#so i just let her have them :) one day shell probably return them

[eiightysixbaby]

older! eddie finally having enough of reader calling him old man and he decides to show her how much of an old man he really is😏😏😏

“old man yeah?” he says grinning ear to ear when you whine pathetically underneath him, “wanna say that again?” he coos

18+ only pleaaaase!

The ball rolls down the lane, heavy and awkward, knocking into the pins and only sending a couple falling.

“That was possibly the worst throw of the night, Munson!” Robin says, smiling proudly when Eddie glares at her.

He groans, swiveling his arm to stretch out his shoulder.

“Not fair, this shit used to be easy. ‘S fuckin’ killing my shoulder tonight,” he comments, picking up his bottle of beer and clinking it with the top of Steve’s in a sort of pity toast to his bad turn.

“Oh, come on, old man!” you tease, standing to take your turn. You pick up your bowling ball from the bunch, giving Eddie a devious glance. “Let me show you how it’s done, sans any shoulder pain or back pain or pain in any other body part,” you smirk, earning a laugh from Steve.

“Ouch,” he says. “She’s got you there, Ed. Shoulder pain, really? When we’re not even halfway through this game.”

“Oh fuck off, Harrington. Wasn’t it two nights ago I saw you buying Epsom salts complaining about sore muscles? From a day at the pool with your kids?”

“Listen, the amount of times I had to pick them up and toss them into the water—”

You giggle, letting the two of them bicker as you take your turn. You let the ball go in a more elegant manner than Eddie, standing at the end of the lane as you wait to see the outcome. Sure enough, all ten pins fall with a scattered crash, and you bounce up and down eagerly.

“Woo!” Robin and Steve cheer, Eddie rolling his eyes as you high-five them.

“Alright, sweetheart, so you think you’re the superior bowler?” he asks, pulling you against him.

“I know I am, old man,” you draw out the last two words, pressing a polished finger to his chest. “Unless you really think you can show me up. But I wouldn’t want you hurting that shoulder while you try,” you pout, seeing the way the look in his eyes changes at your teasing. “Can’t have you doing too much… physical activity.”

“Alright, so that’s how you want to be, hm?” he asks, his voice low. “Just wait ‘til we get home, darling.”

The comment makes you shiver, his figure slipping away from you as soon as the words are out of his mouth. You watch him leave to get another drink, your mouth slightly agape as film reels run through your head, showcasing the activities that probably await you when you return home. Chewing on your lip, you return to your seat next to Robin, knowing full well you’re going to get under Eddie’s skin as much as you possibly can before the night is over.

Stumbling through the door just before midnight, a couple shitty bowling-alley-bar mixed drinks in your system, Eddie’s got his finger hooked in the waistband of your too-tight jeans, pulling you into him.

“That was real fucking cute, the way you kept mocking me all night,” he rasps, his warm breath fanning your ear, his lips barely grazing the shell of it. “If I had to hear you call me an old man one more time, I swear I was going to put you in the car and fuck you right there in the parking lot,” he says, kissing at your jaw.

You whine a little, tilting your head to the side to allow him better access.

“This is exactly what you wanted, isn’t it?” he asks, knowing the answer.

“Ed—” you pant, trying to paw at the buckle on his jeans.

“It is, god of course it’s what you wanted. I know your angles, baby,” he purrs, his voice dripping with lust.

He presses a hot kiss to your mouth, his tongue licking against your teeth. Your hands climb up his back, clawing at the fabric of his shirt as if your plan is to rip it off of him. He picks you up, carrying you down the hallway without breaking the kiss. He’s tossing you on the bed before he pulls his shirt off, exposing his modest muscles from years of hard work at the shop. You never tire of looking at the tattoos that decorate his pale skin, the ink fading with time.

He’s undoing his belt while you’re stripping bare on his bed, feeling your face heat when you catch him staring at your tits.

“Damn, I’m going to fuck the absolute shit out of you tonight,” he breathes, smiling boyishly, betraying his age despite the soft wrinkles in his face.

“Are you?” you ask, one final taunt, pushing him over the edge.

“Oh, sweetheart. G’na have you crying for me,” he says, moving to hover on top of you on the bed. “You’re not gonna be able to fucking walk tomorrow,” he murmurs, nipping at your earlobe.

It’s quick and without warning when he slips two fingers inside of you, making you mewl as your hands tangle in his hair. He curls them expertly, he knows your body like the back of his hand by now, knows exactly what to do to have you screaming for him.

His eager mouth licks and sucks on your breasts, tugging your nipples gently with his teeth as your back arches. Your body accepts a third finger from him easily, sucking him right in as wet, filthy noises fill the bedroom.

“Eddie,” you whine, already on the edge of your orgasm. Your breathing is heavy, eyes pinched shut beneath him as he works you to your breaking point.

You cum around his fingers with a cry, body shaking violently as he works you through it. You feel like you’re on fire, his touch igniting every inch of you. All you want is more.

“Old man, huh?” Eddie muses as you come down from your first high of the evening. “Looks like this old man still knows how to please. So do you wanna call me that again, sweetheart?”

You shake your head, knowing you’re already in for quite the night.

“Good,” he says, dipping down to kiss your lips, your jaw, your neck. “Cause we’re just getting started.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #older!eddie munson #older!eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson blurb #leah’s got mail 💌

[storiesfromgaza]

Hello, everyone.

This may be the finest and most important article I've written since the creation of this blog, so kindly read it carefully and pay attention.

And share it so that everyone can see it.

There are many events happening tonight, and I will try to summarize them for you so that you have a complete understanding of what is happening.

Twelve days ago, a gruesome incident occurred, most of you have probably heard of it: the occupation forces shelled the Al-Ma'madani Hospital in Gaza, resulting in the deaths of over a thousand people, including patients, their families, doctors, and young children.

Has the occupation been content with this? The answer is no.

Since that day, they have been threatening another hospital, Al-Quds Hospital, with the promise of bombing it, leaving civilians and patients inside in a state of terror, awaiting death at any moment.

The first time this happened, it spread across social media platforms, especially Twitter, and many people protested, causing the occupation to halt its actions.

Today, twelve days after the Al-Ma'madani Hospital massacre, they have once again sent severe threats to the Palestinian Red Crescent Society (PRCS) for the immediate evacuation of Al-Quds Hospital, as it is destined to be bombed.

"🔴 Urgent: We have just received severe threats demanding the immediate evacuation of Al-Quds Hospital as it is set to be bombed.

Since the early hours of the morning, the vicinity of Al-Quds Hospital has been witnessing continuous airstrikes, resulting in the destruction of some buildings within a 50-meter radius.

📢 Please share, save Al-Quds Hospital! 📢

#GazaUnderAttack #GazaUnderSiege #Save_Al-Quds_Hospital

"

The second matter, three days ago, specifically on Friday, the twenty-seventh of this month, the occupation completely isolated Gaza from the world by cutting off the internet, telecommunications, and electricity. They were prepared for a brutal massacre that occurred that night and lasted for two days.

I'm talking about indiscriminate bombardment using all kinds of weapons on all areas of Gaza, whether they were churches, mosques, schools, or homes, regardless of their occupants, be they children, young people, women, or the elderly.

During that period, social media platforms and indeed the entire world were abuzz with the issue.

People from various backgrounds, nationalities, and religions unanimously agreed that it was inhumane to isolate them from the world and deny them the right to have a voice.

They were searching for solutions they could implement.

Some took to the streets, demanding the return of the internet, while others began sharing their plight on social media, primarily on Twitter.

They reached out to activists and officials who had the means to help.

One of the most prominent solutions that everyone turned to was contacting Elon Musk, the former owner of Twitter (X) and the current owner of SpaceX, to enable the people of Gaza to use the internet via Starlink's private satellites.

They hoped that he would hear their plea, as it was their only hope.

He tweeted:

"Starlink will support connectivity to internationally recognized aid organizations in Gaza.

[ComStar]

"

On the same day, five hours after the publication of this tweet, the Israeli Minister of Communications commented on it, saying, in essence, that they would use all available means to prevent the supply of Starlink internet to Gaza because Hamas would utilize it. He also threatened that if this were to occur, he would sever all his office's ties with Starlink.

Now, let's discuss the issue of hostages for a moment because it is of utmost importance to understanding the situation.

On the twenty-fourth of this month, Yasmin Porat, one of the hostages, came forward to talk about her experiences during her captivity.

I will now share some of what she mentioned in the interview:

She stated that Israeli forces eliminated everyone, including hostages, amid heavy crossfire and tank shelling.

She highlighted the contrasting behavior of Palestinian fighters who offered hope for safe passage to Gaza. Israeli forces disrupted this hope with a storm of gunfire.

Palestinian fighters treated the hostages humanely, offering them hope of a safe passage to Gaza, despite the chaos.

This compassionate act stands in stark contrast to the chaos that unfolded.

After the interview was broadcast, it was completely deleted and blocked from all social media platforms and even from Kan's website. Moreover, Yasmin's account mysteriously disappeared from the "Haboker Hazeh" program, raising concerns of censorship.

Below, you will find the interview recording.

During that period, the Al-Qassam Brigades continued their communication with the Israeli government in order to release some prisoners for humanitarian reasons, including their age and health, among them two elderly women, one of whom is named Yohav Levisheitz.

But the Israeli government showed no interest in the matter whatsoever.

As a result, they decided to release the two elderly women.

Before leaving, one of them, Yohav Levisheitz, insisted on shaking hands with one of the resistance fighters who she was their captor, as you can see in the following video.

-Tumblr doesn't allow me to post two videos in a single post, so I will provide the video link on the blog-:

https://www.tumblr.com/storiesfromgaza/732027117370572800/al-qassam-brigades-released-two-of-the-hostages?source=share

After this, she insisted on participating in a press conference to share her experience, saying:

"When we arrived in Gaza, they initially told us that they believed in the Quran and that they wouldn't harm us.

They said they would treat us as they do with those around them.

We were under tight security, and medical professionals arrived to ensure we had the medications we always took.

They showed great concern for our health.

Our place of rest was the mattresses.

We had an accompanying doctor who would visit us every two or three days to check on our well-being.

In addition to a paramedic who looked after us and provided us with our medications.

They took on the responsibility and made sure to provide the necessary medications.

They looked after our hygiene meticulously to safeguard our health so that we wouldn't fall ill.

It was they who took care of cleaning the restrooms, not us.

They provided us with everything we needed, and I acknowledge their help in that.

If equivalent medications weren't available, they offered suitable alternatives.

They were remarkably courteous (kind) and ensured we ate well, sharing the same food they ate (bread, cheese, and cucumbers)

We were treated with kindness, and they paid meticulous attention to every detail.

Women among them understood the importance of feminine hygiene and ensured we had everything we needed.

Hamas had meticulously planned everything for a long time, providing us with everything we required, even down to shampoo and conditioner.

The inefficiencies of the army and Shabak (Israel Security Agency - ISA) greatly impacted us; we were pawns in the government's game."

After this, Western media outlets, with CNN at the forefront, distorted Yohav's words and published that she said, "I went through hell."

BBC, on the other hand, released two versions of the statement.

They published the original statement by Yohav on their account dedicated to the Arab audience, while on their accounts for Western and Indian audiences, they published a manipulated version of her statement that included the same content as previously published by CNN.

These are the testimonies of two different women captives, both of whom unanimously agree that they were treated with excellent humane treatment, and no one tortured them or attempted to harass or disturb them.

On the other hand, both of them agree that Israel did not care about their safety in any way and, in fact, they would open fire in the presence of the hostages, leaving behind lifeless bodies hit by their deadly bullets.

Now, let's focus for a moment on the point of Israel and the prisoners.

Two days ago, Abu Ubaida, the official spokesman for the Al-Qassam Brigades, made a lengthy recorded speech in which he spoke about the prisoners.

He said:

"There have been numerous contacts in the prisoner file, and there was an opportunity to reach an agreement, but they delayed and did not show real seriousness in releasing the prisoners.

Instead, its barbaric shelling and continuous crimes have led to the killing of nearly fifty of them so far."

Do you understand now that Israel does not care about the prisoners at all, as it claims, and that their use of the prisoner issue is merely to prevent Elon Musk from providing internet access via Starlink in Gaza for its residents?

Remember to follow our Instagram account.

We regularly post a lot of content with fresh designs to reach a larger audience which you can easily share by posting it in your Instagram story, Facebook story, WhatsApp story or sending it to your friends through Direct Messages, we need all the support we can get.

#gaza #palestine #gaza strip #free gaza #free palestine #storiesfromgaza #غزة #فلسطين #genocide #humanitarian crisis

[sporadicbeans82]

Reader’s dad has really high standards for her like impossibly high for just a 16 year old, and she overworks herself to the point she passes out and all the girls are really concerned and she’s just like no i have to keep going i have to be better i have to be enough and then they all press her for more info and then when she eventually tells them about how she’s feeling they all comfort her and tell her playing pro soccer at that young is amazing and that she’s enough]” Barcelona Femini (mainly Alexia Putellas) or Arsenal WFC

You 100% do not need to write this just would love to see your talented writing skills give this a shot🫶

Enough || Barcelona Femení x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of death, toxic family relationships, lack of self care from reader, Swearing (probably?)

Word count: 4.3k words

A/N: I lied, this was next. Feel free to make more requests. I hope that this is alright, anon! I kind of strayed from the plot.

“You should have scored more, you didn’t try hard enough,” Your father’s voice was flat, the comments made offhandedly as if he were talking about what you were having for dinner. As if he weren’t stabbing you in the back with his words, the comment digging deeper and deeper and cracking your heart open. “That header was yours, you disappointed your team by letting that one go.” 

Growing up, you’d always dreamed of playing professional soccer, and so your parents had supported your dreams. They drove you to each of your games and training, and helped pay for you to go to an academy. They helped you get to your national camps, made and packed nutritious food for you, and supported you in each and every way that they could.

You stuck to your dreams and overcame so many challenges to get to where you were. You’d learned from the best, had run into injuries, had laughed with friends and had lost those friends as they’d given up the dreams that all of you had had. You’d thought about giving up, too, especially when your mother had been diagnosed with cancer.

She’d fought tooth and nail to stay alive, working hard to still help you become the best player that you could. She continued to support you with your father, up until the point where she was far too weak to continue doing so. She’d gone to every single one of your games, even when she felt sick or like she didn’t have the energy, and for that you were determined to make it worth it for her. Little did you know that watching you was your mother’s greatest pride, and she would not allow her sickness to keep her from supporting you.

And so you stuck to the sport, even when your friends did not, and it had all paid off in the end. In the summer, you’d signed for Barcelona Femení, the day after your sixteenth birthday. Your mother was there for your signing, beside your father. That day, she promised you that she would watch your first game with Barcelona no matter what.

She hadn’t made it that long, dying only a few days later. You’d taken the loss hard, but it was your father who had taken it the hardest. Your father had hardened in ways that you hadn’t anticipated, becoming cruel and harsh. He seemed to have given up hope, the bags beneath his eyes dark and puffy. 

He was a shell on the man that he’d once been, and it showed in the way he now treated you. After the loss of your mother, he’d drawn into himself and away from you, and you found yourself so much lonelier than you had ever been.

The team had been there for you, allowing you to take time off and letting you know that they had psychologists and people to talk to if you had needed it. It took you a week to return.

When you were finally mentally ready to move on and begin participating in training sessions, it was now your captain, Alexia Putellas, who drove you to practices. 

Your father no longer attended your matches, no longer worked hard to ensure that you got all the support that you deserved. Instead, he sat at home and mourned the loss of your mother. The truth was, you were both hurting, but you had to be strong in hopes that your father would soon bounce back.

He never did.

You hadn’t told any of your teammates, but the stress of the situation was getting to you. It showed in your performance and the way you trained in all of the worst ways. You were exhausted, emotionally and also physically as you had troubles sleeping at night. You wanted a hug from your mom, wished that she was there to tell you that everything would be alright.

But she wasn’t there, which was the entire problem, and she would never be able to do that again. 

And so things continued as they were for several months. The pressure grew onto you, far too much for your young shoulders to carry on their own, but you forced yourself to remain strong. You worked harder than you ever had in your life, attempting to be enough for your father and to try to make your mother proud as you’d promised her. 

