glass of the windows, twisting higher and higher into the sky. A giant hole is torn into it, leaving parts of the metal hanging by mere scraps, the tires sagging even without the weight of the bus riding on them. 

But the worst part is the sight of the bodies burning inside. Broken, shredded, diminishing.

There’s a scream tearing itself out of your throat, the force of it as scalding as the fire that’s burning not half a block from you, and it’s a sound that belongs in horror movies.

Matt is immediately moving in front of where you’re turned, effectively blocking your view. But it’s too late, the damage is done, and the scene is something that will be in the back of your head for the rest of your life.  “I told you not to look left,” he says in your ear, his voice every bit as broken as yours, layered with the same levels of fear and grief as yours. “You shouldn’t have—”

But you’re pushing past him before he finishes speaking, your mind suddenly overwhelmed with the thought that someone could be in there, someone could be alive, someone could need help, and–

It’s primal, this feeling of urgency to get there, this feeling of urgency to pry apart metal if you need to, scalding your hands until they bled if it meant that you could help someone. But it’s also irrational, because even in the back of your head, you’re completely aware that there’s no one who could have possibly survived whatever ball of fire had been thrown at the bus.

The bus had been full of people on their way to work, teenagers skipping school, men and women on their lunch breaks. It had never stood a chance, not when something had locked on to its location and found it to be a suitable destination for its rage and need to destroy. Something that had once been so full of life was now nothing more than a pile of metal, heat, and burning flesh. 

Before you can get more than five steps away, Matt’s pulling you back into him, body once again coming between you and the scene. You try to step around him again, but he blocks you, his own frame shaky and full of horror as he wraps his hands around your upper arms to keep you from moving forward.

It fills you with a sense of panic, his attempt to keep you from helping those poor innocent people, so you struggle in his hold, ripping your body left and right to help loosen his hands. But he’s far stronger than you, and so even while he keeps his hands loose enough as to not cause any pain, his grip is still firm and you’re unable to move more than a few inches in either direction. “Let me go, Matt.” 

“There’s nothing we can do,” he tells you quickly, and the words seem hazy in your mind, as if your head can’t process and believe he’s telling you to walk away. “We need to leave.”

“What? No!  No, there might be people in there, we can’t leave.”

Matt shakes his head rapidly, and the slow, single tear that trails down his face alarms you as it cuts a severe line through the thin layer of dust that has collected on sweat-soaked skin. “There’s not anyone to…there’s no one we can help.”

“How do you know?” you wail, voice high-pitched and panicked, still trying to pull away. “We have to—”

“Hey,” he says, stepping closer into your space, hand dropping one of your arms and instead coming up to rest on your cheek. The other hand soon follows, completely cupping your face between hands that are every bit as nicked and cut as yours. “Hey, look at me.” Your eyes move from the plume of smoke that continues to rise over his shoulder back to his face. “There’s no one to help. I promise.”

“But–”

“I promise,” he repeats slowly, gently, and the words are so full of sadness that you almost need to take a step back. “There’s no one in there that we can save, sweetheart.”

The name doesn’t even register, but the rest of the words do, the clear image of death settling over you, even as gently as they’re said. You bury your head in your hands, the frames of your glasses digging into the skin of your right palm and the tie wrapped around your left, the shock too vicious and blinding even for tears. 

Choking back a dry sob, you squeeze your eyes tightly shut, flinching when the sound of something exploding blocks away reverberates through the city. The sound is startling enough to make you jerk your head out of your hands, and the danger you’re in by simply standing in the middle of the street, nothing hiding you from view and covering your head, sets back in. You take it as some sort of terrifying sign to finally move, nodding your head in a jerky motion and doing your best to compose yourself.

Even so, you can’t help the hiccup that escapes your mouth. “You’re…you’re sure? That there’s no one–”

His head falls forward slightly, his face displaying a sense of devastation that’s no doubt shared by all of the city. “I’m sure.”

Your eyes flutter shut as a shudder of grief wracks your entire body. “Okay,” you whisper in acceptance. It’s a painful acceptance, and a part of you still wants to run to the bus and check for yourself.  “Then we need to–”

“Yes,” he immediately agrees. 

“Okay.” You take a deep breath, one that scalds your lungs as the air moves in and out. You take a shaky step away from him and start walking, suddenly desperate to put as much distance between yourself and the bus that has already imprinted itself harshly in your head, forever scalded into your long term memory. You can’t let yourself stay here, you need to focus on what’s going on ahead of you and keep going, however anguished you feel about it. It wretches at your heart to leave those people so callously behind, knowing they deserve more than someone turning their back on them in their first moments of death. 

But you also know that you need to keep moving if you want to make sure you’re not added to the growing list of casualties, guilty of nothing more than choosing to live in the concrete jungle of New York. There will be a time for mourning, a time to scream and cry and wallow in a misery so large it would swallow you whole, but now is not that time.

And so, with one last look at the twisted kaleidoscope of reds and yellows and oranges bursting up from the overturned vehicle, you finish crossing the street, Matt just a few steps behind you.

#matt murdock #Daredevil #human disaster matt murdock #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock fanfiction #daredevil x fem reader #daredevil x reader #daredevil x you #daredevil fanfiction #battle of new york #tw: death

[saturnznct]

day in the life | ljn

➸ request from anon; omg i loved the day in the life of jaemin🥰🥰could you do a jeno version maybe?

➸ note; hihi thank u for the request! i have multiple im working on and this is the first one i finished hehe hope u all enjoy <3

➸ word count; 3387 words

➸ moonbyeol; aged 5, sanghoon; aged 2 weeks

➸ warning(s); a lot of breastfeeding

nct masterlist

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆✦⋆ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Jeno wakes at five in the morning to the sound of wailing through the baby monitor. It’s only been around two hours since he heard the sound last, but it feels like he’s barely had any sleep at all, the way his body aches and his head slightly thrums in pain.

He feels you twisting and stretching beside him, getting ready to roll out of bed and tend to your two-week-old son.

‘Want me to go look at him?’ Jeno hums softly, offering to go and assess Sanghoon’s needs in exchange for your continued sleep.

‘I think he needs to be fed,’ you shake your head, already standing up and making your way to Sanghoon’s nursery. You return with him not even a minute later, tiny writhing bundle laying in your arms. Jeno watches while you get back into bed, sitting up straight against your pillows. Jeno places your breastfeeding pillow on your lap as you pull your shirt down, positioning Sanghoon so that he can easily latch to you.

‘There we go,’ you sigh, partly in discomfort, breath hitching when Jeno gently rubs circles onto the top of your breast, alleviating some of your pain.

‘What should we do today?’ you ask, ‘I don’t know if I can handle another day holed up in the house.’

‘What should we do today?’ you ask, ‘I don’t know if I can handle another day holed up in the house.’

‘What should we do today?’ you ask, ‘I don’t know if I can handle another day holed up in the house.’

Jeno smiles, ‘I’ll take Moonbyeol to school, then we can see if this little one’s up to maybe going on a walk? We can go for coffee or lunch.’

‘How about both?’

He laughs softly, ‘both it is.’

After around half an hour of feeding, Sanghoon finally pulls away, indicating he’s finished eating. Jeno, as per your usual routine, takes Sanghoon from you, laying him over his shoulder and patting his back. You pull your shirt back up, settling back down under the covers, and beginning to doze.

Jeno finishes burping Sanghoon, giving your shoulder a comforting squeeze and taking him back into his nursery.

‘Have a little more of a nap,’ he murmurs, ‘your sister will be up soon.’

Jeno goes back to bed himself, getting just over an hours sleep before his alarm goes off. He set it to be a mild-sounding one, as well as to play relatively quietly as to not disturb anyone else. He quickly scrolls through his notifications, answering a couple of messages, before hauling himself out of bed, making his way down the corridor to Moonbyeol’s bedroom. It’s still very dark in her bedroom, curtains drawn closed. He makes his way over to Moonbyeol’s bed, where she’s still fast asleep, deep under her star patterned duvet covers. Jeno sits on the edge of her bed, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder, and shaking her body softly.

‘Moonie,’ he sings, ‘wake up angel. Time to get ready for school.’

‘Daddy,’ she mumbles, small hands coming up to rub her eyes.

‘Good morning,’ Jeno strokes her hair gently.

‘Morning,’ she sighs.

‘What would you like for breakfast?’

‘Kimchi toast.’

‘Good choice. That’s what I want too.’

Jeno grins, kissing her cheek before flicking her lamp on and leaving the room.

The toast doesn’t take very long, you already had kimchi ready in the fridge, so he just mixes it with the cream cheese to make it a spread.

‘Where’s mummy/mommy?’ Moonbyeol has wandered down to the kitchen at the smell of ready toast.

’She’s catching up on some sleep baby,’ Jeno explains, putting down the plate in front of Moonbyeol, ‘baby brother kept her awake a lot of the night.’

‘Oh,’ she takes a bite of her toast.

The two dig in, crunching sounds echoing around the room.

Once they both finish, Jeno loads the dishes into the dishwasher, before following Moonbyeol back upstairs to her bedroom to start getting her ready to go to school. 

Half an hour later, Moonbyeol’s face is washed, teeth are brushed, and school uniform is on. Jeno ties the small bow on her shirt with ease, he’s had a years practice now.

‘Ready?’ 

Moonbyeol nods, picking up her little backpack, the sun and moon keychains clanging together.

‘Let’s go baby.’

Moonbyeol’s school isn’t that far away from the house. Jeno purposely picked an area where his children would have access to the best schools. Moonbyeol requests her favourite songs during the drive.

‘Alright, we’re here sweetheart,’ Jeno parks the car, getting out and walking around to help Moonbyeol out. He holds her little hand, ignoring the pain of leaning down, escorting his little one into the playground.

‘Have a good day Moonie,’ he kisses her, waving goodbye as she runs off to stand with her class.

When Jeno gets home, he’s greeted by the sound of your soft singing, along with the noise of the kettle boiling.

‘Hey,’ Jeno smiles fondly at the sight of you, stood in the middle of the kitchen rocking your baby boy.

‘Oh, hi,’ you grin back, ‘Hoonie woke up, but he didn’t want to feed so I’m making some tea- do you want some coffee?’

‘Would love some,’ Jeno nods through a yawn, lack of sleep suddenly catching up to him, ‘want me to take him?’

‘Can do,’ he takes the baby from you, ‘good morning Hoonie.’

Sanghoon gurgles a little at the change, but settles quite quickly.

The caffeine wakes you both up.

‘I’ll try feeding him again,’ you sink down into the sofa cushions. Thankfully this time, he feeds. You watch TV and make small talk (mostly about Sanghoon) for around twenty minutes before he finishes eating, Jeno taking him to be burped.

‘God, I need to clean up a bit before we go out,’ you sigh, taking in your appearance through your phone camera.

‘Go take a shower, I got him,’ Jeno insists, ‘I’ll get him ready to go.’

’Thanks,’ you sigh in relief at the thought of taking a shower, you can’t even think of the last time you got the luxury.

Jeno dresses Sanghoon, it’s relatively cold outside, the weather beginning to take a dip in the mid-september. He double checks the diaper bag, making sure you have enough supplies; diapers, wipes, extra clothes, breastfeeding cover, a blanket, and all other possible necessities.

While you’re drying your hair, he plays with Sanghoon, who’s laying on his baby rocker, by lightly tickling the bottom of his feet. 

You emerge from the bathroom a few minutes later, dressed and hair done, no makeup on, ready to go.

Jeno holds the heavy bag and you pop open the pram, placing Sanghoon inside and covering him with a blanket.