Foolishly, you dreamed at night that you could bring your father out of the deep pit of depression he’d fallen into. Maybe, if you tried hard enough, he’d realize that you really were good at soccer. Maybe he’d wake up and realize that you needed him still, but the truth was that a part of him had died when your mother had, and you would never be getting him back. 

You’d basically forced him to come to your match, begging him for weeks on end to come to at least one. Ironically, it was the first time you were being trusted to start for your team as well. It was supposed to be a special match, commemorating everything that you and your parents had ever worked for.

You’d hoped that he would come out of his shell if he returned to a little bit of his old life. You’d been wrong, as the second you’d stepped into his car, he was throwing insults and critiques at you. 

He was nothing of the man you’d grown up with, and it hurt you like no other pain you’d felt in your life. Even breaking two bones in your leg at thirteen didn’t compare to the pain in your chest, hollowed out by month after month of loneliness and pain. You felt like your heart, once full of love, had been scraped empty of any positive emotion that it had once felt, and your father held the scalpel. 

You tried arduously to tune your father out, trying to focus on the positives of the match as your father drove. 

You’d won the game!

“You relied on the other defenders far too much to cover for your careless mistakes.”

You’d made an amazing tackle on a player who had skirted past Ingrid Engen! It had earned you a shower of applause from the watching fans and a proud peck to your forehead from Ingrid herself!

“You were too slow, you need to be faster, like Batlle.”

Alexia had told you that she was proud of you!

“You aren’t good enough for this team, God knows why they chose you.”

You weren’t aware of the tears which fell down your cheeks, and your father ignored them. You didn’t know why he was so intent on breaking you down after years spent building you up. You missed how life was before.

You missed your mom.

As your father pulled into the driveway of your childhood home, you hopped out. Before a sob could break free of your quivering lips, you were bounding up the steps to your room and closing the door behind you. You flopped down on the bed, all of the emotions which had bubbled beneath the surface coming out in ugly, whiny gasps and cries. 

Your heart burned, as if scorched. You had never felt so empty, so dark, and so lonely. You wanted someone to hold you, and you didn’t know who to turn to anymore. You cried yourself to sleep, although you only managed to get a few meager hours of sleep before you were awoken by some recurring nightmare.

-----

You barely managed to drag yourself to training, exhausted. The dark bags beneath your eyes stood out starkly against your pale skin. You were dressed in a jumper and sweatpants, both of which used to be an appropriate size but which now hung off of your tired frame. 

As Alexia picked you up, she noted your exhaustion with a small frown. 

“Hola, chiqui. Estás bien?” Her voice held a certain concern which was almost enough to break down your walls. You yearned so badly for a sense of comfort, and the which Alexia looked seemed to offer that.

You forced yourself to turn towards the window, not wanting to break down in front of your captain. Your father’s words from the past few months wore heavy on your mind. You were a disappointment and a burden, and you didn’t want Alexia to tell Jona that the team didn’t need you and decide to release you. You wanted to be enough, and you had promised yourself every night that you would be better, you just needed a little bit more time. 

Alexia frowned harsher, nearly locking the car and forcing you to talk to her, but deciding against it. She didn’t want to push you, but she’d noticed that you weren’t okay for a while. 

She’d taken note of the way you always did extra laps and repetitions of each of their workouts. She watched you participate in extra opportunities to practice penalties and how you stood behind after each training for at least an hour to do more work. She knew you were exhausting yourself, could see it in the way you could barely stand. 

She didn’t understand why you pushed yourself so hard, given how good you were. She tried to give you advice, to compliment you whenever she could and saw how you absolutely beamed under any sort of praise or compliment, as though you didn’t get it enough. 

Over the last few months, she’d taken on almost a mentoring role to you. You looked up to her, and she could see how you held each of your teammates in such high regard. For whatever reason, however, it just didn’t seem to stick in your mind that you were of the same caliber as each excellent athlete within the team. 

As she watched you turn away from her, she realized she would need to confront you soon. It was obvious that you weren’t taking care of yourself, but she didn’t want to do it now, not when you were blocking her out as hard as you could. She would need backup, probably from the other captains of the team, and made a promise to herself that she would do it later that day.

Instead of confronting you like she yearned to do, she stayed quiet and allowed you your peace. She watched as, ever so slowly, your shoulders sagged and your body untensed. You’d fallen asleep, and Alexia turned the music down a little bit to try to make the atmosphere easy to sleep in. 

Alexia noticed how the harsh lines in your face relaxed as you slept. You looked more peaceful than she’d ever seen you. She hated that she had to wake you up as the two of you arrived at the training center. 

She parked as gently as she could before reaching over and gently shaking you awake. You groaned as she did so, almost turning away in such a careless, teenage way that Alexia had never seen you do. You always seemed so much more grown up than you were supposed to be, even more so than Claudia or Pina or Vicky, all of whom were older than you. 

“‘M not ready yet, Mom.” You rumbled, and Alexia froze, the frown on her face deepening. She’d tried to be there for you, having lost her own parental figure in her father. She knew the pain that you felt all too well.

 So not to be mistaken for the woman who you’d just lost, Alexia spoke up this time as she shook at you again.

“Despiértate, nena. We are here.” You startled awake, the barriers which had dropped as you slept appearing once more as your face tightened again, a frown set upon your face which mirrored Alexia’s.

You thanked her quietly before climbing out of the car, purposefully walking ahead of Alexia so that she couldn’t ask you any questions about your slip up.

You entered the locker room near-silently, the hood of your jumper up to cover the vast majority of your face. You ignored the looks you got from each of your teammates in favor of quickly getting dressed for training.

As you went to tie your shoes, you realized you were, yet again, crying.

You’re too emotional. Words of your fathers’. Your teammates wouldn’t like you if you showed emotion in front of them. You pushed the fabric of your sleeve against your cheeks, leaving red marks behind with how harshly you rubbed at the salty tears. 

Then, to try to remain inconspicuous, you bent over to tug your shoes on to your feet. You thought you were successful, but hadn’t anticipated how much you’d struggle with your laces. Your exhaustion mixed with your lack of breakfast had caused your hands to shake.

Each time you’d try to make a loop, your quaking fingers would pull too hard or drop the lace altogether. 

All of your teammates noticed your struggle, but it was Paños who stepped in. The older woman knelt down at your feet, hands wrapping around your own and holding them for just a second. Her eyes looked up into yours, noting the tear stains on your cheeks and giving you a comforting smile. 

Then, she refocused on your shoes and began to tie them for you. The rest of your teammates watched on anxiously, although they continued to prepare for training and tried not to stare. The truth was, everyone could see that something was going on with you and that you weren’t okay, but they were scared to upset you by saying anything. You already seemed too tiny and isolated and they walked on eggshells around you.

Each of your teammates yearned to be there for you, but they didn’t know you well enough to know how to be there for you. 

Paños finished with your shoes before standing, holding both of her hands out for you to take. She tugged you to your feet easily, one arm wrapping around you in almost a motherly manner.

The woman was usually seen joking with the younger kids, but with you she had taken a different role, like Ale. 

“Listos, nena?” The goalkeeper asked you, voice soft and comforting. Like Alexia, her voice nearly caused you to break down. You felt your shoulders shake beneath the weight of Sandra’s arm and resisted the urge to turn and hug her like you would have your mother.

You wanted comfort, but your father had convinced you time and time again that you didn’t need it and that you’d be a burden if you sought it out, and so you nodded and pulled away.

You walked out onto the field and began to stretch. You kept your head down, suddenly more numb than you’d felt in months. You ignored the way your stomach clenched with hunger and the way your head had begun to ache and sting from your lack of sleep, proper nutrition, and all of your crying. 

You didn’t look up, even as more of your teammates filtered out to join you. Claudia and Patri stretched next to you, trying to provide jokes for you to laugh at. They didn’t stop even as you didn’t react, continuing to try to cheer you up in the only way they knew how at the moment.

When a whistle sounded to signal the beginning of warmups, you stood instantly. Too fast, however, as your world tilted and spun around you. It reminded you of the first time you’d ever tried alcohol on your fifteenth birthday. 

An arm wrapped around your waist and you regained your balance against the firm body of one of your teammates.

“You okay?” You heard someone ask. Looking up, you caught the concerned glance of Ingrid Engen, who had also taken you under her wing when you’d joined the team. You nodded, pulling away from her, too.

So many people had touched you in the past hour, more than you’d had since your mother had passed away. You almost didn’t know how to react to all the comforting touches and glances, having not received them in so long. 

Ingrid watched on sadly as you walked away from her, the concern which swirled within herself increasing as she watched you wobble away. Ingrid had noticed how out of it you were, how tiny you had been in the clothes which had fit you a month ago. You were pale, more than normal, and the way you’d nearly passed out showed Ingrid that you were not fit to practice. 

The Norwegian caught Alexia’s gaze from across the yard, shaking her head at the Spanish captain to try to convey that you shouldn’t be training.

Sensing that something was wrong, Alexia began to make her way over to you. As she did so, however, your legs finally seemed to cave in from underneath you.

None of your teammates would ever be able to get the image of your crumpled figure on the turf as Alexia and Ingrid both ran to you. The rest of your teammates watched on as the medics were called over.

You were turned on your back by Alexia, one of her fingers touching at your throat as they attempted to find a pulse. It was thready and uneven, but there, and Alexia wanted to cry. She cursed herself for not confronting you sooner, more worried than she remembered ever being as the medical staff pushed her back to give your crumpled form more room.

Alexia had been the one to recommend you to the team, having attended one of your matches for Spain’s U17 match. You’d played up and had still outclassed so many of your teammates, a solid wall in the backline which your teammates depended upon. She’d seen the glimmer of excitement and determination in your eyes, one that you’d lost since the passing of your mother.

She felt like this was all her fault. If she had just spoken to you sooner and had investigated what was going on with you… then, maybe, you would have been okay. She felt as though she had failed you and her responsibilities as a captain to ensure your safety.

You’d become a skeleton of the incredible human that you’d once been, and had watched all the life drain from you while being unable to do anything about it. As you were placed upon a cart to be carried off the field, however, Alexia promised that she would be there for you.

You were wasting your life away, and Alexia was determined to figure out why.

-----

You awoke in a dimly illuminated room, your throat dry and your eyes feeling like they’d been doused with sand. You groaned, attempting to lift your hand as you slowly game through to try and brush at your forehead. You felt cold and sticky all at once– you didn’t feel well at all.

Your hand was caught on something, and you attempted to bat at it only to have your hand caught by something else. As the room slowly began to swim into your vision, you caught the familiar brown eyes of your captain. 

“Hola, capi.” You rasped, and Alexia’s concerned face brightened ever so slightly, a small smile gently pulling her lips upward.

“Hola, chiqui. Como estás?” Alexia inquired, her voice far gentler than you’d ever felt.

“Not very good,” You whispered honestly, feeling like shit. You were tired of fighting, tired of feeling like you weren’t enough. You were ready to be honest about how you felt, no matter if the people around you would stop loving you as your dad promised that they would. “What happened?”

“You passed out.” This voice was different, coming from your left. Slowly, your head fell sideways and you caught the glance of Ingrid. The girl looked more worried than you ever had seen her, and you felt truly terrible for worrying the older woman. 

“Oh.” You didn’t know what to say to that. You knew that you hadn’t been feeling very well for a long time, but you’d been too scared to mention it to anybody but your father. The man who was supposed to keep you safe had failed you in all ways possible, but you didn’t see it that way.

You felt like you weren’t enough and that it was you who had failed, and that you didn’t deserve comfort or love because of it.

Alexia sat up, the motion causing your gaze to come back to her.

“Do you want to tell me why you haven’t been taking care of yourself?” Alexia speaking English took you by surprise. You supposed that it shouldn’t have been that surprising, but you knew that the girl seemed to almost avoid speaking the language. Her voice was still low, comforting, and still worked at lowering your barriers ever more.

You had to resist the urge to throw yourself in her arms and blubber like a baby. You reminded yourself that they would remove you from the team, that they wouldn't accept you, that they would see you as weak.

However, the way Alexia held your hand, her grip comforting and sure, made you think that… maybe… your dad was wrong. Maybe they did care. 

“I…” you hesitated, and felt someone put a hand on your shoulder. Glancing over, you realized that Paños was there, too. You caught her concerned gaze, the small smile on her face, and heard her tell you that it was okay. 

It was then that you realized, all of the adults that you trusted most in the world, that made you feel better when you were at your worst, were there for you. They were here for you when you were lower than your lowest, and if they hadn’t left when you’d fallen on your face on the field, then they wouldn’t leave now. 

That thought gave you the courage to tell the truth, and so you did. 

The girls listened throughout your story. You told them how low you felt, how scared you were. You told them that you missed your mom, but so did your dad. You told them that he’d become a shell of the man he’d once been, that he’d become cruel and harsh– everything that your dad was not. The girls’ faces were stormy, but still they worked to comfort and reassure you in every way that they could.

By the end of your retelling, you were crying, but so were they. 

You were utterly exhausted as a yawn broke through, revealing your exhaustion to the other girls. It was Alexia who spoke first, frowning at you.

“We are here for you, no matter what. We will fix this.” Her words were hard, but not harsh. They were a promise, one that you trusted. “Sleep, we will be here when you wake up.”

“I’m okay.” You retorted. Truthfully, you were terrified. You were scared that they would leave after trusting them with the information and words that had burdened you for months, just as your father had promised you.

Sensing your nervousness, Alexia gently slid up and onto the bed, taking her time and giving you plenty of room. 

As soon as the older woman had sat herself up, careful of the IV in your hand, you moved. You buried yourself against her, an arm wrapping around her back as your face buried itself in her shoulder. Alexia, ever so carefully, wrapped her arms around you in return. 

She pressed a warm, careful kiss against your forehead, and allowed you to cry into her shirt. She did not care about the way your tears wet the material, reassuring you in a spattering of both English and Spanish words. Ingrid and Sandra stepped out to give the two of you privacy, although they would be back for you. They would never leave your side, not now that they knew what you’d been going through.

Alexia continued to hold and comfort you in the ways that you’d yearned for months, her touch gentle. 

That was how you fell asleep, and how you woke up hours later. Despite the amount of time you’d spent in the spare room of the training center, Alexia had stayed. She had not allowed anybody to wake you up, having come to the conclusion that she would never allow your father to speak to you ever again. 

That night, she took you to her home, which she shared with her girlfriend, Olga. There, they cared for you.

Alexia made sure that you spoke to a therapist, and that you never saw your father again. She supported you in the ways that you deserved, and in the ways that you'd lacked since your mother had passed away.

Slowly but surely, Alexia saw you return to the kid that you’d once been: determined, carefree, and stronger than you’d ever been. 

Freed from the confines of your father’s sorrow, you were able to soar. You rose to levels of success that you’d only ever been able to dream of, and you stayed true to your promise.

You made your mother proud.

#woso x reader #woso fanfics #barcelona femeni #alexia putellas x reader #woso imagine #woso one shot #harper writes

[floraltypes]

A People Pleaser

pairing - jim halpert x reader

summary - jim is known to be likable, so the one person he really has grown to enjoy seemingly not liking him is very frustrating

request - 900 event!

Despite sitting right beside him your eyes seem to always look past his. It had been almost a complete month since the newest co-worker of Dunder Mifflin, you, arrived and you still won’t look at him. It is (not so) secretly getting to him. 

It was clear from the moment you arrived that you made the dull office seem brighter, smile and sweet beauty, you chatted up everyone. Sure, you were more quiet but you still tried to come out of your shell.

He admired that aspect about you, the way you’d bashfully let Dwight wander on and on about some stupid beet rant and kindly explain something to the vibrant Kelly who would rather chat your ear off about royalty drama. Somehow, in one way or another, you had done something kind for everyone in the office, even Jim, yet he was still spiraling. 

You would quietly bring him coffee after getting some for yourself, yet never said anything more than placing it on his desk and returning back to your work.

“I don’t get it,” he sighed, legs crossed and furrowed brows while staring at the camera. “Did I give her a mean look the first day? Accidentally take a potential client? She just refuses to talk to me!” he waved his hands around, clearly stressed. 

“Have you tried being nice?” one of the people behind the camera asked. 

“I mean, yeah!” 

“Oh my,” you agitatedly whispered underneath your breath, hand rubbing the bridge of your nose while peering at the never-ending circle of death. The bright colors were now spinning for ten minutes, and you had tried everything. 

“You alright?” Jim looked up from his work to see your mouth downturned and face sour. 

“It’s fine,” you shake your head, typing something into the keyboard while waving the mouse around the screen. “The website might just be down.”

“Mine works fine.”

“Thanks,” you grimaced, your voice clearly showing how annoyed you were at the moment. At your reaction, Jim flushed a bit, fearful that he was giving you another thing to hate about him. Therefore, in order to make sure that wouldn’t happen, he made it a mission to help you. 

He stood up from his desk, walking the few steps to your own where he leaned over the side of you, now scanning his eyes through the computer screen in hopes of seeing something you had not. 

You could feel his breath on the open skin of your neck, he was so close, his hand gripping one edge of the desk, near where your own arm lay with hand on top of the mouse. Inside your stomach was experiencing that familiar stirring feeling when you encompassed Jim Halpert.

“I don’t hate Jim,” you quietly answered the question, sitting uncomfortably in front of the camera. “Why would you think that?”

“Did you try doing that command exit?” he questioned, looking down at you, a few wisps of hair falling across his forehead. You couldn’t help but stare at the new look, the way his eyes always seemed so soft when they looked at you. But, then again, he was just such a nice guy that it probably was like that with everyone. 

“Didn’t work,” you hum, forcing yourself to face away and keep your sights on the computer screen. This action now gave Jim a similar opportunity to look over your features. The way you nervously bit at your lip and the creases from your current stress were evident near your eyebrows. Something fluttered within him, and how he wished to just gently smooth them before placing a sof- “I’ve tried everything.”

“Well there is one way, if you head to the search bar,” pushing his thoughts aside he moved his hand up a bit to reach for the mouse. In return he accidentally grabbed the top of your hand. “Oh,”

“It’s fine!” you accidentally yelled, looking around at the stares from disrupting fellow co-workers you quieted down, and tried to leave your seat. “I’ll just go talk to IT, call them, or something. You don’t have to worry about it.”

He hesitated before removing his hand from your own, and like an ignored puppy, he relocated back to his desk, sending a defeated look towards the camera, trying to signal them to look away.

All that was swirling through his mind is that - somehow - he gave you another reason to despise him. All that was swirling through your mind was that your crush on the naturally kind man was escalating fast, and you didn’t want to make a fool of yourself. 

This was merely one example of Jim’s attempt at showing an extra kindness to you, a chance for you to grow a liking to the genuinely sweet man (even though you already had, he just wasn’t informed on that information). Later on in the week he was determined to do a coffee drop off as you had done for him many times. 

It was the later hours of the night, Michaels lack of organization leading to two sales people having to stay later and fix his mistake. After too many rounds of rock paper scissors, it was concluded that you and Jim were the (un)lucky winners. 

“I’ve almost finished with the first pile,” he perked up at the sound of your voice, soft humming exiting your lips after the small comment. “I should be able to finish up the next one rather quickly.” 

“Same here,” he hummed, tapping his pen on his desk. “Weird without everyone.”

“Mhm,” you nodded in agreement, scribbling away with no mind to his words. 

“I’ll be back,” exiting his area he made his way to the darkened kitchen area. Luckily there was a pot left, pouring a bit into two cups - your specifically designed one and his striped one - he plopped them in the microwave to heat up. 

“Hey, does it look like the name-” you suddenly stopped your question upon noticing that your co-worker had disappeared. With much interest and confusion, you now followed the beaming light to where he stood blowing your coffee a bit. “Jim?”

“Ah!” he hastily put the cup down. 

“What are you doing?”

“Providing you a good cup of joe,” he hesitantly smiled, lifting up the green mug. “I warmed them up too long, don’t want your tongue to burn off or something.” 

You couldn’t help but laugh at his comment, giggles erupting which made him just want to join in. “You’re so kind,” you mumbled, taking the cup and bringing it to your lips. 

Jim was stunned, stuck in place, his eyes wide and ears (almost seemed) to perk up at such a compliment. “You think I’m nice?”

“You’re the nicest person in the office, probably.”

“Wait, you don’t hate me?”

“Why do people think that?” you shook your head. 

“It’s just, well, you act so differently. I try extra hard to be nice, I don’t know if when you first started working here I somehow did something to … tick you off?”

“Oh,” was all you could muster up at the moment, nerves once again kicking in at the way his body heat seemed to be radiating and a soft glow was in his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize, it’s just, I actually just want to get to know you more.” 

“Jim, you’re kind, but you don’t need to do anything extra for me. I’ve noticed your politeness and all of these acts, it makes me overthink things,” with a sigh you let him know the truth, shoulders slumped due to the confession. “It’s not your fault, it’s mine, I just don’t want to take things out of context.”

“You think I learned the way you take your coffee just to be friendly?” you nodded at his question. “Even the way I always drop off a specific candy bar if you’re having a bad day, or e-mail a funny message about animals because that always seems to make you smile? Have I ever done any of that for Dwight, Angela, even Stanley?”

There is silence roommate, and for once you ponder to yourself that you may not be overthinking everything after all. Jim places his hand on your shoulder, thumb rubbing over the fabric. “It’s not as if I like them in the way I like you.” 

And after those words tumble from his lips that hand moves up to cup your cheek, mouth leaning in to place itself upon your own. He can taste your coffee concoction on his lips now, and finally get to feel the softness of your cheeks. Similar to a boy's first kiss, he opens his eyes, trying to admire the features (finally) up close. 

“Well, it’s obvious he confessed,” Pam laughed, rolling her eyes while speaking in the confessional. “He shows that lovesick smile all the time, I would know, I’m his best friend. It was even obvious that she liked him, but I figured it would be better for him to find that out on his own.”

The camera went on to pan into where you and Jim were giggling at the candy on the receptionist's desk. He stole a piece from your hands, plopping it into his mouth, and you lightly smacked his arm in response. Jim’s lips twitched, hands grabbing your own hand, and just shaking his head before letting it loose. To Jim the confession was liberating, he was known to be a people pleaser but especially a you pleaser. Yet, hiding his growing affection from the office staff would be more difficult than he imagined.

(the office masterlist)

#the office x reader #office x y/n #office x you #office x reader #jim x reader #jim halpert x you #jim halpert x reader #jim halpert x y/n #jim x you #office fanfiction #jim halpert fanfiction

[bucca2]

Shrike pt. 1 - words hung above but never would form

definition. male shrikes are known for their habit of catching insects and small vertebrates and impaling them on thorns

König x high school sweetheart reader

2nd person, gender neutral reader for now but reader is afab and referred to as a girl, reader is Austrian/has lived in Austria and speaks German for most of the story, romance, pining, friends to lovers, reader's nickname is Thorn, König's first name is Alexander

4.8k words

tw: bullying, brief mention of cheating and domestic abuse (not explicit, mentions of violence, and not done by König), mention of terrorism, suicidal thoughts

[NEXT]

based on this post by @ceilidho, who gave me permission to write this! many thanks <3

this post is dedicated to @papaver-decervicatus, who I am so proud of for finishing chapter 4 of her fic cat/mouse/den (which I highly recommend) and eating NO glass in the process. her headcanons for König have had a huge influence on me, and while there are some differences between julius and alexander, I absolutely must thank Caedis for her wonderful portrayal of König.

and of course, to @danibee33, for fueling my König brainrot. without you, I probably would not have returned to writing <33

disclaimer, I am not Austrian, I do not speak German, so if there's anything that needs correcting, please do reach out!

You admit, you’ve always had an affinity for protecting the weak.

When you were twelve, a bird slammed headlong into your bedroom window. The poor thing had avoided snapping its own neck but was certainly in no condition to fly. You’d bolted out of your childhood home to check on it, but by the time you arrived, a huge grey tomcat was prowling, sitting back on his haunches and ready to pounce. You generally liked cats, but this one was a mean old stray, and you’d always been frightened to go near him.

Without hesitation, you had shoved the cat aside, spitting and yowling, and taken the little bird into your hands.

It took a few days to nurse back to health, and you still remember the day you released it back into nature. It was worth the long scratch down your arm, pride swelling in your heart as it spread its wings and flew into a vivid blue sky. You remember it even now: a charming little gray bird, a streak of black coloring over its eyes. A shrike, your mother had identified it as.

People are no different than animals, sometimes. People can be cornered, battered, and bruised as well. You recognize the broken hunch of the bird you rescued in the boy sitting by himself at lunch time. His shoulders curl inwards with a desperate need to go unnoticed. You’ve seen him around: he’s not in any of your classes, but your classes always seem to end up in the same hallways, so you pass each other all the time.

He jumps a little as you slide into the seat next to him, shrinking away from you in a way that breaks your heart. “Hey.”

No response. You offer your name, but he seems reluctant to divulge his own.

“Is it okay if I sit here?”

He shrugs.

“Thanks. I don’t know anybody at this school, so it’s nice to have a friend.”

“…friend?” He has a nice voice, you think. Timid, but almost sweet.

“Well, if you’ll let me call you one.”

“…”

And so begins your friendship with König.

I was housed by your warmth Thus transformed By your grounded and giving And darkening scorn

You didn’t call him that in high school, of course. You wouldn’t know that name until much, much later. It takes a while to coax him out of his shell, cajoling him that you can’t call him “green-eyed boy” forever, to get his name.

“Alexander is a very good name,” you assure him, and he seems pleased. He’s still hesitant to speak to you at all, but that’s just fine by you. You’ve got plenty to talk about, anyway.

“You know, I read this book about Alexander the Great. There’s this crazy story about one of his battles at a city called Tyre. He was laying siege to it after a misunderstanding with their king…” you chatter on, unaware of the intense stare from the boy sitting next to you.

“…ordinarily, sieging an island is pretty difficult, but you won’t believe what he did,” you rattle on. “He—”

“He built his own bridge,” Alexander says, so quietly you almost don’t hear him at first. You look at him in surprise.

“Yes! You know this story already?”

“I read a lot about him.”

“Then why did you let me ramble on about it if you knew about it already?” You’re a little embarrassed, having felt proud of yourself for knowing niche facts about historical figures.

“I like listening to you talk.”

That shuts you up for a moment. Only for a moment though, before you start to laugh.

“What?” he asks, an edge creeping into his voice.

“Nothing! It’s just—usually people tell me the opposite,” you say. “People say I talk too much.”

“I don’t mind.” His eyes dart to your face before looking away again.

“That’s good to hear. But I hope you know this means you’re never getting rid of me now,” you tease, nudging him gently.

He doesn’t respond, but for a second, you could have sworn that a corner of his mouth had turned up into a smile.

Learning more about him is like trying to draw blood from a stone, but you do your best. He mentions sharing a room with a cousin. His oma makes the best comfort food. Sometimes his mother takes him into town to buy candy, but he has to hide it or his cousin will steal it. Not that he cares that much—he doesn’t have much of a sweet tooth, but his family doesn’t come from means, so it means a lot to him whenever his mother spares a few pennies to buy him a frivolity.

It's what he doesn’t say that tells you the most about him. The way he fidgets with his clothes when he’s nervous. The brief panic that shoots through him whenever you call his name before he relaxes when he realizes it’s just you. The way he shies away from people in the hallways, just to avoid any contact whatsoever.

The fact that he never talks about his father.

The way he curls into himself when he’s being bullied.

“You should be apologizing to me for being in my way right about now, freak,” Andreas taunts him. He’s knocked Alexander’s books to the ground, like some sort of cartoon caricature of a bully, and you’re fed up.

“Hey!” Without missing a beat, you slide yourself between Alexander and Andreas. You’ve recently hit a bit of a growth spurt, so you note with a bit of smugness that you’re at least an inch or two taller than Andreas. You’re also quite a bit taller than Alexander, you realize. The two of you are usually sitting when you talk, so you’ve never really noticed.

“Leave him alone!” You stand your ground even as Andreas fixes you with a withering glare.

“Ah, so you’re gonna let your big strong girlfriend fight your fights now, is that it?” Andreas sneers. Alexander stiffens behind you, and you decide right then and there that you’ve had enough of this nonsense.

“You’re the last person who should be bringing up girlfriends, Andreas,” you say, staring him down with a look that you hope is sufficiently intimidating. “Everybody knows Yulia broke up with you because you can’t get it up.” You don’t know Yulia. You don’t give enough of a shit about Andreas to follow the gossip about him. But by the way his cheeks get ruddy, you know you’ve struck a nerve. The handful of spectators your little confrontation has attracted snicker.

“You little bitch,” he snarls. You hear the gasp of the students surrounding you before you feel it. You put a hand to your rapidly reddening cheek.

The little twerp had slapped you.

“That’s what you get for getting in my way,” he says, with a smug little look that you want to wipe off his face.

You’re not a violent person. And honestly, you could have been expelled for what happens next. But you cast a quick glimpse behind you at Alexander on the ground, and something about the look in his eyes reminds you of that bird you rescued, and a quick and hot anger rises in you.

You punch Andreas.

With no wind-up, no warning, you break his nose, and he drops like a rock, howling and clutching at the blood pouring from his nostrils. A sick little giggle comes out of you as you watch, drowned out by the uproar of your little audience.

“What on earth is going on here?!” You hear a teacher roar, and the crowd quickly begins to scatter. Without hesitation, you pull Alexander up and escape before you can be subjected to the consequences of your actions.

“Boy, am I glad he didn’t put up more of a fight,” you say gleefully, high on adrenaline. “That could have gotten quite ugly.”

“I didn’t know you had that in you,” Alexander says when the two of you have gotten far away enough. The way he looks at you now is a little different—almost reverent.

“I didn’t know either!” you say. “I’ve never done that before!”

“Who knew such a pretty rose had such sharp thorns?” he mumbles to himself. Your eyes zip to him, and even he looks surprised at the words coming out of his mouth.

“A pretty rose?” you tease, nudging him on the arm. He flushes pink and turns away, but there’s a bit of a lopsided half-smile on his lips.

You’re not sure why, but the sight of it makes your skin tingle.

The first few years of high school are relatively uneventful outside of skirmishes with Alexander’s various tormentors. Your biggest regret is that you can’t always be there for him—sometimes you have to spend your free periods catching up on readings or speaking with teachers. But you’re always there for him afterwards, poison in your voice as you hatch plans to make his bullies’ lives miserable. The plans never go anywhere, but thinking about retribution always seems to make him perk up a little. And really, that’s all that matters to you.

It's silly, how long it took you to realize how much of a fixture he was in your life. There’s a street corner a few blocks from the school you always meet him at so the two of you can walk the rest of the way together. The few times you share classes, you’re always sitting together, exchanging notes and quietly judging your classmates together. And you always, always sit with him during lunch. Even when you start making other friends who surely would welcome you at their tables, you always return to the quiet green-eyed boy in the corner.

You tell yourself it’s because he’s lonely, and he needs the company. You tell yourself the rumors about the two of you are silly, the result of bored hormonal teenagers who can’t fathom being a genuine friend to someone of the opposite sex. You tell yourself it means nothing that your face feels warm whenever he smiles at you.

You never get the chance to figure out if it does mean anything. He gives you the bad news on the last day of classes before summer break.

“I…I see,” you say, trying to swallow past the lump in your throat. For once, you’re at a loss of what to say. His fingers twist around each other in his lap, the way they only do when he’s really anxious.

“Well, a fresh start is good, right?” You offer him a smile, but your heart’s not in it. Maybe you haven’t spent as much time with him as you used to back in first year—you’ve started to take more advanced classes, and you’ve been so swamped with homework and projects that sometimes hanging out with Alexander is put on the back burner. But you’d always taken comfort in knowing that he would always be there at mealtime. A steady presence in your life, as everything around you seems to be speeding towards a future you’re not quite ready for yet.

Now he’s leaving. You’d like to think your concern is for him—what’s to say his new school won’t also be rife with harassment? Will he be able to make new friends? Or will he be all alone at the lunch table again? But really, who are you trying to fool? The sudden heaviness in your chest is selfish. What are you going to do without him?

The roaring in your head stills as you feel his hand cover yours. You stare at it dumbly, unable to lift your head and look him in the eyes. Your gut feels like it’s flipping and twisting all over itself.