‘Ready to go?’ Jeno kisses your cheek.

‘Yeah, all set.’

The two of you walk along your street and towards the park, you pushing Sanghoon.

‘Are you alright? Are you sore anywhere?’ Jeno asks, being mindful of how this is the most physical activity you’d done after giving birth not even three weeks earlier.

‘A little, but it’s tolerable.’

‘Are you sure? We can sit down if you’re in pain and-‘

‘Jeno,’ you stop, resting a hand on his chest, ‘I’m fine. It’s been a couple of weeks and I’m not bleeding very much. And you know what all the midwives say, going on walks are great for recovery.’

‘If you say so,’ Jeno lifts a hand to squeeze yours, ‘let’s get to the cafe.’

The cafe is within the park, a cute little quaint building. You sit down, Jeno going to the counter and ordering your drinks and food while you push Sanghoon’s pram back and forth, keeping him settled.

Jeno places your drink down, laughing when you start sipping your drink before he’s even sat back down. Your food comes not long later, and you happily munch away on your toasted sandwich, well, as happily as you could while keeping an eye on your son. The hormones had you feeling quite anxious at times. 

‘Please don’t start fussing,’ you murmur as you lift him out of the pram, patting his bottom a couple of times.

‘Does he need changed?’ Jeno asks.

‘Yeah, he’s a little wet,’ you stand up, grabbing the bag from underneath the pram and heading into the bathroom.

‘There you go Hoon, all clean,’ you button up his baby-grow, securing his little mittens and hat, ‘you’re being such a good boy today.’

Jeno grins when you come back to the table, holding Sanghoon in your arms.

‘Can I hold him?’ he asks, ‘I brought the wrap.’

‘You don’t have to ask,; you lean down, allowing Jeno to take Sanghoon from you.

‘Hi baby boy,’ Jeno smiles, kissing his little hand when he stretches, ‘want to walk with daddy?’

Sanghoon looks so warm and cosy laying against Jeno’s chest in the baby wrap, and Jeno loves having his son so close. He savours the moment, knowing all too well that he will soon grow up, and will be far too big for this. 

You leave the cafe, you pushing the now empty pram while Jeno walks beside you holding Sanghoon in his arms, the rhythm of walking lulling him to sleep.

‘I’ll have to wake him when we get back,’ you sigh, ‘he’ll need to be fed again.’

‘He’s a little milk monster isn’t he,’ Jeno remarks, ‘your poor boobs.’

‘Tell me about it,’ you shake your head, ‘as much as I love feeding, it’ll be such a weight off when I can start pumping as well as normal feeding.’

‘I’ll be able to help you too,’ Jeno adds, ‘and I loved feeding Moonie.’

Jeno does the hard part for you once you get home. He gently massages Sanghoon’s tummy, which quickly rouses him from sleep. He naturally begins to cry, upset at the intrusion on his nap.

‘You can go back down once you’ve had some milk Hoonie,’ Jeno murmurs, ‘you need to eat.’

Sanghoon thankfully doesn’t refuse when he’s placed on your chest. Jeno cleans in the kitchen while Sanghoon feeds.

‘Jeno,’ you call softly when Sanghoon pulls away and stops trying to drink anymore.

Jeno burps Sanghoon, laughing at the volume. You follow him into the nursery, where you draw the blinds, Jeno silently rocking Sanghoon side to side, eventually lowering him down into his crib slowly. You brace yourself for the protesting cry, but it doesn’t come. 

‘Good boy,’ Jeno whispers, the two of you quietly leaving the room and pulling the door half-closed.

‘Wanna help me with ironing?’ Jeno asks you softly, ‘you can sit on the sofa.’

His heart seizes as you look back at him with tired, sunken eyes. You look exhausted, but beautiful to him.

You nod just as he reaches his hand out, resting it on your cheek, before leaning in for a firm but gentle kiss.

‘What?’ you giggle, confused at his sudden affection.

‘I just love you.’

‘Love you too.’

You fold clothes as Jeno irons, and before you know it, it’s time to pick Moonbyeol up from school. 

‘You gotta be quiet when you go inside Moonie,’ Jeno warns as the two approach the front door of your home, ‘baby brother might still be asleep.’

‘It’s only four o clock!’

‘Babies need lots of sleep Moonie,’ Jeno explains, opening the door as quietly as he could.

‘Mummy/mommy!’ Moonbyeol runs towards where you’re sitting on the sofa, coming to a stop when she notices the bundle in your arms.

‘Hi sweetheart, how was school?’ you ask her.

‘Good, I had fun,’ Moonbyeol mumbles, ‘what’s Hoonie doing?’

‘He’s drinking some milk Moonbyeol,’ you explain, ‘he needs milk to grow bigger, so he can grow up to be as big as you!’

‘Grandma says milk is good for my bones,’ Moonbyeol adds, referring to Jeno’s mother.

‘She’s right, makes them much stronger.’

Moonbyeol thinks for a moment, before pointing at your chest, ‘but why does he drink milk from there?’

‘Hey Moonie,’ Jeno sings, ‘speaking of milk, I think there may be some strawberry milk with our names on it in the fridge.’

‘Really?’ Moonbyeol gasps, bouncing on her feet before racing into the kitchen with her dad. 

You just smile, ‘your daddy is getting good at distractions Hoonie.’

Once the excitement from the strawberry milk dies down, Moonbyeol joins you in the living room, curling up on the sofa beside you, full attention on the episodes of Pororo and Robocar Poli playing on the television. Sanghoon stays in his newborn swing, the repetitive rotation eventually lulling him back to sleep, after which Jeno moves him into a moses basket nearby. You’re so tired that you unintentionally also fall asleep against the arm of the sofa.

‘Daddy,’ Moonbyeol chirps up after an episode finishes.

‘Yeah Moonie?’ Jeno looks up from the now ironed washing he’s sorting into piles. 

‘Can we go and play in my room?’

Jeno gives Moonbyeol a dejected smile, ‘we can’t Moonie, I have to stay here and watch Sanghoon.’

‘You always watch Sanghoon,’ Moonbyeol huffs, ‘why?’

‘Come here,’ Jeno holds his hands out, which Moonbyeol walks over to take, ‘you’re a big girl, you know that, right?’

Moonbyeol nods.

‘Well Sanghoon’s only little, he’s not as clever or strong like you, so he needs mummy/mommy and daddy around him all the time. It’s not because we don’t want to play with you or we love Hoonie more, Hoonie just needs us to do most things for him.’

‘But mummy/mommy’s here with Hoonie.’

‘Mummy/mommy’s asleep too, and mummy/mommy works really hard to look after Sanghoon, so she deserves the sleep she’s getting now.’

‘Okay,’ Moonbyeol nods, ‘it’s because I’m a big girl.’

‘Exactly!’ Jeno smiles, his eye-smile coming out, ‘come here.’

He hugs Moonbyeol tightly, ‘don’t forget that I love you, Moonie.’

‘Love you too Daddy.’

‘Now, do you want to help daddy make dinner?’ 

Thankfully due to the layout of your house, Jeno can see you and Sanghoon from the kitchen as he prepares the Japchae for dinner. Jeno keeps Moonbyeol busy by supervising her washing carrots and peppers, away from the heat of the hob. When the food is a few minutes away from being ready, Jeno suggests that Moonbyeol goes to wake you up.

‘Mummy/mommy,’ she shakes you gently, ‘dinner’s nearly finished.’

‘Oh,’ you murmur, eventually getting up and moving Sanghoon into the crib in his nursery where you can watch him from the monitor.

‘Smells so good,’ you mumble into Jeno’s back as you give him a back-hug, ‘thanks for letting me sleep a little.’

‘Hm, you deserved some rest,’ he nods, beginning to dish out the japchae into separate bowls for you all.

You and Jeno listen to Moonbyeol as she tells you all about the games she played at breaktime and the entire plot of the book that was read at story time.

The dishes thankfully can be put straight in the dishwasher. 

‘Bath time, Moonie,’ Jeno announces, much to Moonbyeol’s delight. Jeno was always thankful to have a child who loved  being bathed. She didn’t love the actual act of having her hair washed, but loved the play. Jeno quite enjoyed it too, he found it to be a great form of bonding with both of the children.

Sanghoon begins crying again while the bath is running, so you go and tend to him. 

‘Mama,’ Moonbyeol drawls as she runs into your bedroom, hair slightly damp from being towel dried by Jeno.

‘Careful of mummy/mommy!’ Jeno runs in behind her, clearly struggling to keep up.

Moonbyeol doesn’t even need to be told, already coming to a stop next to your bed and peering over in curiosity.

‘You can sit next to me,’ you tell her, patting the empty space beside you. She crawls onto the bed, sidling up beside you as close as she could get. Jeno gets on the bed beside her, so that she’s sandwiched between you. 

‘Is he hungry again?’ Moonbyeol asks, squirming a little when Jeno wraps an arm around her and pinches her sides lightly.

‘Yes, Sanghoon gets hungry a lot,’ you explain, ‘he eats maybe eight times a day.’

‘That’s a lot.’

‘Yeah, so he takes up a lot of mummy/mommy’s time, huh?’

‘Yeah…’ Moonbyeol pouts, ‘but daddy says its because he needs to grow up.’

‘Daddy’s right,’ you nod, sending a smile to Jeno, who is affectionately scratching Moonbyeol’s head, ‘it’s not because I don’t want to be with you, it’s just Hoonie needs me more, since you’re such a big girl.’

‘I know.’

‘We’ll do something nice this weekend when we go out with grandma and grandad,’ you promise, knowing there would likely be a prolonged period of time where Jeno’s mother would want the baby and you could give Moonbyeol some attention.

‘Okay,’ she smiles.

‘Hey Moonie, wanna hear Sanghoon burp?’ Jeno says as he notices Sanghoon pulling away.

‘Yeah,’ she grins as Jeno takes the baby from you.

Moonbyeol giggles maniacally when Sanghoon loudly burps. 

‘I think it’s your bedtime, princess,’ Jeno announces as she calms down, prompting her to whine loudly.

‘Say goodnight to mama.’

Moonbyeol slumps her shoulders, but trudges over to you, throwing her arms around you and kissing your cheek.

‘Goodnight mummy/mommy, love you.’

‘I love you too Moonie. Goodnight.’

Jeno gives Sanghoon back to you before leading Moonbyeol out of your bedroom and to the bathroom so she can brush her teeth.

‘What colour do you want tonight?’ Jeno asks, referring to her nightlight that creates stars of various colours.

‘Pink,’ Moonbyeol mumbles, and so Jeno presses the button for pink stars, that instantly project onto the ceiling above.

‘Goodnight Moonie,’ Jeno leans down to kiss her forehead, ‘see you in the morning.’

‘Night daddy.’

When Jeno returns to your bedroom, you’re still laying with Sanghoon, who’s resting on your chest on his stomach, happily dozing through a milk coma.

Jeno returns to his side of the bed, eyes never leaving Sanghoon.

‘He’s so chilled,’ you lay a hand on his back, rubbing up and down gently.

‘He’s perfect,’ Jeno sighs, allowing himself to relax and settle into the mattress.

‘Mmh,’ you hum, using a spare hand to run a hand through his long black hair, ‘so are you.’

Jeno becomes shy, burying his face into the mattress, ‘that was cringey.’

‘Maybe, but it’s true,’ you smile, ‘you helped me so much with Moonie today. Just want you to know how much I appreciate you.’

‘Sometimes I feel a bit helpless when it comes to Sanghoon, I mean he’s a newborn, you’re his mother, you need each other. So I’m just trying to help you ease that burden a bit.’

‘I’ll… we’ll be okay.’

‘Always,’ he smiles, lifting his head and kissing your bare shoulder. 

You yawn, stretching your legs and shoulders a little, trying to keep yourself awake. Jeno rolls over onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow.

‘Can I cuddle him?’

You grin at his innocent request, nodding and helping him with the handover.

The television plays quietly in the background as you watch them. Seeing Jeno like this always made your heart race, how attractive he looked in his white t-shirt and sweatpants, tiny baby on his chest. The sight always reminded you of how much you loved him, how much he does for your family, and how much you love what you’ve created together.

You wordlessly snuggle into his side, and Jeno throws his free arm around you, kissing your forehead. 

You watch television together for around an hour or two, you falling asleep not long before Sanghoon fills his diaper (typical, Jeno thinks), and when Jeno returns, he places Sanghoon in his bed-side crib. Although he’s tired, he still deems it too early to sleep, so he scrolls through his phone, answering various work related messages and texts from members expressing their jealousy over his paternity leave. He slips out of the room after a while, taking the fastest shower he possibly can before brushing his teeth, as well as grabbing two glasses of water from the kitchen (you often wake up thirsty) and returning to bed, where you and the baby are thankfully still peacefully asleep.

‘Goodnight,’ Jeno kisses your cheek, although you don’t respond. He falls asleep with you in his arms. 

#dad!jeno #dad jeno au #jeno dad au #lee moonbyeol #lee sanghoon #nct dad au #dad!nct #nct parent au #jeno x reader #lee jeno x reader #lee jeno #jeno fanfic #jeno fic #jeno fluff #jeno drabbles #lee jeno fluff #jeno timestamp #jeno x y/n #nct x reader #nct dream x reader #jeno imagines #jeno soft hours #jeno scenarios #nct fluff #nct dream fluff

[eego0]

My Aarmau rant as promised! (This is kind of the part 1 of a big LOOONG rant)

A huge part of why I love Aphmau and Aaron’s relationship is how hush-hush they kept it. Secretive just like Shad and Irene’s relationship. It fell perfectly under the radar but poked up more as it progressed. We the viewers see when their friendship/relationship gets more serious (though, a lot of people in the fandom choose to ignore it because they’re still holding on hope for Laurmau or Garmau).

There are details that highligh the progression of their relationship that I think are BRILLIANT, even without them explicitly saying anything! There are little things right up to the night before Aaron leaves on a suicide mission to get Garroth out of the Irene Dimension unbeknownst to Aphmau. One example of a small detail to look back on later is how their beds are pushed together when they were clearly apart an episode or 2 prior. From the dialogue, we could infer that they were already together by that point, but a staple in the minecraft community is pushing yours and your SO’s beds together! Cute! They’d begun truly building a life together.

There’s something so beautiful about how we don’t see every romantic action in their relationship because their relationship is more focused on learning about themselves and growing as people together. They were both placed in some TERRIBLE situations but found comfort in each other so they could remain proficient in building their new island of peace rather than bottling everything up until they exploded on their unsuspecting friends. Unlike Aphmau’s relationship with Laurance and Garroth where it’s very upfront in the episodes (ex: she’s forced to pick between the two of them while still figuring out who she is), Aphmau and Aaron prioritized the settings/people around them but still maintain a healthy relationship where they talk about everything and love each other regardless of what they say in their deep conversations. Their love isn’t about showing each other off to the rest of the world and claiming eachother! Aaron never fights with Laurance and Garroth to prove how he loves Aphmau, he just DOES.

They also have a playful, friendly front to their relationship which kept people wondering about them for so long. Yes, Laurance and Aphmau also had this friendly aspect to their relationship but a lot of it (from my best recollection) was Laurance’s failed attempts at picking up Aphmau </3 Aphmau teases Aaron about his quiet/mysterious nature and he teases her right back because of her overly friendly/to stubborn to let people help her attitude. This shows as Aaron starts joining the group on long journeys (ex: The journey to find Lucinda; they were at Isabella’s campsite and Aaron let Aphmau know that there were some strange figures lurking about in the camp. She retorted playfully that they’d probably say the same thing about him and he flusteredly shuffled away)(Another example I love is one the Alliance Island when Laurance, Aaron, and Aphmau are exploring, Laurance falls down the hole to the wyvern cave, and Aphmau and Aaron are deciding how they’re going to get down to him. Aaron offers to jump down first and catch her but stops himself, saying “Though knowing you—“ referring to how she’d rather get down by herself and show everyone that she’s capable of doing anything everyone else can do).

Laurance and Garroth’s relationship with Aphmau was highly based on them protecting her, which is only natural because they were her faithful guards. It was attractive but on that same hand, they couldn’t relate to Aphmau’s issues on the personal level that Aaron could, given that he was a lord himself, and one who faced incredible emotional turmoil no less.

Their plot obviously thickens once Lilith is added into the mix because now Aaron has promised to take care of her and Aphmau. They named Lilith Garnet after people they cared for and lost while still making her her own person. If they weren’t close before, they were DEFINITELY closer when they began co-parenting. They just wanted to give their daughter the best life, building an empire around her, going on family picnics, etc.

There are so many other reasons I love Aarmau and I LOVE rewatching MCD and catching the little pieces of dialogue that help set up for the big reveal. It’s so upsetting how they never got their happy ending in any universe (except maybe Mermaid Tales)

Thank u for reading <33

#mcd #minecraft diaries #aphmau #mcd aphmau #aphblr #mcd aaron #aphmau mcd #aarmau #mystreet #mcd garroth #mcd laurance

[cddoggyslut]

So I finally did it!! Let me start from the beginning. I put on a pair of split back black lace panties, slid my light up plug in then pulledon a pair of jeans. The I put on a sexy bra, breast forms and a zip up hoodie( no shirt underneath. I then went to Walmart and walked around. It was about 10 maybe 1030pm, BTW I was in Phoenix AZ. As a was walking around feeling all horny playing with the zipper on my hoodie I seen a few sexy boys around but none of them were alone 😔. I then walked by the toy section and saw a young man, early 20s at best, by himself. I walk down the isle he was in and close enough to him I know he smelled my perfume and I whispered "can I suck your cock" not to loud but loud enough I know he heard me, but no response. I stayed just a bit down the isle "looking" at dome random toy when a few minutes later he came up to me and asked if I said something to him. Me being all emboldened turn to him and said " yes, I asked if I could suck your cock" he got a shocked look on his face and he called me a fag. I corrected him and told him no I am not a fag I am a sissy that's horny and wants to suck your cock. He still looked shocked and said he didn't believe me so I unzipped my hoodie and showed him my bra and ties then I turned around pulled my jeans down enough for him to see my panties and my ass light up with the light plug in my sissy hole. He didn't say another word but as ge walked past me he grabbed my ass very firmly and my heart skipped a beat at that. We walk to the bathroom went to the last stall and I fell to my knees and pulled his cock out, and to my surprise it was NICE 81/2 inches atleast and about 3 inches around, a very nice hand and mouthful. I instantly started licking the head and sucking it all the way down my throat. It tasted so good and he must have been enjoying my work cuz it only took a couple minutes before he unloaded deep in my mouth, as I swallowed he pump more and more down my throat. It seemed like he came gallons upon gallons and I just kept swallowing. He he finally quit jizzing in my mouth and he pulled he cock out ,still semi hard I asked him to fuck me like the slut I am. Again he didn't say anything he just grabbed me spun me around pulled my pants down, popped my plug out (dropping it on the floor flashing for anyone to see) and slid his hard cock in my boi-pussi. I nearly came from him entering my hole, he held my arms behind me with one arm and started choking me with the other all the while fucking me like a beast taking what's his. I have never been fucked so hard or so well, I swear I came 5 times before he finally filled my hole with more of his cum.

As I started to turn around to thank him he tod me not to move so I obeyed and stayed motionless legs spread open his cum starting to leak down my leg and I heard a voice saying that was hot you fucked him good. Apparently we were watched by a security guard I instantly got scared and thought the worse when I heard the guard walk in the stall behind me. I looked back and he was smiling so I did the only thing I could think of and offered myself to him. He said he would love to participate but he needed some pills he didn't have with him, he did grab my ass spread open my hole and finger me a bit then he said I must be a good fuck cuz there is a lot of cum inside. He then told me to get dressed and leave. Oh what a fantasy come true and to that boy who fucked me so well, I hope we run into each other again

[eruden-writes]

Room & Board - Part 13 (Vampire x Reader)

Anon submitted this prompt: For the prompt submissions a vampire that feels guilty after feeding/attacking someone so they leave obscenely valuable ancient artifacts as payment/an apology?

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3| Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 |Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 (coming soon)

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Get early access to Part 14, when it’s ready, on Patreon!

Comments, tags, and reblogs are real motivators for me, too! (●ˇ∀ˇ●)

Also, my inbox is always open for asks, so don’t be shy!

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The three of you decide to meet up at a Penny's diner - a quaint eatery, dressed up in greens and yellows, that never quite shook the 'corporate franchise' air - for dinner before heading to the theater. Tabaeus and you take the bus together, planning to carpool with Ewan later.

Inside the Penny's, it is pleasantly warm and only slightly busy, with plenty of empty tables between patrons. The scent of their trademark pies wafts through the air, along with the syrup and sweetness of their 24-hour breakfast specials.

From one of the waiting benches, Ewan stands up upon seeing you. Immediately, he's all smiles, in spite of Tabaeus's appearance. Awkwardly, you wave to him, knowing the outfit Tabaeus chose for you is... uncharacteristic.

Your little party of three is led to a corner booth near the back and, after you slip in on one side, you find yourself flanked by your companions. Which only intensifies the stares.

All through the bus ride and into the restaurant, you felt eyes following you and Tabaeus. Perhaps Tabaeus a little more than you, considering their state of dress.

They wore an above-the-knee pink-white-brown plaid skirt with dark brown stockings and a sleeveless brown turtleneck halter, over which Tabaeus wore an oversized soft milk-chocolate brown cardigan. The clothes and shoes - chunky brown platform mary janes - are totally foreign to you. Vaguely, you wonder if Tabaeus has been shopping when you were at work or if they'd figured out the trap of Online Shopping.

Either way, you think they look adorable and well put-together. Especially with the little brown beret, pink tie, and retro round sunglasses with brown-gold frames.

You can't say the same for yourself. Tabaeus fished out that bat onesie from wherever it had been stashed.

It turns out the vampire was very well acquainted with the idea of karma.

"So, what's with the get-up?" Ewan laughs, turning to you after the waitstaff has taken your drink orders.

Even though he's dressed casually, he still puts you to shame. The dark denim vest, with lighter colored sleeves roughly sewn on to make it a jacket, and tee-shirt are ones you've seen before. You even helped to sew some of the patches on the jacket. Though his jeans appear new and without holes, even if his sneakers are the same-old same-old.

Slumping further into the seat, you press your hands to your face. The wings of the blasted pajamas catches on the table's edge and you huff, "Tabaeus chose it."

"I do not know why you are complaining," Tabaeus chuckles and, when you look at them, they give you a vicious, teasing smile. They reach over, pinching your cheek with cold their cold fingers. "You look cute enough to eat."

Moodily, you swat Tabaeus's hand away, your own lips puckering further into a pout. You had hoped they'd dress you up snazzily or sexily. Something that would make it so both you and Tabaeus could taunt and tease Ewan. You should have known better, in retrospect. Why would they help you look tantalizing, just to dangle you in front of their potential natural enemy?