You lift your eyes to his. For one breathless, indescribable moment, you think he’s going to kiss you. You’re sure he’s going to kiss you. You lean closer to him, and you can feel his breath on your lips.

Your eyes slide shut.

A shout startles your eyes back open, and he jolts away from you. It’s your mother, calling that she’s here to pick you up. You let out a frustrated noise as you call back to her that you’re coming before turning back to him.

The moment is long gone, and your heart twinges with regret as he avoids meeting your gaze. “You’ll write to me, won’t you?” you say softly. “And we can still see each other?”

“Of course I will, rosethorn,” he says, with that shy little smile you love so much.

You don’t see him for another ten years.

I couldn't utter my love when it counted I couldn't whisper when you needed it shouted Ah, but I'm singing like a bird 'bout it now

It’s ironic, really. Saving birds. Saving boys. But the one person you can’t save is yourself.

Your life post-König is like the drop on a roller coaster, but with none of the thrill. High school flies by in a flurry of deadlines and mental breakdowns. It’s worth it when you get into a good university—at least, you thought so. In reality, there’s no work in Austria for someone with your degree. Your parents are older, well on their way towards retirement, so you find yourself unwilling to burden them. You’re lost, stuck, and so very alone.

And then you meet him.

Tall, handsome, a little older, with a blossoming career. In hindsight, how much of a perfect package he presented himself as was the earliest red flag. But when you’re young and behind on rent, anything better than that feels like a miracle.

You know better, really. You knew it the whole time. Getting married after knowing each other for 2 months isn’t as bad as it could be, but it’s still too quick for your comfort. But the eviction notice was on your door, and he was a perfect gentleman. What could go wrong, right?

Everything. He at least has the decency to keep up the façade for another month, but that’s the only credit you’ll ever give the man you’ve shackled yourself to. It becomes increasingly obvious that he only married you to have a live-in maid while he philanders around as he pleases. You try, oh god do you try, for five long, fruitless years. God, it’s so silly when you think about it. You liked him so much, it took you so long to realize he had never liked you in the first place. He’d scooped up the first desperate college grad he’d found, and thinking about it makes you want to hide from everyone you know.

Which you do: hiding from what few friends you do have, hiding from your parents, hiding from the part of your brain that screams that you’re wasting the best years of your life cleaning up after a grown man who won’t even touch you, much less fuck you. Your 20s are for drinking, one-night stands, and figuring out what the fuck the rest of your life is going to look like. There is plenty of drinking, but the rest of it, not so much.

You’re going to divorce him, you tell yourself in year six. Once you get a job, you’re out. But you’re no fresh grad anymore, and the 6-year gap in your resume isn’t helping matters. You spot a glimpse of light at the end of the tunnel when he tells you you’re moving: his company is offering him a higher paid position, and it’s in a bustling downtown area. Plenty of opportunity for you, right?

That’s when he starts hitting you.

You’re away from your parents, your friends, your home. You took English classes, but that won’t exactly help you in this equally European foreign country whose language you don’t speak. Now that you’re approaching your 30s, your husband seems to be rapidly realizing that his youth is also disappearing. His new job is more stressful, and most days he has no outlet for it other than taking it out on you.

Now you long for the days when he didn’t come home until you’d already fallen asleep.

And then the terror attacks begin, and your once-bustling city shuts down. More isolation. Even less hope. You stay at home all day, torn between hoping someone will get rid of your husband for you and the abject terror of being left all alone in a foreign country torn apart by violent partisans.

That’s when the despair really sets in: you’ve wasted over a decade in this awful, dead-end relationship. Sure, you’ve got a roof over your head and food in your stomach: you should feel grateful. But you don’t.

You start hoping the attacks will take you out instead.

I fled to the city with so much discounted Ah, but I'm flying like a bird to you now Back to the hedgerows where bodies are mounted

“There are mercenaries in town.”

You look up from your breakfast, lost in thought thinking about all the errands you have to run today. “Yeah?”

“About time we stopped relying on our corrupt fucking military,” he grumbles. “Maybe they’ll end this goddamn conflict once and for all.”

You don’t have much to say about that. What does it matter to you, anyway? The only conflict that matters to you lives at home, and you stopped trying to fight it a long time ago.

“The curfew’s a pain in the ass, though. You behave yourself, you hear me?” His sharp glare reminds you that he’s not saying this out of a concern for your safety: if you make trouble for him, you’ll pay for it later. You nod mutely.

Your morning goes by relatively uneventfully. You do the dishes, stare at the wall, sigh, stare at the wall some more. As much of a prison as this apartment is, you like it decently well when he’s not in it. Going outside and seeing the ravages of war all around you is anxiety-inducing. But you can’t put off buying groceries anymore.

The arrival of the mercenaries makes itself immediately apparent. The streets are somehow even emptier, and what people there are on the streets move quickly and cast suspicious glances at everyone else.

You were hoping not to interact with anybody, but your hopes are dashed when you see a checkpoint ahead, manned by soldiers in unfamiliar uniforms. Although most of them are wearing different gear, they still look more orderly and well-kept than the country’s own military. Murder must pay well.

You look around nervously, but there’s no alternate route here, and nobody local going through with you. You strongly consider going home, but you’d just have to do this all over again tomorrow.

You steel yourself with a deep breath.

“Identification?”

You show the mercenary your ID with trembling fingers, gripping your bag tightly and praying he doesn’t find your nervousness suspicious.

“Where are you headed?”

“Just—just down the street,” you say, wincing at your heavy German accent. Years upon years of living here and you still sound like a foreigner. “Getting food.” You’re so anxious you forget the word for “groceries” for a moment. You only know enough of the local language to get by, and you’re sure you must sound like a kindergartener.

The soldier raises an eyebrow at you. “You are German?”

“I…Austrian,” you answer hesitantly. Oh God, you hope there’s no issue with that. You’re not so much afraid of being detained as you are of getting home too late to make dinner.

“Interesting.” The soldier hands back your ID. “Our commander is Austrian, as well.”

You perk up a little bit at that. You’ve met a handful of German-speakers here, but not a single one of your countrymen.

Well. Aside from the one who came here with you.

“He should actually be arriving here any moment now. Big guy in a hood. You can’t miss him. They call him König.” As if on cue, a military grade vehicle pulls up to the checkpoint, military personnel stepping out. And then…

Your blood runs cold.

Nothing, nothing could have prepared you for the sight of the beast that steps out of the car. Even from a short distance, you can tell he’s a colossal size. Two metres tall, easily, wearing a dark hood that reminds you of a medieval executioner. And as if that weren’t intimidating enough, two red trails, like bloody tears, are bleached under his eyes. His eyes, which must have some sort of black paint around them, giving him the impression of being two eyes staring out at you from the pitch blackness of the hood.

Two piercing green eyes.

Trained directly on your face.

Staring in disbelief.

“I…need to return home. I’ve forgotten something.” All worries about appearing suspicious fly out the window as the enormous man in the hood hesitates for a moment before making his way towards you with alarming speed.

You all but fly back down the street, making a beeline for your building. Just a few moments ago, you were excited to meet the man. Now, the image of his eyes staring into yours fills you with a fear you can’t describe.

The next day you take a long detour to avoid the checkpoint. It’ll take you twice as long to get home this time, but it’s worth it. You can’t put the shopping off another day: the brand-new bruise on your arm throbs as a reminder. And you certainly don’t want to run into the hooded soldier again.

You get your shopping done without much fanfare. The old lady cashier, who usually looks at you from over her glasses with the stern look you’ve seen a lot of people around here level at foreigners, even pressed a piece of candy from behind the register into your hand. You’re pretty sure it’s just because she wanted to get rid of it, but it does wonders for your mood.

You’re busy plotting when to enjoy your little treat when you turn a corner and freeze.

He’s here. He’s there, standing in an alleyway near your building. Somehow even larger than you remember him yesterday, still wearing that awful hood.

Does he know where you live? You curse yourself for running straight home yesterday. He must have seen the direction you went in—or did he follow you? You attempt to quietly retreat and take another route home, but your shoe scuffs a paving stone. And like a hawk spotting its prey, his head darts towards you.

You book it.

“Wait!” calls a deep voice. Tears spring to your eyes as you hear heavy footsteps pursuing you. What have you done to deserve this? You’re no criminal. Your only crime is being a naïve dumbass in your twenties.

Your arm burns as you turn corner after corner, not bothering to take note of where you’re going. It’s no use, though: you can hear him gaining on you. Fuck, is this it? You can’t even fathom what he wants you for, and you don’t want to think about it either—

“Rosethorn!” You come to a screeching halt.

There’s only one person who has ever called you that.

You turn around, chest heaving with exertion, as the hooded soldier—König, the soldier said his name was—comes into view, approaching you slowly.

“It’s me,” he says, holding his hands out like he’s approaching a wounded animal. You’re not really sure what the point is, considering the gigantic knife he’s got strapped to his thigh is intimidating all on its own, but somehow it still puts you at ease.

“Alex...?” you whisper, hardly daring to believe it.

“Yes,” he says. His posture has changed from when you saw him at the checkpoint. He’s hunching over, trying to make himself smaller. It reminds you of that first day when you sat next to him at lunch.

It’s him.

You instantly drop all your bags and cling to him in a hug, tears spilling from your eyes. He’s so different: most obviously, he's so tall. He must have hit some growth spurt after he moved away, because he towers over you now. You can feel under all the gear that he’s put on serious muscle—not surprising for a soldier, of course. And when his arms fold themselves over you, you’re filled with a sense of safety you haven’t felt in a long time.

“What are you doing here?” you both ask at the same time. A giggle bubbles out of you as you watch his eyes crinkle in an obvious smile. God, his eyes are so green.

“I’m stationed here because of the conflict,” he says. “But what are you doing here? I contacted your parents, and they said you had moved here, but they didn’t say why.”

You’re not surprised. You’re still in contact with your parents, but you don’t talk about the elephant in your home. You know they would have helped you, if only you had asked for it, but you never have.

“I…it’s complicated,” you say, withdrawing from the hug. You stare at the ground, brushing away the wetness in your eyes.

“I have nothing urgent right now,” he says, staring at you intently.

You swallow past the lump in your throat. “I…got married,” you whisper.

Instantly, his body language changes, stiffening in shock. He takes a half-step away from you, which makes you want to cry all over again. This is awful. This is humiliating. You wish you could go back in time and shake some sense into yourself.

“I see,” he says in a strangled voice. “Congratulations.”

Despite your best efforts, the tears spill over again. “No, not congratulations,” you say. “It—”

It was the worst mistake of your life, you want to say, but you just can’t get the words out. He must notice you beginning to quake with fear, because he raises a hand to touch you gently on the arm—right on the bruise.

His stare hardens as he watches you flinch. “Rosethorn, what’s the matter?”

Everything, you want to say. I’m standing in an alleyway with my childhood crush, shaking like a leaf because a monster lives in my house, and I can’t get away from him.

With a feather-like touch surprising for a man with such large hands—he grew so much— he goes to push up your sleeve. You catch a glimpse of the bruise before you have to turn away again, shuddering. It’s ugly: black and green, and very clearly shaped like a human grip.

“I…bumped into a shelf,” you say lamely. You can’t bring yourself to rope him into your troubles. He’s a soldier now, for Pete’s sake. He has bigger problems.

You can’t read his expression due to the hood—but there’s a blazing anger in his eyes you remember all too well. The quiet fury you often saw in him so many years ago.

He must see in your expression that you don’t want to be questioned about it right now, and thankfully, he relents. With an ease in his movement that must stem from some newfound confidence, he reaches over and picks up your bags for you. “Let me carry these for you.”

It’s nice, to be taken care of for once.

Your mad dash took both of you quite far away from your building, so you have enough time for quite a nice little chat. You tell him about your time in university, he tells you what happened to him after he moved away. He’d jumped at the chance to enlist as soon as he turned 17, on the recommendation of an uncle who had spent time in the military. You laugh when he tells you that they wouldn’t let him be a sniper, a pout in his tone. You could have imagined him as a sniper back in high school, but he’s so large now it’s impossible not to notice him.

“The discipline was good for me,” he recounts. “I needed to grow a spine.”

“Don’t say that. You were just trying to get by in school, like everybody else.”

He shrugs. “I wanted to be like you.”

“Like me?” You ask incredulously.

“My rose with thorns,” he says, with a fondness that makes you blush. “Do you remember that day you punched that punk Andreas?”

“How could I forget? My fist hurt for days,” you say with a grin. “But I didn’t regret it for a second.”

He looks down at you—that’s new—with pride in his eyes. “I thought about you that day all throughout training,” he says. “You were my guardian angel.”

Your cheeks grow even warmer, and you feel like a teenager again. How can he still make you feel this way so easily after all this time? “He had a punchable face,” you say dismissively. “If not me, then it would have been someone else.”

You’re almost disappointed to arrive home. Only yesterday, home was your sanctuary. Now, it means being separated from the one person you trust fully in this country. You turn to him, almost bashful. “This is where I live."

He sets the bags down like they’re made of fine china, and he’s standing so close you almost stop breathing. The air is charged, the same way it felt that night when you almost kissed. You watch him as he watches you.

“Can I see you again?” he asks, breaking the silence.

“Of course,” you say, and the sparkle in his eye dazzles you.

You watch him leave until you can’t see him anymore. And for once, you enter your home with a light heart.

Remember me, love When I'm reborn As the shrike to your sharp And glorious thorn

if you'd like to be added to the taglist, just drop a reply! feedback is always appreciated, and my inbox is open, so please feel free to drop me an ask! I will 100% write little scenarios/headcanons about this couple because I have so many thoughts and ideas for them lol

I anticipate about 2-3 parts for this, maybe with König pov in the next part? he doesn't come across this way in this part, because it's from Thorn's perspective, but he is a very nasty boy indeed. also, I know putting lyrics in the middle of a fic is so passé, but I can't help myself. it's hozier! indulge me. also this isn't beta read so I really hope it doesn't suck

#bucca writes #könig #könig x reader #könig cod #könig mw2 #call of duty #cod mw2 #cod x reader #cod #mw2 #konig #konig cod #konig x reader #fic:shrike

[ceilidho]

1800s mail order bride [price/reader] for da wip game

i haven't yet gotten around to writing more of this fic (it's listed as complete on ao3 because i feel like it leaves off at a good place so if i never get back around to it, im fine with that, but the door is still open enough for me to return.

without having given this too much thought, this is what i would probably write if i were to make this into a proper fic (huge spoilers below because i'm basically outlining the entire plot):

after the scene in the sheriff's office, Price whisks you off to the local judge to be wed; this is where you come back to yourself and start protesting and denying that you're the girl he's waiting for

Price then says something about how "if you're not her, then who are you?" and brutally interrogates you about your identity (he thinks you're lying and he's just trying to make the truth come out) but you're still too nervous to say anything about who you are and where you're from because, remember, you just left a city where you killed someone. you have no idea how much information has been disseminated or whether you're a wanted woman. at one point you make up a lie about being "elizabeth smith from Rhode Island" and he challenges that by saying "we'll contact your kin then and have them confirm" (essentially saying you're under house arrest with him / in the town until someone related to "elizabeth smith" telegrams from R.I. or sends a letter)

you never actually give in and just go "fine, i'm the woman you've been corresponding with" but Price sees all these holes in your story as evidence that you are her and he's convinced that "your guilty heart brought you here to me anyway." There's basically nothing you can do to avoid being married off to him.

you're basically shell shocked the entire time at the court house and then on the trip back to the inn to collect your belongings to bring to Price's house.

the first night at his place is rough. you're basically like a feral cat the whole time - still insisting that he's got the wrong woman, indignant and furious when he thinks he has the right to put his hands on you and touch you (Price just lifts his brow at that because like...you are his wife now so really it's a moot point), and locking yourself in his bedroom the second the two of you are home.