"Well, we should un-cute-ify you enough so no one eats you, hm?" Ewan leans over to you, nearly touching his forehead to yours. Before you can answer, he has shrugs off his jacket and offers it to you.

"My hero," you dryly say as you grin and accept the jacket. It takes you a moment to struggle into the jacket, folding the sewn-to-sleeve wings into the arms of the coat. The scent of Ewan and pine envelops you, his sinfully warm body heat still lingering in the fabric.

You hope this will keep people from staring at the pajamas. Though you doubt it.

From the corner of your eye, you see Tabaeus roll their eyes in an exaggerated fashion. Childishly, you stuck your tongue out at them, having beat their little revenge plot. But Ewan isn't done. From his pocket, he fishes out a collar. He holds it out to you, an eyebrow cocked and a goading, wolfish smile on his lips.

You smooth the hood of the pajamas over the collar of the jacket, before reaching for the dog collar. The snort of laughter you make isn't stifled as you ask, "Why do you have a dog collar?"

If you're going to dress ridiculously, might as well go all out, you decide. Without thinking of the potential implications, you slip the collar on, fastening it at a comfortable setting. Like the jacket, it weighs warmly against you.

Before Ewan can respond, Tabaeus sniffs loudly. "I told you, he's a dog."

They don't even look up from the menu they're suddenly so interested in. Amusement in Ewan stills, his gaze jerking to Tabaeus. Danger prickles across your skin and suddenly the air is heavy, like an angry predator stalked into the room. "What's that supposed to mean?"

If Ewan had fur, you have no doubt it'd be bristling in an agitated fashion. You think you can see his lips twitch, as if wanting to bare his teeth in a snarl.

Tabaeus's red eyes lazily side up to Ewan and they flash him a pointed and pointy smile. "Just that you are a rapscallion. A scoundrel. Need I go on?"

While you hoped Tabaeus could have acted civil for the whole night, what little they gave you was probably all they could do. Other than vampires and werewolves being at each other's throats - and your suspicion that Tabaeus is jealous of Ewan - you also try to account for the out-of-character vibes. Those uncharacteristic mannerisms have something to do with the missing pieces of the Tabaeus puzzle, you think.

The air between the two of them is sparking and agitated now, though. You briefly consider spilling the beans to Ewan, before remembering the other patrons around you. It would probably be better to be discreet. Even if these two aren't being as careful.

Pulling out your phone, you text Ewan, explaining Tabaeus had told you of their alleged lycanthropy. Ewan's phone chimes and, once he pulls it from his pocket, he shoots you a curious look before reading the text in full.

If there was a question to the claim, it dissipated as green eyes shot angrily to Tabaeus. A quiet growl - one that you felt more than heard - started deep in Ewan's chest. Under his breath, you hear him mutter, "Blood-sucking asswipe."

A pretty mild insult, you thought, especially as Tabaeus simply smiles and shrugs carelessly.

"Look, I don't want you two to fight," you sigh as you put your phone away. Your hands land on the table, feeling the icy coldness of the laminated top. "The last couple days have been heavy and I just want to have fun."

Your words instantly draw Ewan's attention. He shifts toward you a bit, and you can't help but wonder if he's already imagining all sorts of awful things happening from sharing a roof with Tabaeus. Blood meals and enthrallment and who-knew-what-else. Ewan's hand brushes yours on the table and you're torn between comfort and dread. "Heavy how?"

"It's... Ugh, just a lot." You sigh and lean your head against the table, not wanting to put Tabaeus in a difficult spot. How Ewan would take the news of the journal and what it detailed could only be imagined. It likely wouldn't help foster any friendship between vampire and werewolf.

Besides, the memory of those words makes your head hurt. Like an icepick lodged into your grey matter.

To your surprise, Tabaeus fields the question with a solemn tone. "They've been reading a journal from a box of vampire hunting supplies I provided them."

You glance up at Tabaeus just as Ewan utters a surprised, "What?"

The chatter of the diner suddenly feels louder, pressing in on you. The clink of plates, the swish of water pouring into glasses, the muffled delight of people getting their food. It all feels far off. Perhaps it is, considering this conversation almost feels like an entire world away.

"It's a long story." Now, it's Tabaeus's turn to look conflicted. They refuse to look up at Ewan or you and turn one of the pages of the menu. You can tell Tabaeus isn't looking at the words or pictures.

"Tabaeus has amnesia. Maybe." Buoyed by Tabaeus's willingness to let Ewan into the situation, you prop yourself up on your elbows on the table. Cradling your face in your hands, you sigh before going on. "And the journal detailed experiments done to them in the 1880s by some people who caught them."

"Ah," Ewan says, obviously struggling to find something to say. He blinks, his fingers fiddling with the edge of his own menu. "Okay."

"Just okay?" Your attention swings to him, your eyebrows raised. You expected more from him, especially since his werewolf nature was confirmed. The moment he heard of Tabaeus's alleged amnesia or the vampire hunting book or just the heavy atmosphere, you thought Ewan would be fervent in trying to separate you from Tabaeus.

"They're lucky to still be alive, if they got caught at one point." Ewan shrugs, his eyebrows lowering and lips contorting with conflicting feelings. For the first time, you wonder about his connection to other lycans. Was he turned? Or did he grow up with a werewolf family? A pack? Your lips thin, considering what sort of horrors might befall any supernatural being living in this world, populated by unforgiving humans.

He runs a hand through his messy curls, his nose wrinkling a bit. "As for the memory thing, I've heard of any long-lived people having a hard time with memories. The human brain isn't built for it."

A thoughtful sort of silence blankets the table. The fact Ewan didn't jump on shitting on Tabaeus resonates at the back of your head, your thoughts more focused on what he said.

It's true, isn't it? Even if a vampire was a creature of the night, they started as a human. Didn't they? And wasn't the same true for werewolves, as well? Even if it was a trait bred into their being, there was a point when werewolves were just human.

As you consider this almost obvious point of view, Tabaeus cuts in from your other side. "Strangely poignant. For a mutt."

"Thank you. I do try." Ewan flashes Tabaeus a smile and inclines his head in a gracious nod. You're thankful he's not rising to Tabaeus's bait this time. The vampire frowns, obviously hoping to bother the other.

"Anyway," you cut in, before yet another round of bickering can be ignited. You tap your own menu against the table, flipping it open. "What are you going to order?"

"They got a good plant-based selection here." Eagerness takes over Ewan's expression as he points out to the particular section he's talking about. The print is done up in greens, to highlight the 'plant' centric theming. His finger slides down to the fourth option, which has a photo of a tasty looking burger beside it. "Was going to go for the Inconceivable Burger. Has a tofu-based aioli on it that slaps."

"Well, that is a shocker," muses Tabaeus as they, too, lean over your menu. Their tone tells you they aren't going to be so easily dissuaded from their shit-stirring. You frown at the vampire, knocking your foot gently against their ankle. They pointedly ignore your attempt to get their attention and your displeased expression, which annoys you further.

"What?" Ewan tilts his head slightly to Tabaeus, his eyebrows raised.

Tabaeus meets Ewan's confused look with a smile and synthetically sweet tone. "Most mongrels want it rare and bloody."

"Yeah, well, I'm vegan." Ewan doesn't miss a beat, rolling his eyes. Once more, you're thankful he's not rising to Tabaeus's taunts, even if he sounds annoyed now. "Get off my ass about it."

"You wish I was on your ass." A pout puckers at Tabaeus's lips, further frustrated by the lack of response from Ewan.

"I can't tell if you two are fighting or flirting." You snort and ignore the look they both shoot your way. Though the intensity and heat of their looks make your insides squirm. Instead, you focus on the menu before you, trying to steer the conversation to a safer topic. "The plant-based chicken tenders sound good."

When the waitstaff comes around to take orders, you're not surprised Tabaeus orders a plant-based meal, as well. You have a feeling they don't like the idea of being left out of the pattern.

Once the waiter bustles off to the kitchen, you look back over to Ewan. "So, what movie are we seeing?"

It's been awhile since you've gone to see a movie, if you're being honest. You don't even know what's playing in theaters at the moment. Streaming services have spoiled you, when you were able to afford them.

"There's a few I kinda want to see, but I'm really up for anything," Ewan shrugs, scratching at the back of his neck.

It's obvious he doesn't want to lock the three of you into any movie in particular. Still, he can at least give you a starting point as to what he's hoping for. "What're you interested in?"

"Well, the Unexpected Human Problem looked good for a sci-fi. Heard it involves time travel, too." Ewan pulls out his cellphone, pulling up the movie listings for the nearby theater. You peer over to his screen as he sets it on the table, without realizing just how close you're getting to him. "There's also Desperation's Summit, a romantic drama involving a troll and human lady. Honestly, seeing the trailers, she acts pretty awful. I'm just curious how they redeem her."

Brief memories of the unskippable trailers playing before your TubeYou viewings skims through your thoughts. With an agreeing nod, you laugh, "Yeah, she seemed pretty bad, honestly."

"Oh! And there's Plague Butcher, which takes place in Victorian England and it's about a butcher using plague corpses for their meat." Excitedly, he points to another option. The poster for it depicts an old-timey butcher's storefront done up to make it look like the meats hanging in the window form a screaming, human face. "Ends up with a zombie apocalypse sort of vibe, which I thought was interesti-"

"Ah, there it is." On the other side of the table, Tabaeus cuts in again. Ewan and you look over to the vampire, who is leaning their chin in their hand, elbow braced on the table. Tension threads through your shoulder as you frown at them. That disdainful tone is starting to aggravate you.

There's a knowing, sly grin on their lips at your questioning gazes. "Horror. Is it not a common trope of people who seek to get close to whom-so-ever they invited out?"

With a frown, you're about to tell Tabaeus to lay off. Ewan had mentioned two other genres, before talking about the last one. Obviously, he wasn't using anything to get closer to you.

"That's the plan." Ewan surprises you with his words. Your attention flickers to him, finding a shameless grin on his lips as he leans back into his seat. Both of his arms extend along the back of the booth, looping you under his arm while also showing off his arm span. There's a taunting edge to his words as he says, "No worries, I'll sit between you both. Optimal position."

It doesn't escape your knowledge that Ewan's plan literally puts him between yourself and Tabaeus. However, you're not sure if he means to be an obstacle or is just being nice to include the vampire.

Tabaeus snorts, their tone taking on a disgusted lilt. "I am not going to cling to you of all people."

"I don't know. You dressed our dear friend in adorable footie jammers, while you got all gussied up." Ewan winks down at you, which makes you hunch your shoulders. The fluttery sensations in your stomach jump as the werewolf gives your shoulders a squeeze. Thankfully, he doesn't stare at you longer as he lobs a question back at Tabaeus, "Didn't you want attention?"

"Not from you," Tabaeus spits out, their nose wrinkling further. From under the table, you feel their foot brush against your leg. Heat flares up your spine, understanding the unspoken words in Tabaeus's actions.

Unaware of the footsie beneath the table, Ewan's grin is easy, toothy, and roguish. You feel his eyes slip from Tabaeus to you as he speaks, "Aw, that's a pity, because I find both of you ravishing."

Outrage paints itself across Tabaeus's features. However, you're fairly certain they'd be blushing if they had any blood in them. You are feeling the heat yourself, if you're being honest.

Before Tabaeus lobs another insult Ewan's way, you sigh and hum in a singsong voice, "Fighting or flirting?"

You regret the taunt as soon as it leaves your lips. Tabaeus's gaze shoots to you, their red eyes intense, especially as they catch onto Ewan's arm still lazily around your shoulders.

"Why are you so intent on asserting we're flirting?" Their eyes narrow and you still as that pout on their lips shifts into a grin. A sharp light suddenly shines in their gaze. They lean closer to you, dropping their voice to a soft decibel that sends tingling goosebumps along your body. "If I did not know better, I would think you wanted us to be flirting."

Ewan shifts, peering down at you while his arm remains firmly in place. A bit of teasing surprise filters into his voice. "Are they trying to get a two-for-one deal?"

"Oh, I did not think of that." Tabaeus's words are smooth, tinged with a spark of curiosity as their gaze stays glued to your face.

Shocked, your mouth has dropped open, but you have no words to blather out. Your mouth snaps shut, the heat on your cheeks becoming too warm. A little frantically, you look from Tabaeus to Ewan. You're offered little solace from the werewolf, though. His green eyes are just as glinty as Tabaeus's, with a broad crooked grin on his lips.

In your chest, your heart pounds. Something akin to fear edges into your thoughts, though it's more pleasant, if no less anxiety-inducing.

Briefly, you consider pressing your hands to your face, hiding the growing blush. That would only amuse the two further, though. Which, again, makes that warm embarrassment sift through your body.

You just couldn't win. Especially while Tabaeus and Ewan look at you like that.

"Nevermind, go back to fighting each other," you mumble, shoving both of them away and scooting smack in the middle of them again. Albeit, this time, with a safe distance between them and you.

You hope the space will help to disperse the images your imagination is suddenly feeding you. Alas, it doesn't. But you still feel better with both of them being further away. Any closer, and they might sense the inappropriateness bleeding from your thoughts.

"No, no, I'm curious now, myself." Ewan leaned close again, his body heat licking up the side of your body, despite the denim jacket acting as a barrier. His voice dips low, a playful growl faintly tinging the edges, "Are you hoping to be sandwiched between us, in more ways than one?"

For once, Tabaeus doesn't snipe at Ewan. Miserably, you realize why. The two of them have found common ground in teasing you.

Of course, that would be what they bonded over.

"Alright, alright. Enough you two." Despite the obvious pink on your cheeks, you wave the two of them away. Thankfully, your eye catches on the waiter bringing out your meals. "Behave. Food's here."

As the waiter comes up to the table, laying out the meals, you can feel Ewan and Tabaeus exchange a look. A delighted smug air shoots between the two.

With steely determination, you keep your eyes on the waiter, shaking your head when asked if anything else was needed. Your companions mirror your need for anything else. A sigh of relief almost escapes you as they turn and leave. However, you are immediately aware of Ewan and Tabaeus.

They're both smiling at you, unspoken plots swimming in the air around them. If you focus, you wonder if you could sus out what is going on in both of their heads. However, you really don't want to know. You're willing to bet it would just make your mortifying flush intensify.

You shoot them both dirty looks as you unwrap your utensils from its napkin. "Don't make me regret tonight, you two."

"I would never!" Tabaeus presses a long-fingered hand to their chest, their scandalized expression comical.

Ewan reaches for his burger and, faintly, you realize his fingernails are long, well-kept, and sharp. Have they always been that way? He chuckles so deeply it makes your stomach quiver. "Wouldn't dream of it."

Valiantly, you try to ignore them and dig into your meal, as they share yet another look. From the corner of your eye, you see both of them grin at each other again.

A truce has been made.

At your expense.

#exo writing #exophilia #2nd pov #2nd person pov #monster lover #vampire #werewolf #monster x human #monster romance #vampire x human #werewolf x human #tabaeus #reader #ewan #amata #room & board #room and board #( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

[demonslayedher]

How would the aftermath of a "fateswap" of the final battle play out? As in every hero who died in the Infinity Fortress raid/Muzan fight in canon lives while those who lived in the canon dies instead. So Shinobu, Genya, Mitsuri, Iguro, Himejima, and Muichiro survive while Tanjiro, Zenitsu, Inosuke, Kanae, Giyuu, and Sanemi die. I guess Nezuko would still be alive because she didn't participate.

Anon... how dare.

There were so many moments when I was first contemplating this when I realized new bereavements and verbalized a sharp "NO!!" at each one; and for the sake of seeing how it plays out, I had to write it. I tried to keep it short by only writing the key developments but now it's a very, very, very choppy series of odd interactions, and I must bring it to you in multiple parts. That's your first warning. As your second warning, we have angst ahead, so much angst. And while I though this would turn into an Angst & Fluff piece, no, we have bypassed fluff and gone straight to sap. This is the Ask response equivalent of violently hacking a tree to pieces so that I can offer you maple syrup. Here, I hope you like it. Careful, there are probably splinters in it.

--- Part 1: The Fates are Swapped Part 2: The Aftermath Part 3: The Underworld Part 2 is over 12K words. It is possible to skip it and only read Parts 1 and 3 for high drama and a shorter story. It's also possible to scroll down to the bottom for Part 2 for confusing and crappy doodles of an AU that followed with no idea where it was going. ---

Part 1: The Fates are Swapped

Shinobu's lung was punctured, but she could still fight, and she did, impressing Douma with how she put enough strength in her legs to force him all the way to the ceiling. The strongest dose of poison her sword could pack punctured the vital spot in his neck, and despite how his features were melting, the ends of his mouth twisted with a smile. "How amazing. You worked so hard,” he cooed. Gravity wanted to take both her and her sword back, but he stopped her close with clammy hands and clawed fingers. "You're worthy for me to eat."

When at last she thought she saw her end and the beginning of her victory, the ceiling cracked wider and a fur-covered foot pounded through. "No way in hell I'm going to let you touch Shinobu!"

The next thing she knew, her face was slashed by the tips of two rough swords, tearing from her brows, over her nose, and down to her cheeks with crossing injuries. It stung like hell, and she was in free fall. At the same moment as a splashing sound, she was submerged in icy waters; it was filling the hole in her lung, quick...

--

"Sure does suck to die alone."

After having taunted Muzan's underling, Yushiro scooped up the whiny demon slayer and brought him to a flat surface. Try as he might to stop them with anti-Blood Technique medicine, those burns kept cracking and spreading even after that demon was dead; he really must have hated this guy to have that much ill will focused against him. 

Zenitsu's eyes flitted open, then locked on Yushiro. "The demon woman you love... she's in trouble."

Yushiro’s whole body flinched tight, from his pupils down his spine. "I know."

"You have to... go to her."

"And leave you after what I just said to that guy? I'd be a liar."

"I'm not… alone," he struggled out. Like another strike of lightning in a storm, the burn in his cheek crackled up to his eye, filling it with blood. "Jiichan... said he's proud of me. ...Go."

--

Yushiro had not meant to defy Tamayo's wishes, but if there was one time in his life he was going to, this was it. Tamayo had not expected such a betrayal either when she was ripped apart from Muzan. At last separated from that man swallowing her up, her cells instantly set to work repairing themselves, and she already had most of her limbs back before she looked around and had a sense of what happened. Her returning hand was empty; the medicine must have still been inside of Muzan. Then, up there by Muzan's face, there was Yushiro with his hands digging into the screaming flesh.

"Yushiro! What are you doing there! You said you would treat the injured slayers!"

"That was a joke. I'm not leaving you alone to him, Tamayo-sama. He doesn't deserve any of your cells."

"Who are you!” Muzan yammered blindly. “I don’t recognize you! You're made from Tamayo's cells!"

"Leave him to me, Yushiro, I came here expecting to fight him myself."

Yushiro ignored Muzan's screams and dropped a vial of medicine out of his pocket to the floor in front of Tamayo. "I know. Treat yourself with this first."

She took it off the floor and stabbed her own thigh with it, expecting it to give her the strength to stand again and fight, but instead she felt prickly and weak all over. "Yushiro!" she took an angry tone.

"That was a better joke, wasn't it?"

"Where--did you--where did you get this?"

"I ran into Shinobu's Tsuguko on the way here, and I knew she had an extra. It was a fair exchange, I gave her papers to go find her master. You should take cover while the medicine takes effect, Tamayo-sama. Leave Muzan to me," he said, ignoring how his hands were already missing down to the elbows, "I'll make him feel and regret everything he’s put you through."

--

"Shihan!"

That was Kanao’s voice. Shinobu gasped as she was pulled from the water, and then the back of her skull thumped with against a wooden platform, breaking the butterfly hairpiece with a snap. She tried to cough but was soon to lose consciousness again. Kanao’s silhouette was blurry above her. 

"I have to go help Inosuke, he's not going to last much longer alone. Please pull through!"

--

“AAH!!”

"Stay here. We'll see later... what demon you turn to..."

With his own Nichirin blade seared through the socket of his shoulder; now Muichiro’s one full arm was going to be stuck at partial mobility. He struggled and struggled to reach the handle, but he couldn't. That left him pulling the blade, leaving that one remaining hand cut wide open and bloody all through the palm. He screamed as he pulled himself free, then hit the floor with a smack. 

He got over to Genya, who needed assistance pushing himself back together, whereas Sanemi was already long gone in ongoing battle. Muichiro had witnessed everything, though, and amidst their discussion of what to do to get themselves back into the fight, Muichiro couldn't help but smile. "You two reached an understanding, didn't you?"

"I guess, yeah. More or less."

"I get it. Brothers don’t always say what they mean until the last moment. Can you stand? We need to hurry and go help him."

--

In the changing courses of the Infinity Fortress, and already disoriented with how her head spun, Tamayo would have been crushed by a wall zooming by had a girl with pink hair not grabbed her wrist and pulled her out of the way. "That was close! Are you alright? WAH!!" her rescuer said and then fell backwards out of a window.

Tamayo tried to stand, but whether it was the rumbling or the medicine, she could not. She’d have tipped over sideways into an abyss, but she was caught in the enormous arms of the Rock Pillar. 

"Himejima-san...” she said as she held her head and settled to her knees, “You should be fighting... leave me, you should be fighting!"

"And you shouldn't be here like this, it's dangerous. You've done enough."

"No, I have to--" she started to say, but he ran through the next open door. 

--

"A mark... but being over the age of 25... I predict you'll die tonight..."

"You think I didn't come prepared for that?" Himejima replied to the demon as he gave his spiked ball a spin. With the mark, it spun with more ease than he had ever felt capable of before. It would be an honor to die on the same night as Oyakata-sama, if only he could bring Muzan's head as an offering.

--

Amidst the flashing and shattering and huge icy splashes all around her, Shinobu could barely stay conscious, but the sound that startled her eyes back awake was a THUD next to her. She turned her head, and there was Inosuke, covered in ice patches and the lashes of his eyelids all closed against each other like a delicate princess in slumber.

Inosuke was never one to look so peaceful. 

--

"CAAAAW!! AGATSUMA ZENITSU!! HASHIBIRA INOSUKE!!! DEAD!!!!!"

Tanjiro’s eyes filled with tears before he was conscious that he even heard a crow caw. When the realization caught up to his mind not even a second later, he felt all the Breath knocked clear out of his stomach. 

"aa.. aaaa--!!"

"Keep going!" Giyuu caught him by the arm and pulled him to keep running. "It's up to you to keep their sacrifices from being in vain."

The hot tears and snot flowed down the back of Tanjiro’s throat; even after all the grueling losses he had suffered, Tanjiro couldn't believe he would never see those two again. It didn't feel real. He wanted so bad to believe that they would come running to join him in this final battle. 

--

"A-aaa-Anikiii!! Ahhh!!!"