Price finds all of this very amusing. he has stuff to do around the property anyway, so he lets you lock yourself in the room for a couple hours.

eventually he does just unlock the door with a key he has on top of the doorframe (you thought you were safe in there but oops nope). there's some conversation about "wifely duties" that has you screaming and spitting at him before he threatens to put you over his knee again, so you clam up and get a bit teary, which makes Price soften. (good excuse for me to write a soft but firm version of Price shushing you and drawing you into his embrace)

anyway, the middle of this story would be all slow, tender sex and you having to get used to being Price's wife while always keeping one eye out for any news of there being a warrant out for your arrest. you get spooked once by a man in town asking about any newcomers (maybe you're in a shop and you overhear him ask the cashier while you're behind a shelf) and try to flee, but Price tracks you down and he's sooooo mad when the two of you get home. like sex is rough that night.

events i'd want to have happen:

someone comes sniffing around town for you (bounty hunter maybe) and you try running away (unsuccessful, but you're mildly reassured when you hear the man has left town by the next day because everyone thinks of you as Price's wife so no one thinks to mention that a woman arrived in town the other week)

there's an incident on a farm on the outskirts of town that Price has to go to - he makes you promise to be good and you spend the next two days wrestling with whether to take the opportunity to leave or not. you end up staying. Price comes back and he's so happy to see his little wife still home after a few rough days of work. probably the first time he makes you sit on his face to reward you.

your luck finally comes to an end when the same bounty hunter finally comes back (your marriage announcement may have been in the local paper and somehow word got to him about a girl matching the description of the woman he's after) and somehow manages to trap you. the climax of this fic is that he manages to get you on a horse speeding away from town and you're heartbroken/terrified/desperate for John but your situation seems hopeless)

John catches up with the two of you and he, uh....deals with the bounty hunter that took his wife from him. before he "deals" with him, the bounty hunter does basically reveal who you actually are, and there's a moment where you see that John believes him. he looks at you in a strange way for just a second and there's this glint in his eye that says "yeah I either suspected this or this is new information to me but now everything makes sense" and your heart just stops because it's the first time where you actually don't want him to know that you aren't the woman that was supposed to be his wife

then he kills the bounty hunter and takes you home :) and he never ever acknowledges what the other man said. because you're his wife and that's all that matters.

suuupppperrrr tender loving sex that night LMAO probably out in wilderness because you're far outside of town and the two of you are exhausted (plus, John just buried this man's body so you had to diverge from the route home for a bit)

at some point in time, a woman does show up at your doorstep claiming to be John's wife. you slam the door on her face.

ok now i wanna write this again FUCKDJGHSJGVSD

[yandere-class-1a]

Class 1a as mermaids and mermaid and reader as a human-like one day reader finds a trapped mermaid and they save them and now that mermaids tell the other mermaids about the humans and their will to meet the reader

Author Note: I tired my best to work on this and keep it from going to far of track so I really hope you like it. I actually headcanoned what each on of their tails would look like so if you want that just send in another ask! It's perfectly fine if you have your own ideas though ♡

On a warm summer night, as the moon cast its gentle glow upon the beach and the wind sung a sweet lullaby, you some how found yourselves tossing and turning, unable to drift of into your dream world for the third time this week. Frustrated, you decided to go on a late-night stroll along the deserted shoreline of the pink sand beach. You weren't sure the actual name, maybe it was the romantic settings or probably the pink tinted sand, but most people called it Soulmates Beach.

As you walked along the shore line and in the moons soft glow, the rhythmic crashing of the waves provided a soothing soundtrack to your thoughts. Almost forgetting your frustration at not being able to sleep you become lost in the beauty of the night. That was until your eyes caught sight of something peculiar in the water. A glimmering pink and yellow tail, trapped in a net, struggled against the unforgiving holds of captivity.

You paused for a second thinking it might be a large fish if some kind. However you quickly dashed towards the thrashing net as you saw a human arm hand grab at the net from the inside. To your amazement you discovered it was a living breathing mermaid. You freeze for a second once again. No way is that a real mermaid, you thought to yourself, it's every kids dream to meet some type of mystic creature! However you quickly snap out of it once you hear a distressed chirp come from Mina.

It took you a few minutes and using a shell as a knife but you finally manage to free her from the entanglement. Grateful and relieved Mina let out a small thank you purr before swimming deep into the ocean and returning to her mermaid pack. The news spread like wildfire among the members of her mer-pack, each one if them instantly amazed by the very idea of a human saving a mermaid.

Driven by a mix of curiosity and thankfulness at saving Mina, they all set their sights on meeting the stunning human that mina had told them so much about. They didn't even know you, heck Mina was the only one that hhad even seen you, and yet they all felt some sorta warm and fuzzy feeling when one of them would mention you. They had all decide to name you Shinning Star. They thought it was perfectly fitting as you lit up their worlds just by being mentioned.

Days later, the encounter with Mina still planted deeply in your brain, you returned to the beach. You weren't expecting to see her again, after all if you had been caught by humans you would be pretty scared to come back up to the surface so you don'treally blame her. You sit at the edge of the beach, on a small stone that was oddly shaped like a chair. You gently start to hum a song as you close your eyes.

After a few minutes of sitting there with your eyes closed you are met with a loud and continuous splashing sound accompanied by small chirps. Your eyes open faster than you ever thought they could, and there is a absaloutly amazing sight.

Emerging from the depths of the beutifull blue ocean are not one, not two, no not even three, but nineteen whole mer-people. All of their beutifull tails glinting under the sunlight. With eager eyes they gently call for you to come close to them. You knew it was risky but you are absaloutly amazed by what your seeing, so without thinking you gently walk over to them and smile a amazed smile at them. Your hands are fidgeting from how excited you are at this opportunity.

Izuku is the first to greet you. His tail is a beutifull emerald green with freckles of red and white. He flicked it happily as you step closer. In the excitedness he let's out tons of happy chirps and goes to lean forward to touch you. Unlucky for him he was as far as the water would let him go and he face planted in the sand. You rush over to him and check on him.

Izuku thinks it's absaloutly adorable, your in the presence of real life merpeople and your worried that he got a little sand in his eye. He chirps happily and snuggles his head gently into your stomach, a sign of love and respect in mermaid body language, not like you know that though. You chuckle as Izuku hops up and turns to the rest of the mer-pack before chirping out somthing unreadable to humans. They all greet you one by one.

As the days turned into weeks, and the weeks turn into months you and the group of mer-people forged a unique bond. You all had a absaloute blast, even though somtimes it seemd asif they never wanted you to leave. Mer-pack 1-A, once captivated by your heroism, now found themselves captivated by your very presence.

With each passing day, their heart grew fonder for you. Their once pure curiosity and admiration for you blossoming into something more. In your company they all found found acceptance, understanding, and a love stronger than anything they had ever felt before.

#mezo shoji x reader #koji koda x reader #Rikido Sato x reader #tenya ida x reader #hanta sero x reader #shoto todoroki x reader #momo yaoyorozu x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #eijiro kirishima x reader #Mashirao Ojiro x reader #Yuga Aoyama x reader #denki kaminari x reader #izuku midoriya x reader #mina ashido x reader #fumikage tokoyami x reader #Ochaco Uraraka x reader #kyoka jiro x reader #toru hagakure x reader #tsuyu asui x reader #yandere class 1a #class 1 a x reader #mermaid au #first request

[maireyart]

Good Memories, Yours and Mine

A little illustrated drabble for @kakashiweek Rating: G Day 4: Any AU. Post-war. Obito could tell getting used to this version of him wasn’t an easy task for Kakashi, but their awkward attempts at being friendly seemed like a good start. Twice they’d found common ground, and twice it had ended in parting soon after; if not for the Sage’s mercy and jutsu mastery, they wouldn’t be strolling the streets of Suna now, during a small break between court sessions. Getting in sync had felt natural in the midst of battle, but getting along in the thick mire of post-war stagnation turned out to be way more difficult.

Frankly, Obito still barely recognized himself; self-restoration was a work in progress. He hadn’t associated what he saw in the mirror with “Uchiha Obito” for a good deal of years, but now he sometimes absently wondered if his real self could still be seen through the battle-weary shell of his body or the grim lines on his face. Only the eyes seemed the same – dark, restless, and brooding, the Sharingan sealed away.

But apparently grannies could sense something regardless. They’d always clung to the lively boy he’d been, and when an old lady tugged at his sleeve and asked if he could carry her enormous suitcase up a flight of stairs (which were abundant in Suna), Obito got lost in the feeling of déjà-vu. It took him a few moments to process her words, and then he silently fulfilled the request under Kakashi’s amused stare. He knew one thing for sure: grannies’ intuition never lies. If that Suna lady approached him, then perhaps he did have something of the former Obito in his aura again; a tiny flicker of warmth only a perceptive person could notice.

“There was a time when I couldn’t stand your granny-related excuses. But now they’re good memories,” Kakashi commented with a lilt in his voice when Obito returned. “But I… I didn’t leave you any good memories, did I? If I did, it might have…”

Obito sighed. “You probably did,” he admitted quietly, “but they were few. Very few. And poisoned by what – what followed later…” It was a precipice they’d been hovering on for quite a while but couldn’t jump into just yet, so he made a mental step back and clutched onto a tiny vision that twinkled like a firefly in the dark mess of his mind. “Oh! Remember the day when you helped me with granny Hiroko’s errand? You were so nervous we’d be late for some stupid team training with some stupid invited specialists that you sank to my level just to make sure I’d be on time.”

“Uhuh. We ended up being late together anyway, only appearing after they’d left. An unforgettable event,” came the light-hearted response, and then Kakashi giggled. It was the strangest sound in the universe.

“‘Criminally negligent irresponsibility in time of war,’” Obito quoted Sandaime’s words mockingly. “For once I wasn’t the only one being scolded. And you actually enjoyed running that errand with me – don’t tell me you didn’t. You didn’t even chastise me after. And maybe you even snickered under that mask of yours when Sensei, pale and fidgety, tried his best to explain your ‘degradation’ and my bad influence on you to his superiors.”

“True, I was smiling,” Kakashi let out slowly, lost in the memory. “Their faces were funny.”

“Took you a long time to admit it.”

“Took me a long time to change.” He hummed and closed his eyes in delight. “Besides, granny Hiroko’s eggplants were tasty.”

Obito couldn’t help but chuckle. “Oh, really?” They had been ninja, and fighters, and soldiers, but sometimes they had been just kids.

***

(They were late for the court session; Tsunade was outraged by the irresponsibility (something familiar, huh) and gave them an earful, but both of them were only smiling...) _____________________ Huge thanks to @professor-of-naruto for proofreading, but I've changed 1/3 of the text since then, so I might have "enriched" it with new mistakes 😁 And huge thanks to @cool-thymus for the title idea and all the fun we had discussing this AU!

#kakashi week 2023 #narutoart #drabble #uchiha obito #hatake kakashi #team minato #obkk #kkob #kakaobi #obikaka #kakashi #obito #namikaze minato #white-haired obito #obito in red #obito lives au #post-war #kakashi needs this friendship #obito too #fyi: english is my second language #bear with me :3

[justabigassnerd]

Replaced

Pairing - Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x daughter!reader

Word count - 1,500

Warnings - fluff, that's it

Summary - the Daggers have a get-together on the beach for 4th July and you cling to Mickey the whole time, leaving two people jokingly heartbroken

Sequel to 'New Best Friend'

A/N - it's about damn time I'm uploading a fic isn't it? I'm so sorry for how long I'm taking to write stuff I truly am. I hope I did this request justice because as you can see it's horrifically late. as per y'all please send in requests, feedback, and enjoy!!!

After the get-together at Jake’s house that introduced you to all the Daggers, it became beyond obvious that Mickey had quickly become your favourite person. Mickey started visiting Jake’s house more often just to see you or would meet up with you and Jake at the beach and you always lit up when you saw Mickey, toddling over to him as quickly as you could before he scooped you up in his arms.

When it drew closer to the 4th of July, Penny and Maverick announced to the Daggers that they’d be holding a barbeque on the beach just in front of the Hard Deck and that the whole squadron was invited to spend the evening together at the beach and without hesitation, all members of the squad was accepting the offer and soon began chatting amongst each other excitedly about what they could get up to.

“Mav, is it okay if I bring y/n along? If we’re all here I have no one I trust to watch her.” Jake asks, approaching Maverick and Penny to have a conversation with them.

“Of course, she can come. Quite frankly we would’ve been offended if you didn’t bring her.” Penny says with a laugh as Maverick nods in agreement, their responses quickly putting Jake at ease.

“To be honest, she probably won’t think much of the whole thing, she’ll just want to hang out with Fanboy the whole time anyway.” Jake admits with a laugh, glancing over his shoulder to where the rest of the Daggers were before turning back to face Maverick and Penny.

“Every kid finds someone outside of their family to be their favourite, don’t they? I was Bradley’s favourite person when he was little. Drove Goose wild. Just don’t tell Bradley I told you that or I might get killed.” Maverick says with a smile that matches Jake’s as both men chuckle, imagining a younger Bradley clinging to Maverick the way you clung to Mickey.

A few days later it was time for the 4th July barbeque and the Daggers had turned up in full force ready to spend an afternoon eating, drinking, and enjoying each other’s company.

“You ready sweetheart?” Jake says after parking his truck just in front of the beach, turning around to see you in your car seat grinning at him.

“Yes, daddy.” You say excitedly, waiting both patiently and eagerly for Jake to kill the engine, round the car and unbuckle you from your car seat, lifting you out of the car effortlessly and setting you down on the ground before taking your hand in his. The two of you then head towards where the Daggers had set up the get-together. You were walking along happily by Jake’s side, a wide grin on your face as you approach the group and as you take in the sight of everyone who has arrived you realise Mickey is not among the group and your smile falters.

“Mickey?” You ask quietly, looking up at your dad who quickly scoops you up in his arms and sits you on his hip.

“He’s probably just running a little bit behind, sweetheart. He’s always the last one to arrive. Let’s say hi to the others in the meantime, shall we?” Jake encourages, bouncing you on his hip to try and elicit a smile from you as he crosses the beach to the Daggers who greet you with smiles and waves which you return, beginning to cheer up a little. Jake had noticed how meeting the Daggers had helped bring you out of your shell a little more and that you were slowly becoming a bit more extroverted, even at school when teachers had previously told him you preferred to keep to yourself, now they were telling him that you had begun interacting with your classmates more and was beginning to make friends.

After greeting the Daggers, you take the step to move away from Jake and decide to watch what Natasha is doing as she picks up a stick and draws a smiley face in the sand which makes you giggle before she hands you the stick to attempt to draw something yourself which keeps you occupied long enough for Mickey to finally show up, the last of the Daggers to arrive, as usual. Mickey greets his teammates as he approaches, his voice getting your attention as you turn to look, your face lighting up the moment you realise who has just arrived.

“Mickey!” You cry happily, getting yourself onto your feet and toddling over to Mickey as fast as your little legs would allow and the moment you reached him, Mickey scooped you up into his arms and hugged you close.

“Hey, short stuff! How have you been?” Mickey asks with a smile as you cuddle closer to him, barely answering his question with anything more than a small mumble and nod. Mickey then crossed to the rest of the group, greeting them all properly with a smile while you continued to cling to him.

“Sandcastles?” You ask Mickey when there’s a lapse in conversation between the adults and Mickey looks at you with a wide grin before nodding.

“You want to make sandcastles? Let’s do it.” Mickey says excitedly, grabbing your bucket and spade from where Jake had put yours and his stuff and finding somewhere to sit nearby so you could make your sandcastles.

“How are we feeling about Fanboy replacing you with Hangman’s kid, Payback?” Javy asks with a smirk as Jake rolls his eyes while flipping a burger.

“I can’t believe I’ve been replaced by a kid. Hangman’s kid as well.” Reuben says jokingly, glancing over his shoulder, lifting his aviators and sending Jake a wink as he chuckles, knowing Reuben was only joking.

“If it makes you feel any better, it’s like y/n has completely forgotten I exist.” Jake then jokes, glancing over at where you were sat under Mickey’s watchful eye, carefully crafting a sandcastle as Mickey formed a pile of shells, he found in the sand for you to use as decorations.

You and Mickey remain sat in the sand making sandcastles until all the food has been cooked and Mickey is quick to help you to your feet and lead you over to the table to help you plate up some food for yourself before sitting on the wall along the beach front so you could sit in between Mickey and your dad while you ate your dinner.

After everyone finished their food and the sun started to begin its descent, Maverick suggested a game of dogfight football to finish off the day and Penny suggested you come and sit with her to watch everyone play but seeing Mickey dare to move away from you had you clinging to his hand within seconds.

“Stay.” You plead, looking up at Mickey with wide pleading eyes that melt his heart in a matter of seconds.