Genya could hardly manage words, only screams came to his lips; there was so much he wanted to say. He couldn’t even cradle Sanemi's head without Himejima's help, for he was so shook that his trembling hands were going to make Sanemi fall apart. Sanemi was nearly in pieces from that blow he took from Kokushibo. 

The demon was at last dead thanks to Muichiro's white blade having burned bright Red to take the head off once and for all, but now Muichiro was shaky and white from blood loss, but someone he was still standing. It was hard to see any of Sanemi's face, for all the gushing gore he was covered in. His eyes were unfocused on the ceiling, but his hands found Genya's, and he gave him the clear vials of oil in his pockets. "Take these to Muzan," he said, clasping his hands around his brother's with the last of his strength, "Fuck him up."

"Nii... Niichaaaan!!"

---

Genya was ready to let the world burn, had Himejima not ordered him to get a grip. His master was right, Genya wasn't going to be able to do anything to honor Sanemi if he didn't calm down. Maybe he could never be calm enough to use Breath, but he could use Repetitive Action to collect his focus.

It was right after that when Himejima warned him not to try eating Muzan, for Tamayo had used a medicine on him which might affect Genya too. Neither Genya nor Muichiro had ever heard of the Corp working with a demon besides Nezuko, but after all they had already been through, they were quick to accept the shock. When they found their way to the battle, Mitsuri was already down.

-- 

Iguro had told her she'd done enough, but what she knew he meant was, 'stay alive.' How could she live with herself if this was all she had done to help? Especially after all those swordsmen laid down their lives placing their hope in her!

'Saving the weak is the responsibility of those born strong…,' the voice of her former master rang with a deep timbre through her mind. 'Kanroji, you may even have the strength to one day surpass me as a swordsman!'

"Rengoku…san..."

‘…above all, you have a heart filled with great love!’

"Kanroji-sama, please let me treat your--"

"I have to go... I have to go protect every precious person left!"

She meant that, and it shot power back through her limbs. Her collar bone burned bright with a mark, and her speed and healing increased. It might take away from her life span, but for now, all that mattered was this last hour before daylight! 

She joined the fight with Iguro and Tanjiro, whipping her blade and following Tanjiro's lead in flailing the swords of their fallen comrades. Being hit with a zapping attack that made her body all clench up with electricity until Muichiro swooped in to make it stop. She had dropped her sword somewhere, but she still had her blessedly strong muscles. She caught Muzan's arm and screamed at him as she ripped it off, but that left her defenseless as a claw ripped across her belly. 

'Not my womb!' she cried out in her mind, but on her second thought as she went down, she chided herself for still clinging to old dreams. 

--

"Iguro-san... Ah! It hurts! It hurts!!"

"I'm here. I'll hold you until the pain is gone."

"But you're... you're hurt too... I don't want you to die!"

What did his pain matter? The ache in his chest as he heard her suffer was worse than any of his open wounds. "I don’t think either of us has long. If you’ll allow me to run my mouth, do you remember the day we first met?”

She swallowed hard before answering. “I was lost in Oyakata-sama’s mansion, and you helped me…”

“No. It was the other way around. I was the one saved by the sight of you, a normal girl whose laugh rang pure like a bell at the lightest thing, who didn’t let anyone feel how hard she must had trained to become a Pillar."

"Iguro... san...!"

He let his exposed lips blather on, unrestrained. "Talking with you made me feel like a normal man, it made me happy. I’m sure your brightness and kindness has saved the hearts of many, but Kanroji, I promise you, if you'll have me... in our next lives, I will make you the happiest bride."

As she sobbed and accepted, he wondered if he deserved to say such a thing while still pouring with unclean blood all over her. But he'd be cleansed of that blood soon enough, and he felt cleaner for having told her how he felt. 

-- 

"Please, treat the children. It's too late for me."

"Himejima-sama," cried the Kakushi and swordsmen next to him, but the Insect Pillar, with open wounds across her face and her hair a loose mess, coughed and gurgled.

"No!" she spat specks of blood, "I've--guh--I've stopped the bleeding, you're--guh--you're going to pull through!"

"I had the mark. It'll kill me shortly."

"Not if-g'huh--ghh-guh—not if I can help it!"

"Shinobu-san, stand aside. You're in no condition to focus on anyone but yourself."

She looked over, stunned at the sight of Tamayo in the sunlight. As she could not, Himejima was the one to speak. "Where's Yushiro?"

Tamayo's face twisted to a complicated grimace. "He made a bad joke. The foolish child..."

--

"Tomioka-san, please let us treat your wounds--"

"Where's Tanjiro?"

"Tomioka-san--"

They couldn't keep him from noticing the boy kneeling still, head drooped and uniform bloody all over. Giyuu’s tears welled up faster than the blood guzzling to his mouth. "Tanjiro..."

With the help of the Kakushi, Giyuu teetered and swayed over, then collapsed to his knees in front of him. There were two Kakushi at Tanjiro's sides, and behind him, Genya held up Muichiro. Giyuu’s vision was narrowing, he had to feel his way around for Tanjiro’s hand, still clenching the sword which had at last defeated Muzan. “I couldn’t protect you either… I’m sorry… at least… this time we’ll go together…”

Giyuu’s forehead fell against Tanjiro’s.

Morning came to a quiet lull. Everyone was sniffling, but not Genya. He was silent and dumbfounded, tears streamed down his face as he kept watching as though waiting for Tanjiro to get up and turn around and smile. He wasn’t sure how long he stared, with Muichiro getting heavier and heavier to hold upright, but all of a sudden, Muichiro flinched.

“Tanjiro!?”

--

Shinobu’s hands hit the ground so hard that it made her wrists hurt, and she coughed so forcefully that she thought she might had already taken her last Breath several minutes ago. What good was she doing still alive, if she was stuck against the ground with all her poison blood going everywhere without doing a lick of good? That should had been her shoulder stuffed into Tanjiro’s mouth, not Nezuko’s! After all that effort to save her, Nezuko was going to die over there like that. Muichiro and Himejima were at their limits, and for all Shinobu could tell, Mitsuri and Iguro and Giyuu were all dead.

She noticed Kanao’s boots scraping across the ground out of the corner of her eye. She looked up to find her Tsuguko, her sister, letting go of her stomach injury and reaching for her sword.

“He’s barely turned… there’s still time…”

“K—uhh!—Ngh!!”

“…if the strike hits perfectly!!”

-- -- __

[Continued in Part 2. Warning, it's long and not my best writing. I am stunned by its directions too.] Or... [Concluded in Part 3]

#what even #my fics #though I wish I would had committed to a long-form fic for more subtle development instead of the 17000 'I'll just do the key developments' #monstrousity this turned into #I try to blame Anon but I was a willing accomplice and had fun even if my efforts to finish it made the quality suffer #I really should not tag this as a fix-it Au

[oldsargasso]

WinnerDean spy AU?

thank youuuu I love you 🥺 sorry for taking days to answer lol I have been. so sick.

five VERY LONG facts...honestly this is just a story outline at this point. TW for violence

the first time they meet it's because Dean's been sent on his first solo mission, instead of Babe or Way getting it done. and he's so proud of himself - finally Alan has recognised how hard he's been working! sure it's not like Babe (currently holed up at home with a broken leg) or Way (currently undercover as a high-end ~companion) could have been sent anyway...still. Dean was the one Alan pulled from the team and sent out into the field all on his own. and he's going a great job---bypasses all the security measures, is in the CEO's office with his password being cracked as Dean pokes around the desk drawers---when the door opens and the number 1 ranked agent at X Hunter's rival agency saunters in.

2. Winner had incredible scores throughout his stint at the academy. But X Hunter has some more avant garde recruitment practices and Winner's not bitter about it at all. Working at RDR means he stays number one, big fish in a small pond kind of thing. His talents are being wasted looking after the very lucrative contract Tony's hired them on for; officially it's "locating and correcting weaknesses in the security framework" but it's really corporate espionage. and it's boring as hell. Winner hates it. why become a spy if not to go around guns blazing and driving dangerously and seducing hot targets? turns out there's a lot more paperwork and sending phishing emails and standing around waiting for people to leave their office in actuality. that is, until Winner makes the usual midnight loop around the top-floor offices and finds something very interesting. (Winner's a little miffed that X Hunter didn't even bother sending their top agent for this job.)

3. Tony offers Alan a deal: give Tony Babe, and Dean gets released with nary a scratch.

Alan doesn't take the deal.

Winner doesn't care, about the deal or Babe or the way Tony's aide keeps hovering around like he wants to say something and definitely not about the pretty agent he captured. But he DOES care that Tony has his own guys doing the interrogation. Like why even hire Winner and his agency if not for something exactly like this? So he hacks into the security feed and finds Tony's guys aren't even asking questions. It's like they're just ...playing almost, landing blows all over the agent's body while his arms are held so he can't protect himself, both eyes blackened and blood dripping to the floor from his torn-up mouth. And Winner notices someone else in the system too. They've covered their tracks very well---unfortunately for North there's only a handful of people that can cover their tracks like that. It pisses Winner off: any good agency would have gotten their guy out, or at least gotten him a bullet---instead X Hunter is just watching? Listening to the sounds of Dean gasping for breath after another interminable minute of being held underwater? Winner kicks North out of the system and patches the weak point and decides to cater to his own particular moral code.

4. Dean doesn't break. He doesn't talk. He clings to the hope of getting out (and then he hopes for it to end). He repeats to himself that Alan wouldn't have left him here if he didn't think Dean could handle it. Alan has faith in Dean so Dean will have faith in Alan. And he manages to keep it up for a few days, or maybe a week---the only way of tracking time is the comings and goings of Tony's guys, and Dean's not sure they have a set schedule. He hurts all over. There's no position he can sleep in that doesn't have his ribs screaming at him, and the comments from Tony's men have started to get very pointed in a way that has his skin crawling. Dean knows the protocol, and he should have gotten at least a message by now. It's easier then, to give up a little, and let his anger and bitterness turn to apathy and carry him through.

5. Winner's favourite thing about being a spy? The vast array of beautiful guns he has access to. He was top of his class when it came to shooting, and taking out five guys before any of them manage to fire back is barely enough to spark any satisfaction. Dean doesn't answer when Winner asks if he can walk, so Winner just slings him over one shoulder and makes his leisurely way out. He's planted enough explosives around Tony's estate that every man is going to be completely occupied elsewhere.

He does run into Kenta on his way to the exit---Winner doesn't shoot, because the guy is armed with a knife and that's not a fair fight---and Kenta just nods at him, like. with approval. Weird guy, but probably has to be to have worked for Tony for so long.

And then when Winner makes it to the garage North and Sonic are waiting there? with a guy Winner distinctly remembers seeing tied up in Tony's office a few weeks ago. And they just take Dean from him and drive away??

So Winner goes back inside and shoots a few more people. He finds Tony's body, and Kenta kneeled next to it, and is like "well I have an empty seat in my car now..." and then they drive away.

(bonus fun fact is that Babe and Charlie are having a whole Mr and Mrs Smith AU thing going on in the background)

#pit babe #winnerdean #jeff had a vision how it would all play out btw #the Alan not taking a deal thing has been living in my head in a post-apocalyptic AU for weeks now so I'm using it here

[dougielombax]

Alright.

This is gonna be a big one.

Here goes.

Parallels.

Or

Seeing Patterns in Things that Aren’t There

Part 20: The Illusion of Free Choice.

1. “You’ve proven yourself a decisive man so I expect you’ll have no trouble deciding what to do. It’s time to choose.” - G-Man. Half-Life (1998)

(Credit to user @greenstorm64 for the SFM rendition, it’s not my work)

2. “You take the blue pill, the story ends. You wake up in your bed and believe whatever you want to believe. You take the red pill - you stay in Wonderland and I show you how deep the rabbit hole goes.” - Morpheus. The Matrix (1999)

“Time to fly.” - Morpheus. The Matrix Resurrections (2021)

3. “So. What’ll it be then? You can go back to your regular life and forget any of this ever happened. Or you can know the truth about the universe. The choice is now yours.”

“No, we’ll do a redo, you’re supposed to WANT to know.” - Weird Barbie. Barbie (2023).

I thought of this one just today and I am IMMENSELY proud of it.

The mysterious G-Man offers Gordon a choice between an uncertain future and immediate death at the hands of an army of monstrous aliens. Knowing he can only really choose one of them.

Morpheus offers Neo the choice between the red or blue pill the first time around, with both choices made in sincerity. Second time around, he hopes that Neo will choose as he did last time “Time to fly.” “Yeah, that’s not gonna happen..”.

Weird Barbie (Kate McKinnon) practically wants Stereotype Barbie (Margot Robbie) to choose to leave Barbieland to meet her human owner to fix the ongoing fuckery in her world. Insisting upon such a choice.

The similarities between the last two immediately stood out to me and I LOVED it.

Make of this what you will.

#dougie rambles #personal stuff #shitpost #or is it #parallels #poetry #it’s like poetry #half life #gordon freeman #g man #valve games #valve #wachowski sisters #the matrix #the matrix resurrections #morpheus #barbie movie #barbie #weird barbie #Neo #cinema #film #gaming #free choice #or lack thereof #greta gerwig #the wachowskis

[rossellini-tyrell]

Nothing’s Gonna Change My World

Ch. 4 - But Listen to the Color of Your Dream (it is not living)

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Word Count: 4,414

Warnings: Reader is still traumatized from the events of chapter 1, very brief conversation about sanitary products.