“Looks like I’m taking a backseat today guys.” Mickey says with a grin, ignoring the joking complaints from the other Daggers and sitting alongside Penny with you on his lap so you could watch your dad play.

“Go daddy!” You cheer as your dad celebrates scoring, clapping your hands together as Mickey claps as well.

Your interest in the game only lasted a few more minutes before the events of the evening began to catch up to you as you began to yawn repeatedly which had Mickey searching for Jake amongst the group, squinting from behind his sunglasses to find him to wave him down. Jake noticed Mickey quickly and came jogging over, assessing the sight before he even arrived and quickly realised what was going on.

“I got her.” Jake says quietly, taking you into his arms smoothly while Mickey scoops yours and Jake’s stuff into Jake’s bag to give to him.

“Daddy?” You mumble, eyes barely open as you cuddle closer to your dad.

“Oh, now you want me?” Jake muses jokingly, tightening his grip ever so slightly as he bids the Daggers goodbye with a wave which you copied, only much more sluggish in your movements, before making his way back to his truck, putting the bag in the backseat before putting you in your car seat and strapping you in as you whined slightly at the loss of your dad’s arms.

“It’s okay sweetheart, we’ll be home soon, and you can get in your nice comfy bed.” Jake promises, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before closing the door and getting behind the wheel and beginning the drive home.

“Did you have a good time y/n?” Jake asks after getting a minute down the road. When he’s met with no response other than the rumbling of the engine and the quiet song playing over the radio, he briefly shifts his gaze to his rearview mirror, smiling softly to himself when he catches sight of you fast asleep in your seat.

“You definitely had the best time didn’t you?”

#justabigassnerd #justabigassnerd writes #top gun #top gun maverick #top gun fic #top gun maverick fic #hangman top gun #hangman x reader #hangman x you #hangman x daughter!reader #jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #jake seresin x y/n #jake seresin x daughter!reader #jake 'hangman' seresin #jake 'hangman' seresin x reader #jake 'hangman' seresin x daughter!reader #jake hangman seresin #x daughter!reader

[hajihiko]

What did you make of DR3's explanation for how the characters became Despairs?

I dont like it. Here's a re-write i was thinking about

Ok note: this is what would have made the School Life thing more enjoyable TO ME. Not gonna fit for everyone obvi

Ok first of all. Junko loses most of her potential if you take away her being sneaky and manipulative, which we barely even got to see in the games, so I want that in ACTION.

Second of all, this takes time. More than just like a single moment of anime hypnotism. Junko was definitely working her suckers for at least a year. I dont know how that reflects on the timeline and I dont super care

-

Chisa's class is full of chaos, these are some of the rowdiest students you'll find. They have potential for getting along, but they're also Very Troubled, and Chisa is a kind soul who tries to help them out with various issues. Actual attention paid to these kids being, like, KIDS, but also having some major red flags in their backgrounds that could escalate out of control very fast.

Among others, she tries to get Chiaki to come out of her shell and interact with the others more. This is hard, because Chiaki is not exactly receptive to it at first, but theres a little bit of unity between all the students anyway and they slowly start becoming friends. Chiaki uses this friendship guidance to befriend a lonely boy who often stares longingly at the school, whom she's noticed by silently sticking to the background when he's around. This will come in handy later.

Until, certain students start hanging out with their junior of 1 year, who always seems to be kind of slinking around and hanging with at least one student a day. Chiaki notices this because a) shes very quiet and mostly goes unnoticed when she's in the background, and b) she only needs half her attention span to play games anyway.

The people Junko hangs around get noticeably worse, though not necessarily more divided; just sort of 10 steps backwards for every 1 step Chisa helped them take. The rude and mean ones stop trying to be kinder, the shy and meek ones retreat even more, etc. Chisa is at a complete loss with this, but Chiaki confides in her that it might be the new student making trouble. Chisa takes over, and encourages Chiaki to keep trying to make friends with the others, which Chiaki does.

(Mahiru gets scared into telling no one what happened / what she suspects happened in Natsumi's murder, and gets rid of the evidence, as advised. The evidence she throws away gets mailed to Fuyuhiko, who is encouraged to avenge his sister. Guess who orchestrated all that?)

Chiaki does not fall into Junko's claws, because she's quiet and unobtrusive and, importantly, less desperate for what Junko can give her than the rest is. Chiaki does, after all, have her teacher who took the reigns and told Chiaki to grab her own oxygen mask first, and her Lonely Boy to confide in, and whenever she starts to lose herself, he gently reminds her to stand firm. That's right, the secret weapon was the friends we made along the way, just like in the ending.

(Hajime is probably just doing things more or less like in the anime, maybe listens to Chiaki's growing worries about her semi-friends, shits getting fucked and the only conceivable way Hajime can help is by agreeing to be a lab rat obviously what else. Biggest downfall is wanting to be there for Chiaki, but not letting her be there for him in return. Because inferiority complex.)

Chisa goes to confront this troubled mystery girl; Junko catches her too and starts working her nasty magic- for example, did you know two of your students were a part of a murder? Aren't you supposed to be guiding them? Do you know what's really happening in this school? Do you wanna see the human experimentation they just started? Did you know your best friend is in love with your crush and you can't confide in either of them anymore actually? Etc.

Chiaki is all alone now. When she finally DOES confront Junko, once the whole class along with the teacher has been sort of indoctrinated and her Lonely Boy has ditched her and she's feeling a bit brave because of it all), Junko kills her horribly in front of everyone as they do nothing. Not because they were hypnotized, but because they choose to. This is what really marks the point of no return for them. Chiaki was a quiet and harmless and mostly very nice girl, and her death was pointless, and they were a part of it, and they got away with it.

Instead of being a practically perfect student council president, Chiaki has more of an NPC theme, falling into the background more but also being honest and nice and willing to work with people. Then later, obviously, she really is an NPC and repeats the process, but this time she manages to save her boy and therefore her class.

(I'm not opposed to Chiaki being JUST an AI and never a part of the class at all, but I havent thought about it as much so idk any good points)

Hajime retains the same themes, but gets to be more of a juxtaposition of Junko, sneaking into everyone's hearts by befriending them and helping them move forward instead of backwards. He wins with the power of friendship and all that jazz.

Everyone else gets way more accountability to take. No hypnotism or brain poking, just digging into the worst parts of themselves and then indulging them entirely (with the help of Ultimate Charismatic Cult Leader Junko). I think the most interesting thing about this whole narrative could be that Anyone is capable of intense cruelty, and Anyone can choose to be a better person moving forward.

anyway in my mind that's what happened differently.

#Not an art #Talky Talky Tuesday #Talky Talky #I hope I wont reread this and find it makes no sense but eh

[thisismeracing]

ok wait i just got really sad thinking about bonnington!reader x mick

since she grew up in the merc garage she would've been around when michael was on the team

and he was the one to help break her out of her shell a bit, having experience with raising mick

and her nickname "our little aerodynamicist" that the merc crew refer to her as came from him

because she was always shadowing the aerodynamics team when bono knew she was accounted and taken care of if he wasnt the one watching her

he probably wouldve suggested bringing the two of them out to switzerland to spend time with his family, but with all the busy schedules it never happened

she probably called him uncle michael because he always volunteered to watch her when he was done with his jobs for the day but bono was still busy

she probably was a reminder of his own kids at home, the one to keep him tethered to his family and his kids while he ventured in this return to racing

his accident wouldve crushed her when she found out because that was the first really big loss she experienced in her life, even though he didnt die

and her second wouldve probably been niki lauda

because niki wouldve probably been a grand father figure to her

she got to experience life with these two great figures and now theyre gone

the two of them would've taught her the life lesson [stolen from bluey i dont care]: that special people come into your life, stay for a bit, and go

fuck im crying

i cant write anymore

☕

omgggg <3 though I don't write things that mention michael, I can totally see this scenario, and let me tell you- *teary eyes emoji* this thing about a possible meeting that never happened and then their meeting finally happening years after as adults is so soul mate coded and I love it

her a niki too!! aaaaa :(

She would probably see Lewis as a brother too, seeing as when he got to merc she was still a kid just getting into her early teenage years - he totally shaped her music taste, I just know it.

Also, toto and susie just love her, and will add her to some family trips because cmon they saw her when she was jack's age, at this point she's like an older sister (and you can bet bono will get a bit jealous about it sometimes)

NOT THE BLUEY LESSON :´) I love it

#☕ anon #bonnington!reader #millies inbox #ms47 #mick schumacher #anon #f1 x reader

[arminsumi]

★ College Freaks

★ With : Jay / Sam / Gojo / Geto / Choso / Shoko

★ Content : crack, humor, self-insert, college au

★ Synopsis : horny college drama stuff.

★ Warnings : 🔞 MDNI/18+, suggestive/smutty humor/flirting, hints to Choso getting a boner, not proofread

★ Note : it's my first time writing a self-insert 🧍‍♀️ it eez wot it eez. i didn't get to add nanami 😔 wanted to whip out the daddy jokes. oh well. enjoy?? idk if self-insert stuff is enjoyable lol lmk

Poor Sam, I clung to her arm and stole her attention from everyone else. Choso came up to her for after-school notes, and I put my hand up to his face to shut him up and said;

"No. Not today, emo boy. I'm sorry I am stealing my girl away — we're going to go rob a bank and then catch a flight to Italy — Sam why are you laughing? Stop laughing, I'm actually quite serious."

Poor Choso, he was confused as he always is.

I complained about life and my problems to Sam and she nodded and hummed in understanding, only half-listening because I was in one of those dramatic moods that couldn't be taken seriously.

We went to the library for no reason except that we knew Satoru and Suguru were there. Sam had a big crush on Suguru so I was trying to do her a solid and break the ice between them. She didn't have the courage to approach him herself. I didn't get why. I told her life is short, one day you'll be in a coffin, so you should talk to hot guys while you can.

Anyways, I wasn't sure about those two. Suguru's detachedness annoyed me, because when I'd talk to him during class he'd sort of recede into his shell — his shell being Satoru.

And Satoru? I liked him, yes sure. I was ashamed to like the guy that the whole school liked, so I made a joke out of it — I think he thought I was joking when I flirted with him because I exaggerated everything to the point of sounding like a joke.

During mid-year, things got steamy but nothing more happened. We definitely shared a spark in April but now it fizzled out and I was desperately trying to relight it. Flirting during class? No I wanted to flirt outside of the classroom. I wanted to flirt in his bedroom.

⁕⁕⁕⁕

"Alright, Sam. My girl. This is what you do; you go up to Suguru and say "Be my husband." okay?"

"You're funny."

"Hm... yeah actually, on second thought, marriage is an awful idea. Never get married — this is my granny advice to you; don't get married. CHOSO WE MEET AGAIN!"

"Oh god." he walked in the other direction.

"DON'T GO! DON'T YOU WANT TO FUCK IN THE BACK OF THE HOT TOPIC?" I yelled after him. I don't think he's heard that Ayesha Erotica song so I think he just thought I was crazy and yelling outrageous stuff.

"YOU'RE CRAZY." he yelled back, "Anyways, you still on for later?"

"Yes I'm turned on for later — wait what? Yes. I'm still on for later. I'm bringing Sam with, too, even if I have to drag her by her leg. Sam?"

Choso left, and then I returned my attention to Sam who was pretending to read a book because Suguru and Satoru were glancing over.

"See, they're looking at us. You know what that means? They're obsessed." I said, "Kidding. Fuckin' kidding. I think I talked too loudly." I laughed at myself.

"I think Suguru reads classics... do you know any classics?" Sam asked, skimming the book spines with her eyes.

"Yes — Dostoyevsky but man he's a fucking pain to read. Anyways, Suguru probably only reads hardcore smut." I joked. "Anyways, stop stalling — let's go say hi before Satoru and Suguru fall into a void."

"What? No way. NONONONONO DON'T DRAG ME—"

⁕⁕⁕⁕

"Hey boys~!" I greeted them and invited myself to the free seat next to Satoru. I crossed my legs, made a motion of flipping my hair (it was tied up) and encouraged Sam to sit, too.

They greeted us, we four talked for a bit. Shoko came around, and sat down next to me and we put our legs on each other. I was as comfortable with her as I was with Sam, which was a nice feeling.

Satoru stole my glasses off my face, so I stole his sunglasses off and wore them.

I couldn't see without my glasses, so I told him he was the hottest man I'd ever seen.

He had a smug response and nodded. Then he realized.

"Hey wait a minute."

"Wow that took you a while." I laughed. "Give me my glasses back — hey you fucking smudged them you absolute cunt. Oh my god... worst day ever... I'm gonna cry... anyways."

I cleaned the lenses with my t-shirt but they just got more and more smudged so I narrowed my eyes and kept wiping the lenses.

Suguru, Shoko and Sam commented on this moment between us.

"You two should date."

"Nah, she'd turn me into an ex real fast." Satoru said immediately.

"Boy, I'd turn you into a triple-ex." I said and winked.

He shook his head. I put on some chapstick. I felt eyed out. I looked to the side and surely there was Satoru staring very obviously.

"What? What are you staring at, perv?" I sassed, "You want some of my chapstick?"

"Hell yeah." he leaned in. His lips quivered when I put my chapstick to his lips. "Oh that smells good."

"It's Chupa-Chups." I said. He hummed and inhaled.

Satoru kept his lips parted while I applied the chapstick.

"You smell good too. 'That your perfume?" he asked.

"Yes. Vanilla."

"Why are they always flirting?" Suguru asked out loud.

"I dunno." Sam shrugged.

"We're not flirting." Satoru said.

"It is what it is." I said at the same time.

My mouth fell open. Satoru giggled at my reaction. I still had my mouth open, to emphasize my shock. We're not flirting?

"Close ya mouth, Jay, you'll attract cock." Satoru said.

"Wow! I'm so over you, Satoru!" I said.

I scooted and scooted my chair away from Satoru on the carpeted library floor. Satoru blatantly stared at my jiggling breasts. The other library goers looked irked by the laughter coming from our table.

"Shoko, want my chapstick instead?" I offered. She started giggling.

"What about me?" Suguru said.

I made an awkward noise, "Sorry I don't fuck with Satoru Besties." I joked quickly, noting Sam's expression.

⁕⁕⁕⁕

We all headed out the library to talk because Shoko and I wanted to have a smoke.

"... and it pisses me off!" I finished complaining about something to Shoko and we exchanged the cigarette. She took her turn puffing on it.

"Damn, you complain a lot." Satoru commented.

I gave him a look.

"Yeah, care to shut me up with your co— I'm sorry I'm joking I'm kidding." I put my hands up.

Satoru shrugged, "I mean, I can do that for you if you want." he flirted.

I pulled my round glasses down and gave him the look.

"Right here? Right now? Because you know I'd be on my knees any time and place for you, boy." I winked.

"Yeah yeah, your bark is bigger than your bite." Satoru dismissed.

"Wanna come find out?" I said, "Because I think I could slut ya out."

He looked at me with wide eyes — I couldn't judge if he was turned on or just thought I was being outrageous.

"Haha, Satoru you're going red in the face." Suguru laughed. I smiled smugly. Satoru went silent. It feels good to out-flirt a flirt.

Sam was making heart eyes at Suguru. I was trying to figure out some witty joke to say to bring them together, but it just didn't work out. I tripped over my own words and then covered it up with a long, exaggerated noise.

But they ended up going off somewhere together, talking about Dostoyevsky. I thought that was quite romantic.

Shoko let me steal another cigarette off her. Satoru was complaining about our smoke smelling awful.

"Yeah but you'd still kiss me even with smoky breath." I said.

He hummed flirtatiously. Oh shit I did something.

"Uh, I'll give you two some space." Shoko laughed, then left us alone together.

"Oh god." I whined. "Shoko please."

"What's that grimace for?" Satoru narrowed his eyes at me.

"Well I looove flirting with you but I hate being alone with you." I groaned. "Each minute spent with you is a year off my life span."

"I can't tell if you're joking or not, Jay." he laughed.

Oh. I made him laugh.

"I can't tell if I'm joking or not, either, Satoru." I sighed.

"Oh, shiiit don't say my name like that." he purred, "You'll turn me on."

"Yeah?"

Is he joking around? Are we flirting flirting?

"Yeah..." he came closer, leaned down and pushed his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose. "You know what I think? I think you're not as big of a freak in bed as you've claimed. I bet you're a virgin or something."

I let out a laugh. "Nahhh! I'm a freak freak. The shit I'm into will make you look like a vanilla bitch. And although I may be a virgin — "

Satoru laughed. "Ah, I knew it. You're a virgin freak."

"Are you gonna do something about it or just stand there like a fuckin-g idiot?" I provoked.

"Fucking-g?" he mimicked my accent.

Satoru made a toothy grin and leaned down closer. His breath smelled like the hard candies he always sucked on during the day. My cheeks were burning.

He looked down and saw me squeezing my thighs together.

"Wow, wanna get to it then?" he lowered his voice, "Just let me fuck your brains out right here against the wall?" he joked flirtatiously.

"What if I'm into that?" I moved my body suggestively. My knee nudged his thigh.

He gave me a doubting grin.

"You'd feel sore after I'm through with you, sweetheart."

"Yeah yeah," I waved my hand dismissively, "Big talk, big talk. I could take you."

"Well... let's see about that at the party tonight, yeah?" he rasped.

"Fine." I sassed.

"Fine." he smirked. "See you tonight then."

"Okay. Whatever." rolled my eyes. "Don't be fucking late to the party, by the way you useless idiot."

"No promises." he winked as he backed away.

As soon as Satoru left, I let out a silent scream and bounced around like I just won the lotto. Funny, Choso came around the corner. He witnessed my little moment.

"What theee hell."

"Oh hey Choso. Small campus, huh?"

"Yeah this makes like what, three times we've encountered each other today?" he said.

"It's a sign from god, Choso; we're meant to be. The emo freak and the virgin freak. Match made in heaven." I said.

He stared at me with his heavy, indecipherable eyes. "Are you just horny all the time?"

"Yes." I answered straightly. "Sorry if I'm a bit much. I'll stop if it makes you uncomfortable." I went serious for a second.

He stuttered, "No, no — it's hot, I enjoy it. Just not used to being on the receiving end of this kind of attention." he looked away.

"Anyways, are you really coming tonight?" he asked with a light in his eyes, needy for an answer.

Hasn't he already asked me this?

"Yeah I'll be cumming for y— sorry. Kidding. Yes I'm coming tonight. I dunno about Sam. I really hope she comes with because she's my little angel, I need her to feel safe at parties — you know 'cause she does kickboxing and stuff." I said.

Choso nodded, "I get it. Well, if she doesn't come with to the party and you feel weird, you can cling to me all night; I'll be your guard dog."

My cheeks burned. "Yeah alright. Sounds good to me." I swayed my shoulders, making it a point to puff my chest out to show him how good this thin crop top showed off my breasts.

Poor Choso. He just caught one glance of boobs and went completely shy, stuttering and all, and covered his crotch with his textbook.

"Aw I wish I was a biology book." I lamented. "Sorry, joking. Actually no, I'm not."

"I-I've gotta go." he said.

"I'm sure you do." I flirted. "See yaaa."

© arminsumi

I do not permit the copying/reposting/translation/plagiarism of my works. Do not steal what I've worked hard to create.

This is fictional work.

#self insert #🥡.takeout #gojo #geto #gojo satoru #geto suguru #choso #choso kamo #fic #jjk #college au #fluff and smut #fluff #smut #crack #??? #how do i even tag this #help #🧍‍♀️ #self indulgent #shoko #shoko ieiri

[sednonamoris]

blood of the covenant

Pairing: John Marston x gn!reader

Summary: Arthur and Abigail make a promise. You and John have a chance to find out what that means for you, if you’re brave enough.

Warnings: Christian religious imagery/blasphemy, strong language, canon-typical substance use and abuse, mild fluff

Word count: 2,432

A/N: Chapter 20, and what a milestone she is!! I hope you all enjoy this one as much as me - it was an absolute joy to write 🥰

Series masterlist • AO3

—

The threat of Pinkertons so close to camp has everyone on edge, especially since the law found you as quickly as it did in Scarlett Meadows. Everyone but Dutch, it seems. You and Arthur both agree that you should’ve moved camp by now, but you haven’t, and life must go on, so the robbing and killing has hardly stopped on that account.

Camp life is business as usual.

Ms. Grimshaw watches over all, holding the girls to a punishing standard. Dutch schemes. Hosea worries. The boys terrorize Valentine’s saloons and homesteads and lonely dirt roads. Pearson takes every opportunity to talk about his Navy days over a daily pot of stew filled with game that Charles brings in. Reverend Swanson oscillates between fits of passion and pain and morphine melancholy. Uncle can be found propped up napping anywhere and everywhere. Sometimes you stick a boot in his ribs as you pass just to make sure he’s still alive.

John, for his part, is consumed entirely by his sheep rustling scheme. He splits his days between Emerald Ranch and Valentine’s stockyards, which is probably for the best because Arthur and Abigail haven’t been shy about playing happy family with Jack. It’s like the tentative truce forged after the train job between brothers is all Arthur needed to open the cracked shell of his heart fully. The way he looks at Abigail - the way she looks at him - tugs at heartstrings you’d thought long-severed. Mrs. Adler watches them from the edge of camp with a wistful look in her burnt-barn eyes, mouth caught between a smile and a snarl. Even Kieran stutters out a comment about how sweet they seem when he’s sure Arthur won’t hear.

Trusting in how peaceful— how happy things have been is hard, but you can’t say you miss the tension and misery from before. It’s… nice. It feels nice.

—

You’re more surprised than you should be when Arthur and Abigail come up to you, eyes bright and cheeks flushed and looking so strikingly young, to tell you they’re getting married. In town. Today.

“We just need a witness,” Arthur says. The asking is implied.

“Can’t you take Mary-Beth? She loves this sort of thing,” you try to deflect, caught between joy and discomfort. “I doubt there’s a church they’d let me in, even.”

It’s not that you aren’t happy for them - you’re thrilled. But to actually go with them and sign documents and make things official in the eyes of the law and the God you’re on such bad terms with? It feels like a lot. It feels a little like a betrayal, still. Your eyes search for some kind of comfort in John’s figure across camp, but it’s in vain. If anything, it reminds you how precarious this joy is. How a selfish part of you wishes to lay claim to more of it.

“We want it to be you,” Abigail smiles.

You shouldn’t.

But her eyes are pleading. You start to wilt under the happiness and hope that shines through them like the sun. “Please, Ghost.”

You’re not sure how anyone’s ever said no to her, the way she blinks up through her lashes and grasps your hand in hers and smiles so sweet. And Arthur is no better. It’s hard to remember a time he’s been so happy. So hopeful. The broadness of his frame has taken on a boyish lightness that wasn’t there even when he was a boy.

Shit.

“Fine,” you finally relent. “I guess I know the Reverend in town.”

The relief and excitement on their faces is almost worth the knot of nerves in your stomach.

—

“My friend!” Reverend Hampton calls out when he spies your approach.

You make to shake his hand but he pulls you in for a hug instead. You return it awkwardly and flash a bashful grin. “Reverend, these are my good friends, Arthur and Abigail. They’d… Well, they’d like to be married today. Can you help us?”

His smile, broad and warm and maybe even a little smug, is all the answer you need.

While he procures the necessary documents the three of you fidget near the altar in an otherwise empty church. Muted rays of midday sun fight their way past cloud cover to reflect greens and reds and golds through stained glass. It paints the French blue of Abigail’s finest dress mosaic, like she’s some kind of Mother Mary that walked right out of a window pane. She alternates between clutching the bouquet of wildflowers that Tilly helped Jack pick to her chest and beaming up at Arthur. He stands stiffly opposite her in a suit that doesn’t quite fit, itching at the collar. His returning smiles are a crooked and genuine show of teeth, like he still can’t believe he made it this far. Like his body has a hard time accommodating happiness this size. He’s spent so long in self-inflicted loneliness.

Maybe you have, too.

All four of you cry and laugh in equal measure when the vows are exchanged. Forever recited back in different shades of blue. Arthur places the ring on Abigail’s finger so delicately it makes your heart ache. He kisses her just as tender, just as careful. You look away and wipe at your tears. The Reverend pronounces them man and wife. Arthur prints his name on the marriage certificate afterwards in careful, elegant script. You both smile encouragingly when Abigail signs her X on the line beside it.

Yours fits just off to the side. You have to stop yourself from signing Ghost.

“You know,” Arthur says to the Reverend as you all turn to leave, “we know a Reverend. He ain’t nothin’ like you.”

Reverend Hampton’s expression manages to be both serene and amused. “Every Shepherd has his flock. I am honored to have been trusted with his today.”

You snort. “Figures you’d say somethin’ like that.”

Arthur and Abigail go on ahead to the wagon hand in hand. It’s impossible to miss, decked out as it is in the tinsel and bells Mary-Beth scrounged up to make it appropriately romantic. You linger a moment longer at the chapel’s threshold with the Reverend.

“Thank you for this,” you say. Your eyes trace the joy on your dear friends’ faces. “Feels like I’m always in your debt.”

“Nonsense, my child. I am in yours. You have brought life and love here - that’s all an old man could wish for. But please,” he says, and turns to squeeze your hands in his, “do not squander this chance at your own happiness.”

You tuck your chin and stare at your boots while embarrassment burns from your chest to your cheeks. “I’ll try.”

He smiles. “That’s all we can ever do in this life. Go in peace.”

—

You drive the wagon home to the sound of hoofbeats and tinkling bells and laughter and love. It starts raining along the way, light and clean. Lances of sunlight beam through the clouds.

—

“Mr. Morgan,” Dutch greets, a shine in his dark eyes. “Mrs. Morgan. We sure are glad to have you back.”

Jack runs up past everyone with shrieking laughter. “You’re so pretty, Momma!”

And she is. A vision in blue, swept up in Arthur’s embrace. He carries her down from the wagon just to hear her laugh.

The girls coo over the ring on her finger while the boys shake Arthur by the shoulder with grins wide enough to swallow him whole. Choruses of that ring is so pretty and you finally grew some balls and I bet the church was nice inside and can’t believe you squeezed into that suit and won’t you spin for us form that familiar symphony of family you’ve come to count on all these years.

John lingers on the periphery of it all, but he makes a point of stepping forward and shaking Arthur’s hand before the dancing starts. He reaches for Abigail’s hands and murmurs something close to congratulations.

“Thank you, John,” Abigail says through shining tears. A little sad. A little overjoyed. A little relieved, even.

Arthur can’t find the right words, but his eyes say it all for him.

“Sure,” John grimaces a smile, “sure. You two… be well. Really.”

They whisk away to the sound of music crackling from Dutch’s gramophone, leaving him beside you with a half-broke heart. John shakes his head at the silent question posed by the tilt of your head, so you settle on the edge of the celebration to watch them whirl in ¾ time. They’re given time enough for a few twirls and dips all their own before the others start to join in.

The rain hasn’t let up. But sometimes it’s good to dance in the rain, and it’s not so damp yet that you can’t light a cigarette. You inhale deep and sigh out smoke before passing it to John without a word. He always ends up bumming off you anyway.

“Was it nice?” he asks through smoke-filled lungs. His gaze never strays from the happy couple.

“Yeah,” you say, then huff half of a laugh. “Made me cry.”

He eyes you without turning away from the dancing. “Really?”

“Really. That goddamn Reverend always gets me… weepy and shit.”

“Easy with the blasphemy, there.” A smile ghosts across his face.

“Or what? I’ll be struck down by lightning?” you scoff. “Be doin’ me a favor. Then I won’t have to listen to you ask about things you don’t wanna know.”

“Shut up,” he says, but he’s smiling now. It’s one of the real ones - one of the rare ones - that goes a little lopsided and softens the sharp flint of his eyes. You’re unreasonably proud of yourself for it.

He turns to face you, now, hesitant. Something about the way he looks at you makes you shift in place. “What?”

“Do you…” he starts awkwardly, clears his throat. Holds out a hand. “Will you dance with me?”

You look at his hand, then at him. It’s hard to hide your smile, so you give up trying. “Long as you don’t step on my feet.”

“Can’t promise that,” he laughs an awkward little laugh as he takes your hand and leads you into the fray.

The song playing now isn’t quite as upbeat, so the tempo is a little easier on his two left feet. You let him lead through the simpler steps and take charge when he falters through the more difficult sequences. It’s a perfect give and take. He even manages not to squash your toes.

“I know this ain’t an easy thing,” you say lowly, so only he can hear you over the music. “Can I ask how you’re feeling now?”

He sighs. “I feel… I don’t know. Fine, I guess. I reckon Abigail was right about—” he cuts himself off there and swallows. His cheeks stain red past the rain. He can’t look you in the eye.

“Right about what?”

“Nothin’. Me and her not bein’ right.”

The song ends, so he spins you out one last time and then you face one another with a bow before melding back into the edge of things. He grabs a beer for each of you from a nearby crate. There’s more there, something you know you’re missing, but you don’t press. Feels like you never do. Instead you clink your bottle to his drink to new beginnings. To things working out the way they’re meant to.

—

The rain clears up just before the sun sets and paints the sky in dewey blues and golds past the few lavender clouds that remain. Silk dresses and wedding bands. Songbird wings and sunshine. Happiness. Hope.

—

Arthur is busy being newly married and tying up loose ends for Strauss, so when the time comes just a few days later John brings you in on his sheep scheme instead. It’s a simple enough thing to scare off the ranchers and take over their wooly charges. You’ve done a bit of farm work here and there, and Moonshine has a real knack for it. Old Boy is less interested in the sheep, but John does a decent job for a man without any real experience.

You run them into Valentine with little trouble.

Trouble comes instead from the foreman at the stockyard who eyes the both of you, scarred and mean, with suspicion. You guess you can’t blame him.

“Fine sheep,” John says. He’s awful proud of himself.

The man shrugs. “They’re alright.”

“You got much better?” you say, but you already know where this is headed.

“I got plenty with less… ambiguity about their provenance.” He makes a point of eyeing your beat up clothes and unconcealed weapons.

“Those are real fancy words, mister. Not sure I take your meaning.”

He doesn’t smile. “I’ll make it simple, then. You give me twenty-five percent kick back and I don’t say nothin’ to nobody.”

“The fuck do you think I look like?” you snarl, stepping up in his face. A scam is a fine idea, but getting scammed yourself? You don’t take kindly to that.

He doesn’t flinch. “I think you look like a low-down criminal, and I know folk swing for rustlin’ ‘round these parts. Twenty-five percent. I won’t say it again.”

You open your mouth to argue but John grabs your shoulder to pull you back and steps forward in your place. “Fifteen.”

“Twenty.”

They haggle back and forth while you stew in your discontent and glare at the other hands until they finally shake on eighteen. You shake as well with a look that could kill, but don’t say another word until you and John make it back to the horses hitched a little ways away.

“Eighteen? Really?”

“Like you could do better. I mean what were you gonna do? Beat him? Kill him? Then what?”

You scoff, but it’s hard to argue his point. “Fine. I guess it’s better than nothin’.”

“You’re damn right it is. This worked out, relax.” He mounts up. “Dutch wanted me to meet him and Arthur at the saloon. I’ll see you at camp?”

“Sure,” you say. “Try not to get so drunk you can’t find your way back. It’s only noon.”

He laughs. “I’ll try. It’s been that kind of week.”

It sure has.

You ride back at an easy lope on a loose rein, enjoying the day and the lightness in your chest that’s been there since the wedding. A bad deal on good sheep feels like nothing at all compared to that. Nothing at all.

By the time the gunfire sounds, you’re too far away to hear it.

#john marston x reader #rdr x reader #rdr2 x reader #ghost story #ch. 20 #fran writes

[mad4turtles]

brave when I have to be (pt 2)

a ROTTMNT future!fic

[PART 1 HERE]

---

Casey is going to die.

Physically, he's no worse for wear. His broken hand is an easy fix between Master Mikey's healing hands and the sling Aunt April fashions to keep it steady against his chest, the cuts he received from Subprime's claws are all stitched up, and the bruises will eventually fade with some ice. 

Mentally, emotionally and spiritually? Casey can feel the noose around his neck, tense and tight as the silence chokes the med bay.