Pairing: Pavitr x F!Reader also found on AO3 and Wattpad. ---------- "What are you doing all the way over there, (You)? You're freezing," remarks Pavitr. His voice is laced with concern, but the lilt is unmistakably fond. He's not wrong. You're currently wedged against the arm of his couch where you're midway through a series, curled up into it as snugly as possible in hopes of retaining some semblance of body heat. It's not working, he can see the gooseflesh raised on your skin from where he sits, the minute shivers your body makes on the exhales. Pavitr's implication isn't lost on you, the offer is very tempting. The thought of pressing against him when he's got that cozy-looking waffle-weave henley on that shows off everything and screams hug me is enough to make your toes curl in your fuzzy socks. Your brain just can't get past the discomfort of possibly imposing yourself on him. Not to mention that in the past, cuddling would eventually become nothing more than a vehicle for wandering hands, unspoken asks that wore a hole in your patience until you knew when the question would arrive without fail. "I'm respecting your personal bubble," you play it off. Pavitr snorts in disbelief. "Personal bubble- that's adorable. I don't have one. C'mere," he orders. The crook of an elegant finger beckons you closer, the quirk of his lips inviting, enticing, tugging on your psyche and leaving the sweet ache of a void unfilled. "Really, you don't need to for my sake," you try to give him an out. He sees it and ducks out of it. "Oh my god, you're so cute," Pavitr gushes. "I want to, and you've been making eyes at me this entire time," he reaches to grab both hands now. "Come here and let me hold you, sweet girl," he croons, and then he's reeling you in. You follow willingly, half-crawling across the couch. When you're close enough, he pulls you across his legs by the waist, the sudden contact eliciting a surprised yip from you. You're plopped into his lap, and then strong arms envelop you, draw you firmly against a warm chest. The initial contact makes you freeze, the frisson hitting like a lightning bolt as it rolls through you in waves. Being held, being wanted feels so new, so delicious, you don't know what to do with your body but hold stock still. It feels like the first hit of a dangerous drug, simultaneously ecstatic and frightening. Your heart beats in double time, your gooseflesh spreads across your arms. "Take a breath, dove, you're okay," Pavitr soothes, one flat hand rubbing firm circles against your tense upper back. "That's it, lean into me. I've got you." The rhythmic pressure is grounding, the breath you're holding escapes with a huff as you start to liquefy, feeling wonderfully contained in his embrace. The frisson is still there, the cuddle he's giving you feels fucking amazing, but the heat from his body is now seeping into your bones, driving out the cold and allowing your rigid muscles to sag. The soft knit of Pavitr's shirt presses into your cheek, you inhale deeply and catch the clean scent of the laundry soap he uses, layered with an almost vanilla-like scent that's his and his alone, rich, sweet and comforting.  It reminds you of the chilly nights of your childhood where you'd sip hot cocoa to ward the frost away. "There's my girl," he purrs, the words dripping into your ears like honey. The grin on his face could only be described as dopey, punch-drunk on raw affection. "Mmm, this is nice," you hum happily. "Could have had it a lot sooner, 'yanno. I've been told I'm quite the cuddle bug," Pavitr says, the rumble of his chest thrumming against you as he talks. "Are you telling me you turned down your heat, hid the blankets, and dressed in your softest clothes on purpose?" you accuse. "The allegations against me are baseless and without merit. I will prevail." he murmurs humorously, resting his chin atop your head. You can feel the contented hums he emits as he continues to stroke your back. "Is this the part where you put your hand down my shirt?" you ask, half-joking. Pavitr suddenly pauses, his posture suddenly becoming more rigid. "Why would I do- goddammit, don't tell me there are men out there turning everything into a proposition?" he whines. "I can't remember the last time I got to cuddle just to...cuddle," you admit. Pavitr's hold around you tightens protectively, you can almost feel his heart sinking in his ribcage. You hear him sigh, feel his lips against your forehead. "What fucking bell-ends. Why are men like this?" he complains, his lips moving against your skin. "You tell me, I'm just along for the ride," you reply. "I hate that this happened to you," Pavitr mutters into your hair, you can almost see the steam leaving his ears from his anger on your behalf. "I would never use basic affection as a transactional tool like that, I want you let yourself be cared for without worrying that I'm expecting something else in exchange. You should feel safe with your bo- people that you care about," he quickly corrects, not wanting to drop the B-word on you before you're ready. "I feel safe with you," you tell him. You do, the pressure of his hold is perfect, it makes you feel like someone has redrawn your ink outlines and colored you in. The repetition of his hand sliding up and down your back is calming, you feel boneless against him, yet completely supported. You know he'd never ask anything of you that you weren't wanting to give, and you know he'd shield you from a world that wanted only to take. "Thank you, darling. I'm glad I can give you that," he expresses. Pavitr rewards you with a slow, deep, open-mouthed kiss, affection pouring from his lips and traveling down your spine. He then shifts to lay against the other arm of the couch, pulling you into the crook of his arm. "I'd love to keep watching the show like this, but you can sleep if you're tired. I'll be right here," he offers. "Wouldn't mind taking you up on that," you mumble into his chest. He's comfy and he makes both a great blanket, and a pillow. "I hope you do," Pavitr breathes. His hand continues its steady path along your spine until you both sink into gentle slumber, safe and warm. ---- He meets you at the door when you stop by as promised, unlocking the front door with a plastic bag in hand from his own errands. "Oh, perfect timing!" chirps Pavitr, stepping aside to let you in first. "Looks like you've been shopping! Is there anything I can help with?" you ask. Pavitr sets the bag and his keys on the counter, wheels around to smack a kiss onto your lips. "That was it, but I would also appreciate if you could put away the stuff I bought. It's not much," he says, then busies himself with tidying up. You start sorting your way through the bag, finding homes for the various produce items, snacks, and condiments he'd picked up. It's been a few weeks and you're fairly familiar with his apartment's layout at this point, knowing where he keeps what. It's the last item he has in the bag that gives you pause, a decently large box with a design you recognize immediately. "Hey, Pav," you call out. "What are you doing with...these?" Pavitr stops what he's doing, looks at the object you're referencing. It's a box of pads, specifically, the same brand and style you use. "Oh, they're for if you ever need them when you're here," he answers nonchalantly, as if you'd just asked him for the time of day. "How'd you know what to buy?" you ask, surprised. "I'm Spider-Man. I'm observant," he replies, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. Your heart swells at the thoughtfulness. It's Pavtir's unspoken way of saying I want you to be here, the way he noticed the little details and acted on them. In the few weeks you've known him, you've come a long way in feeling comfortable around him, his patience was unfailing and his attentiveness to you made your heart melt over and over again. "Thank you, Pavitr, that's...really nice of you. You didn't have to do that," you thank him. "Of course I did, they're just pads, not that hard to keep them around," he explains. He makes grabby hands towards you, his signal that he's craving snuggles. "You're insatiable," you sigh, making your way over to the couch. You let Pavitr pull you down on top of him, tangling your legs together lazily. Being held by him feels like taking your bra off at the end of the day, he makes you feel like there's nothing else in the world but you and him. You share a series of sticky-sweet kisses, in no hurry to take them anywhere else but here. Your lips meld with his, tongues occasionally meeting between them in little darts and swipes. There's no overtones in these kisses, simply two people lazily reconnecting with each other, basking in each other's warmth. Eventually, he comes up for air, nuzzles a chestnut-toned nose against your cheek and starts tracing mindless patterns along your back with one finger. "How was work today?" you inquire. Pavitr hums contentedly, drops a kiss to the top of your head. "Pretty good, we're developing the marketing department and brought on a couple new employees, they seem great. How did therapy go today?" he turns the question around. "It was...a thing," you reply, deflating a bit. Pavitr picks up on this immediately. "Tough session today?" he gently probes, sits up a bit to get a better look at you and tucks you closer into him. With Pavitr's help, you had recently started seeing a therapist to process everything that's been happening in the last few weeks. Since then, he'd given you a standing invite to come over afterwards to decompress, knowing from personal experience that the hard work of recovery could be heavy in its own way. Whether it was some TLC or a friendly ear, he was happy to give it if it could help you stand going every week. "She's nice and all but I hate remembering," you grumble into his chest. "And then I get nightmares again and I feel cranky at work." "My offer still stands, 'yanno. I'm glad to stay with you if it helps you sleep better," he reiterates. They aren't coming as often now, but now and then Pavitr hears you calling out for him in your sleep, the throes of a horrid dream trapping you there. He'd sneak upstairs each time, tap on your window to wake you up, and stay with you as long as you needed. Some nights he'd put on a sitcom until you passed out against him, others he'd sit on your bed with you, hashing out what you'd seen until you felt ready to sleep again. He did notice that his presence seemed to keep the nightmares at bay, as if they wouldn't dare try to mess with Spider-Man's girl with him right there. So he'd proposed you staying near him after a hard day, letting him guard your rest. Naturally, you being you, you'd waffle on the issue, worried about imposing on him. "Maybe..." you chew on the thought aloud. "Palace had a drop last week and I got a new hoodie and trackpants delivered today. They're really soft, could I interest you in that?" he bribes, letting his breath tickle the shell of your ear. Pavitr knows your weakness is him dressing in cozy clothes, and nothing's comfier than a brand new sweater. It's guaranteed you'll curl right up to him, tell him how huggable he looks. "No fair!" you whine, knowing he's figured you out. "Fine, I'll crash here, but I get to pick what we watch." Pavitr does a little happy dance in his mind. "Of course, sweet girl, anything for you," he affirms, rewarding you with a press of lips to your temple. You lay there in blissful silence for a while, feeling deliciously contained in the way Pavitr holds you to him, still mapping random pathways on either side of your spine. His wavy fringe tickles your cheek, tossed about on the soft puffs of his breath. You're blanketed in the goldenrod hue of the late afternoon sun, strong and comforting. "We talked about my friends today, Pav," you blurt out, suddenly. "Oh?" he acknowledges, turning you in his hold to face him, moving to strum his thumb along the crest of your cheekbone instead. "More specifically, we talked about the lack of my friends, now that most of them don't want to be around me anymore after I, allegedly, 'made a big deal out of nothing'," you cap off your statement in air quotes. Pavitr doesn't respond immediately, lets the disclosure percolate throughout the room. "I'm really proud of you, (You), for getting to the place where you can recognize the absolute bullshit that assertion is. Hell, I'm proud of you for opening up about any of this, period. Thank you for telling me," he praises you. "Thank you, but the problem remains that I don't really have many friends left to turn to," you explain, leaning into his hand on your cheek. "Don't get me wrong, you've been nothing short of life-changing and you've been so good to me, but, but-" "You're feeling isolated because you don't think anyone else will get it, yeah?" Pavitr finishes your thought. "...Something to that effect, yes," you confirm with a huff. "I just wish I could have some better friends, but I'm so exhausted and I don't know what I can do about that." Pavitr hums thoughtfully, an idea taking shape in his mind like a sourdough starter might rise. He plants a kiss to the end of your nose, keeps your face close enough to share breath, with a conspiratorial grin on his mouth. "Some better friends...I think that can be arranged, dove." ---- You meet them at a rock show on the weekend. Pavitr somehow snagged two tickets to the sold-out venue, but doesn't tell you how he'd managed to pull that off. You adored this band, and normally you'd love the crush of the crowd, but you weren't quite sure you could stomach the idea of a packed venue, a swirling mosh pit around you with no escape. Which is why Pavitr invited his three friends, who he assured were veterans of the pit and would never let any harm come to you. Miles and Gwen are a happy pair, their dynamic bright and full of energy. You almost feel like you're intruding when they exchange simple affections, Gwen resting a hand against Miles's chest, and Miles sneaking in a smooch in turn. Hobie's a bit different, there's an otherwordly aura or haze about him that makes him look hazy around the edges, as he's been cut from another cloth, pasted in with rubber cement. He's glad to see Pavitr, scraps with him, digs his knuckles against his head as Pavitr gleefully calls him "my guy", it's touching to see him so carefree, in his element. Pavitr himself has undergone metamorphosis for this show, he's put his piercings in, a black-plated hoop in each lobe, and he's topped it off with a well-loved leather racing jacket. He goes even further than that, a smidgen of navy-blue kajal around his waterlines completes the full emo look. He's in lady-killer mode, but it's obvious to everyone around him that he's only got eyes for one. "This 'er?" Hobie asks as you head into the venue, gesturing to you. "It's her! This is (You)!" Pavitr confirms, excitedly showing you off like a winning lottery ticket. "Oh my god, hi! Pav talks so much about you! I'm Gwen, it's so nice to finally meet you in person!" Gwen gushes, immediately folding you into a friendly hug. You can almost see the tips of Pavitr's ears go bright red from over her shoulder, eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. "I'm Miles, nice to meet you." "Name's Hobie- Hobie Brown." they introduce in turn. Miles is a little awkward, but Hobie exudes calm energy under the vibrant exterior. All four of your companions, however, have the same tired glimmer in their eyes, posture that suggests the presence of some invisible weight, yet, you can tell all four of them are physically powerful. "Wow, I...didn't realize you guys knew who I was," you tell them, surprised at the familiarity. "How could we not? Pav here hasn't been able to participate in literally any other topic of conversation since he met you, I feel like I've known you for years at this point," Miles exudes, much to the dismay of both Pavitr and Gwen. You can feel your cheeks start to heat up. "Stop hecklin' 'em," Hobie barks at the group. "Get your arses to the rail so we can actually see the bloody band," he pivots on his boot heel to turn to you. "Sorry for busting your balls, love, we've been doing it to each other so long we're quite used to it now, you really are just as lovely as my mate Pav said you'd be," he gently explains, leading you towards the stage where Pavitr is waiting with the rest. "He really does talk about me that much?" you inquire, flustered. "Only good things, mind you," Hobie affirms. "Seems he's taken quite a shine to you, can't blame the bloke for wanting to shout it off the rooftops after the shit go he's had with the birds," "That...makes it a little better, I guess. Thank you," you acknowledge, wondering what it is he's referencing. Pavitr finds you over the din of the crowd, pulls you to where he's standing by Miles against the rail. He folds you close against him, refusing to allow the sea of people to separate you for even a minute. "Nervous?" he probes. You shake your head in denial. "Excited is the better word," you tell him. "I don't think I told you that it should be illegal to look that good with blue guyliner." Pavitr sniffs a laugh, leans in close enough where his lips brush the shell of your ear. "Better dial the police, and my lawyer, I'll let you drag me to jail yourself if it means you look at me like that, darling," he rasps, blooms a kiss on the sensitive juncture of your cheek and jaw. His voice oozes ego and it roots you to the spot. You notice Gwen has seen the entire exchange, her cheeks pinking up from having witnessed something so intimate in a public place. The lights dim, the band takes the stage, the music swells and the crowd starts to ripple as the lead singer takes the mic. "LET'S GET READY TO RUMMMMMBLLLLLEEEEEEEE!" That's their cue. All hell breaks loose in the crowd, bodies checking, smashing, jumping as far as the eye can see, pent up frustration and anger purged in mass catharsis. You let the energy take you, let it move your body every which way, the electric hum washing over you. Pavitr is right there with you, so are Hobie, Miles, Gwen, similarly lost in the music but never more than a reach away. You can feel that they are looking out for you, for each other, even if it's imperceptible to the untrained eye. The mosh pit opens up behind you, a throng of bodies whirling, headbanging with their whole selves. Normally, you tried to stay out of their way at shows, not interested in getting clocked by some jackass windmilling his arms. Gwen shoots Miles and Pavitr a look, and that look says let's fucking go. "We're gonna hop in the pit, do you want to try?" invites Miles, voice booming over the screams of the crowd. "We won't let you get hurt! I'll punch anyone that tries it!" Gwen adds. For a moment, you hesitate. The people in the pit are moving really fast, and look strong, like they'd bowl you over with the effort required to wipe your nose. You turn to look at Pavitr, whose arm never left your side this entire time, and his face says something to the effect of No, really, I'd kick their fucking ribs in. You don't doubt he would for a second, but there's something about Miles, Hobie, Gwen that seems different, almost the way Pavitr has that aura of different that you've never seen in anyone else. You can't quite put your finger on it, but you know instinctively that they're not writing checks they can't cash. "Fuck it, we'll do it live," you proclaim. The band leads into their second song, and Pavitr breaks you both into the pit, a wall of circling bodies forming a whirlpool in the midst of the throng of people. You let them carry you along, cycling about under the power of the song's rapid tempo. Pavitr's holding your hand steadfastly, keeping one eye fixated on you lest you get swept away by the tide. The pit is exhilarating in a way you didn't expect, the release of energy exquisitely satisfying - until a crowdkiller body-checks you against the wall of the pit. You rebound off them, losing grasp on Pavitr's hand. You brace for impact with the ground, an impact that never comes, as a pair of strong, so strong arms grabs your shoulders and deftly guides you back on your feet. You uncover your eyes, expecting to find Pavitr, but instead see Hobie standing before you, fingerless-gloved hands firmly handling you. "Thanks for saving me!" you holler, out of breath. "Rule number one!" he replies, hazel eyes boring into yours. "When someone goes down in the pit, you pick them the fuck up!" You know he wasn't just talking about the show. ---- You stop at a Korean restaurant a few blocks away, the one notorious for being open this late. Everyone's sweaty, tired, and maybe a little bruised, but it's a good kind of tired. Raves about how good the set was were traded, the energy of the crowd, the exploits they saw happen all around them. Chatter that is occasionally punctuated by a round of raucous laughs, it's easy and you've missed this, having a group of people to just...be with. Pavitr's extra protective after your mishap in the pit earlier, his hand covers yours as you both eat, firmly, as if you'd blow away in the breeze like a lone balloon. Nevertheless, there are some places you cannot follow, and he pecks your cheek before excusing himself to the restroom. "Pav's smitten with you, you know," Hobie cuts in. You look up to find the group staring at you, eyes mirthful and bright and...a little sad? "I know it's not really our place, but he's mentioned to us that you were scared about not being enough for him because he's...you know," Gwen implies. "He's told you?" you ask, not missing the hint. "He has, and we know better than anyone what it's like to be in his position," Miles answers. You notice that he seems to dance around something in the hesitant tone of his voice. You don't press him. "Look, since meeting you, Pavitr has been the most radiant we've seen him since...she passed away," Hobie continues. The rest of the group solemnly acknowledges Gayatri with subtle bowing of the heads. "And Pav's tried, (You)," Gwen adds, pain in her voice. "He's had other flings, a few short relationships...none of them made him happy until you came into the picture." "He adores you. If you asked me, I think he might even love you," Miles implores, one hand coming to find your shoulder. "Although he's never said as much to us in certain terms, everyone can see it. I've had my fair share of feeling inadequate," he admits, Gwen instinctively leaning into him. "It wasn't easy, but I put my trust in the people around me that I was enough for them. It was the best thing I ever did." You process this, a little misty-eyed. It's difficult to believe that out of everyone, all those other women, Pavitr's chosen you. But to hear it from his closest friends that you've succeeded where others have failed, it's now more difficult to deny. "You guys are so nice to me," you say, voice warbling with nerves. "And you barely know me. I was feeling a little unsure because he hasn't asked me to be his girlfriend yet." Three hands, strong, so strong, find their way firmly on top of yours. "Have you considered that maybe he was waiting for you to ask because he's nervous to scare you off if you're not ready?" Hobie inquires, one pierced eyebrow lifting. The question catches you off guard, as you would never think of him as the nervous one in this pairing. "If I'm being honest, I hadn't thought of that," you reply earnestly. "And if I'm being honest, love, you can ask Pav for anything you damn well want," Hobie answers, patting your hand. "He's not gonna say no." ---- "Hey Pavitr, can I ask you something serious?" you begin the conversation, interrupting the small talk you were making on his fire escape after you get home. Pavitr stiffens, picking up on the jitter in your voice. He takes each of your trembling hands in his, delivers a reassuring squeeze. "Of course, anything, sweet girl," he assures. The kajal around his eyes is smudged, his hair a little stringy from the sweat. His expression is gentle, inviting, and he looks ethereal against the light of a midnight moon. You take a deep, grounding breath, and shoot your shot. "Doyouwannabemyboyfriend?" you blurt, quickly averting your eyes before you can be hurt by his reaction. Pavitr is still for a beat, parsing the words apart. Your heart plummets when his hands leave yours, but rebounds quickly when they skin up your arms to cup your cheeks so gently you'd have thought you were carved from ice, frail and prone to shattering. "Oh, dove," he coos, utter reverence in his voice. "Oh, my perfect, darling girl, look at me, please," You can't help but obey the gentle command, you lift your chin to meet his eyes, and Pavitr's face is beaming, overjoyed, it's bright bright bright "I've been your boyfriend this whole time, sonu. The answer was always yes, you needed only to find the words," he breathes. The relief floods your body, washes over you like a gentle wave, a knot untied. Even better when he slots your lips with his, swallows down the words you planned to say. In their place, he leaves behind his light, bright like the dawn.

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