Master Leonardo hasn't said a word. He'd tended to Casey's minor lacerations, but his face was hard and cold. He didn't look Casey in the eye once. And Casey's too afraid to try, so he keeps his head down and doesn't talk. It won't do much to prevent his death, but it might quicken the blow. 

Leonardo puts the equipment away, carefully rolling up the unused bandages and throwing out the bloody tissues. Michelangelo takes Casey's uninjured hand and holds it tight. April is typing something on Uncle Tello's Genius Built vambrace, probably checking in on the soft shell. 

Thinking of how badly his hands shook as he fought for control makes Casey's eyes burn with shame.

Sensei snaps the first-aid box shut and straightens, facing the wall. “Commander.”

Everyone jumps. Aunt April sets her jaw and steps forward. “Sir.”

“Take Casey to my quarters. I'll finish up here. Michelangelo, help Don. It's been over ten minutes, and he hasn't calmed down. He might need assistance.”

Twin senses are something else, Casey thinks in awe.

But Uncle Mikey frowns at Sensei's shell. “Leo—”

“Michael. Go. Help. Don.”

Uncle Mikey's frown deepens, but he lets Casey go with a final hair ruffe before floating off the ground and through the door. Aunt April gives Sensei's shell a look before helping the boy off the bed and herding him out of the med bay with an arm around his shoulders. 

Her grip is tight but not restraining. He could run for it right now. He wouldn't get far, but he could try.

But the look on April's face has him leaning against her instead. He needs it about as much as she does.

They reach Sensei's room—back where it all started—and Casey sits on the bed. It's huge, just like Sensei, and soft as far as old mattresses go with limited resources. 

April rolls her neck and shoulders with a long sigh, hands on her hips. “Damn,” she says with feeling. “What a freakin' day.” 

She looks at Casey, frowning sternly, and the boy wilts under her gaze. She's always been fierce, fearless and wild as his mother, but she's never lost her temper the way she did. Even now, all shades of angry and frightened, her stare doesn't burn through him, but still blisters the skin. 

“Your Sensei's prolly gonna give you hell when he gets here,” she says, “but I'mma give you my two cents real quick. If you ever pull that shit again while I live and breathe, I will slap the caps off your knees.”

Casey believes her. He's seen her do it. “Yes, ma'am,” he squeaks.

April nods. “Good.” Then she leans down to squeeze Casey in a hug. Eyes watering, Casey returns it as best he can with one arm, burying his nose into her shoulder. 

She kisses his cheek. “Love you, baby.”

Casey sniffs. “Love you, too.”

There's a knock at the door, ending the moment swiftly and cruelly as April lets go and straightens. She claps him firmly on the shoulder with a smile that sits like a grimace and says, “Good luck.”

Gee, thanks. I'll write that on my tombstone.

Sensei walks into the room, big and imposing in ways Casey only ever saw in the aftermath of battle. April leaves Casey and gives Sensei a long look on her way past him. There's a conversation in their eyes Casey isn't privy to, a connection a lifetime in the making beyond anything Casey will ever know. 

Whatever April says has Sensei sighing, shoulders drooping. April briefly squeezes his left hand and leaves the room. Sensei shuts the door behind her, and then it's just them. 

Sensei's metal hand clenches the handle tight for a minute. Shoulders climbing to his ears, Casey bites his lip.

Then Sensei faces him, the frown as deep as it was in the med bay but not as cold. He crosses the short distance until he's looming over Casey, folding his arms. 

Casey has never felt so small.

“I don't think it needs to be said, but I'll say it anyway,” Sensei says lowly. “Casey, I am very disappointed in you.”

He isn't yelling, but this feels ten times worse. Casey ducks his head, staring hard at his lap. “I know.”

“See, I don't think you do. You—Jesus, Casey, you could've been killed today!” Sensei's voice climbs as the anger spikes, frustration drawing a hiss from his chest as he pinches the bridge of his snout. “You deliberately disobeyed me! And what's worse, you could've jeopardized the whole team! They had no idea you were there or that you left! What if you blew their cover by sneaking off? What if Subprime called for reinforcements while he hunted you down?! Did you even have a plan? Do you have any idea what you could've done?!”

Casey's eyes fill up and spill over his cheeks. 

“I'm sorry,” he hiccups because his body enjoys betraying him today, making him look and act like the baby they all see him as. At this point, though, he probably deserves it. 

“I just—I just wanted to help. I-I thought I could be a s-scout, spot the danger before it got too close. I didn't mean to get caught. I didn't mean to make trouble or—or hurt Uncle Tello or make you mad.” He scrubs his good arm over his face and only makes more of a mess as he sniffles hard. “'m so sorry, Sensei.”

He can barely see through the tears but watches the fight drain out of the slider. The fire dies, and Sensei sighs long and heavy. He sits on the bed next to Casey, rubbing his left hand over his face wearily. For a moment, he says nothing, Casey's sniffles filling the silence.

“... Casey,” he says softly, still retaining some of that earlier sternness. “I'm... I'm mad, don't get me wrong. Like, I'm freaking livid at what you did. But I don't want to be mad at you because I know you. You wouldn't have done this unless you thought you had a damn good reason. Am I right?”

Hesitantly, Casey nods.

“Thought so. So... Help me understand. Why did you go up there? Did you feel like you had to?”

Casey swallows a sob and nods again. 

Sensei nods back. “Okay. Why?”

“'Cos—“ Casey's voice breaks. He tries again. “'Cos I wanted to show you I was... good enough, y'know? That I'm brave enough, s-strong enough to help everyone up there. To help you so you don't get—get hurt again.”

He tries not to look at the gleaming metal arm and fails. 

Sensei hisses a curse and leans back on the bed. “Knew it,” he mutters. “Freaking Tello, stop being right all the time.” 

He turns back to Casey. Understanding gleams in aged golden eyes. “That's why you were so hell-bent on going up this morning. You want to protect me.”

Finally. 

Casey's eyes fill up again. “Y-Yes. I was just trying—I only wanted to help, Sensei, I promise! Y-You came back but—but you almost didn't, y-you nearly died and—and I can't lose you, too, Sensei, I can't—!”

“Oh, buddy.” 

Sensei—no—Uncle Leo pulls Casey to his chest, pressing his beak into his wild black hair, holding tight, the ever-steady rock for Casey to cling to as he falls apart. “Shh, Casey, it's okay. You're okay, just breathe. Easy, hijo, easy. I'm here. I've got you.”

And with that, Casey gathers all the fear, frustration, anxiety, love and grief of the day and sobs his heart out. Uncle Leo churrs, a soothing rumble deep in his chest that sometimes reminds him of Uncle Raph, but still every inch his Sensei.

(Another word that sits heavy on his tongue, ready and aching to be spoken. He doesn't say it. He needs to take back what he did say first.)

The sobs eventually die into sniffles. Uncle Leo pulls Casey closer, left hand carding through his hair. He swallows hard and then sighs. “You have your mother's spirit for sure. Always looking for a fight—for what you believe in or just for the sake of it. Or to protect the ones you love.”

He draws back to meet Casey's eyes. He lifts the tip of his blue scarf to dab the tears off Casey's blotchy face just like he used to. He almost loses it all over again. 

“But she learned something—we both did—that we can't always fight our way through everything,” he continues sombrely. “Sometimes we can't fight, no matter how strong, smart or brave we are. Sometimes it's better to stay low, wait, and hone your skills. Helping in little ways that might not seem important but mean everything when the time comes. Trust me, Case. You do more for us than you even know.”

Casey stares into his Uncle's eyes and almost searches for a lie. He knows better, though, so he doesn't.

As if reading his mind, Leo smirks. “I wouldn't joke about something like that, bud. As for the whole 'protecting' situation, you don't have to do that. And you sure as hell don't have to go looking for trouble to prove anything to me or yourself. That's not what being strong or brave is about.”

Okay. Casey gets some of that, but—“What about you?”

“Eh?”

Casey swipes his arm under his nose, ignoring the snot on his sleeve. “You go up looking for fights every day.”

Leo sweats. “Uhh, it's—it's not quite like that—”

“And you're the strongest, greatest ninja the world's ever seen.”

“Gee, that's not gonna inflate my ego or anything, thought I left that shit behind—”

“And you're not scared of anything!”

Leo pauses. His eyes grow distant as he stares at his lap. Casey watches. Had he said something wrong...?

“I was today.”

Casey blinks. 

He'd known Uncle Tello and Mike were scared—they wear their hearts on their sleeves, just in different fashions, much like Auntie April shows her worry with threats followed closely by rough but warm affection. But he hadn't thought...

“You—you were?”

Leo turns. He looks right at Casey like he holds the moon, sun and stars in his eyes. “Yeah.” 

He reaches for Casey's shoulder and pulls him close enough to press their foreheads together. The slider shuts his eyes and clenches his jaw. 

“I thought I might lose you,” he says. “You're all we have left, Case. You're the reason we're doing any of this. You're the reason I'm brave. Don't know what the hell I'd do without you, hijo.”

Oh. 

Oh holy shit.

Casey's chest feels warm and full, like a boiling mountain ready to burst. His eyes sting enough to hurt, but the grin across his face hurts more it's so big. It's a good hurt, though. He hasn't had many of those.

“Oh,” he chokes. Then he giggles, a little hysterical, and nuzzles his forehead against Leo's to bring a chuckle out of him before they draw back. Casey sniffs messily. “Guess even great ninjas get scared, huh?”

“Oh yeah,” Leo huffs, swiping a thumb under his damp eye—like Casey wouldn't notice. “Like you wouldn't believe.” 

Still riding the giddy high, Casey snickers. “Y'know what, though?” he whispers, despite them being the only ones in the room.

Still, Leo leans in and whispers back, “What?”

“I think Subprime was even more scared. I mean, if Krang could piss themselves—”

Leo throws his head back with a startled bark of laughter. “Jesus, kid—!”

“Am I wrong?” Casey cackles, kicking his feet. “I mean, what you did was sick—in more ways than one—and he deserved it! An eye for an arm! That's what he gets for messing with my Dad—!”

Leo stops laughing. Casey's eyes pop wide open. They stare at each other.

Casey sweats. 

Too much, too soon, too far. 

But then Leo smiles, wide and delighted, eyes brighter than Casey has ever seen them. “... Hell yeah,” he says. “And that bastard had to learn not to mess with my son.”

Son. Casey could dance. 

But then Leo's smile becomes a sly grin, his right arm slowly moving around Casey. “And you're right. He had it coming. 'Cos nobody messes with your Dad. C'mere, you!”

“Oh no—!” 

He snatches Casey up, pulling him into his lap and driving his knuckles into Casey's scalp. It hurts like a bitch but Casey's laughing as he squirms and wriggles in the slider's metal grasp.

“AH! Nonononono—ow, Sen—Dad, stoppit—!” Casey giggles.

“Absolutely not!” Leo cackles. “And don't think you're off the hook just because you called me 'Dad' and we had a whole heart-to-heart thing! Your ass is still grounded—for three months!”

“What?!”

“You heard me! You are not getting out of this by being cute—oh shit—!” 

Casey wriggles enough to dig two fingers under Leo's chin, making his partially retreat into his shell long enough to loosen his grip and let Casey scramble free, grinning manically. “Gotcha!” he hollers, leaping on top of the turtle right as his head pops back out, attempting to put him in a lock with one arm.

“Ohoho, you wanna get nuts? Let's get nuts!” 

Leo jumps off the bed, Casey bundled in his arms and shrieking with shock and delight when the turtle manhandles him until he's upside down, legs kicking wildly in the air as Leo hugs him around the waist and spins. “Now, who's got who you little shit?!”

“I'm gonna puke!” cries Casey, the blood rushing to his face. “Mercy, mercy, white flag, I surrender—Sensei, my arm!”

Leo chuckles, gently tossing a breathless Casey back onto the bed. He heaves a long sigh, a smile stretched wide across his beak. “Alright, alright. But seriously, three months; for dissing me earlier, for leaving, and scaring the utter shit out of all of us.” He sits down next to Casey, his smile falling a few inches. “Especially me.”

(Casey thinks of how he'd snarled at Subprime before he'd gauged his eye out, how he'd been taut as a stretched copper spring from the moment they returned until the second he had Casey in his arms, and believes it.

Fear and worry take many forms. His Sensei's is an inferno, tamed to a candle for those he loves as their guiding light. For Casey, it's a supernova, barely contained, until the boy looks his way, holds his hand or smiles—all that's left are embers, gentle and warm like a campfire to protect him against the dark and the wild of a ruined world.

His love fuels his fear, and vice versa. It's a vicious cycle Casey won't fully understand. But he won't forget it as long as he lives.)

Sobering up, Casey flops against the pillow and sighs. “Yeah. I know. And I really am sorry.”

“I know you are.”

“Not just for leaving, but... for everything I said before. I didn't mean it and I shouldn't have said it. I won't do it again.”

“I know you won't.”

“No, really, I mean it!”

“I know you do.” 

Casey pouts. “How do you know?”

Leo smiles, leaning over to chuck Casey under his chin affectionately. “'Cause you take after me. So much that it's scary, honestly. So I know you did what you thought you had to, and I know you won't do it again now that you've seen where you went wrong.”

… huh. 

“So you're saying, like father like—?”

“Don't finish that sentence.” 

“W-why?”

“Nothing against you, just. Meta humour.”

“What are you actually talking about.”

“Don't worry about it. Let's just get you back to your room to rest.” Leo stands up and stretches until bones pop in his back and remaining arm. “We can iron out the details of your three months when we're not both keyed up and—”

“A-Actually...”

Leo looks at Casey over his shoulder. “Hm?”

Casey stays where he is, twisting his fingers in a show of nerves he's yet to curb. “... can I... um...?” He shrinks back a little, face burning. It's so stupid, bonding moment or not. “...can I stay here tonight? I mean, it was my fault, I know, but I'm... just...”

Leo softens immediately. “Ah. Still freaked out?”

“I think I'll dream of being chased through the sewers for the rest of my life.”

“I would say that's a good incentive not to do that again, but I won't lie, it'll probably happen again.”

“You are not helping me feel better.”

“Then scoot your tiny ass over so I can sleep already, damn.”

Relieved and scolding himself for ever doubting at all, Casey snickers and obediently shuffles across the bed to the wall, ducking under the blanket as Leo removes his gear, scarf, and mask and carefully detaching his mechanical arm, setting it on the long desk to charge in the port Uncle Tello made for him. 

Then he lifts the blanket and falls gracelessly into bed, deliberately bouncing Casey to make him yelp. “Jerk,” Casey giggles.

“Brat,” Leo retorts with a yawn. He pulls Casey closer with his left arm and shuts his eyes. “Now shut up and go to sleep, or it's five months.”

Casey snuggles against his plastron. It should be uncomfortable, but to him, it might as well be a second pillow. The steady heartbeat under his ear is a lullaby, and his eyes droop as the day finally catches up to him. 

He closes his eyes. “Aishiteruyo, otōsan.”

He feels Leo stiffen. His heart stutters beneath Casey's ear.

Then—“Heh...” he chuckles wetly. He drops a kiss into Casey's hair. “Te quiero, hijo.”

In the safety of the underground, under the watchful eyes of his family (in whatever form they may take), Casey feels safe. Warm. Loved.

There's no need for bravery here. In his father's arms, he doesn't have to be.

Casey falls asleep with a smile.

---

Thanks for reading! Reblogs are much appreciated!

Feel free to send me more requests! <3 <3

#rottmnt #rottmnt fic #casey jones jr #future au #future leo #leo is casey's dad and I WILL DIE ON THIS HILL LIKE GRAM GRAM #my writing #reblogs are appreciated

[starlight-shades]

Called Home to the Depths of the Forest Ch. 9

• summary – Johnny gets arrested (x2)

• rating – M

• wordcount – 4.3k

• warnings – mentions of previous character deaths, corrupt cop

• This is my first fanfic, so please let me know if there's anything I forgot to tag. Feedback is welcome and encouraged

Read on Ao3

Ch. 1 Ch. 8 Ch 10.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

He allowed the steady beat of the hammer to lull his mind into a sort of static. 

Ghost wasn’t thinking about anything. No. That had been all he did last night instead of sleeping. Today, he was working. Today was for making Ailsa and Duncan feel safe again, for keeping them fed and safe and happy. 

Price and Gaz had been a godsend in that regard. The gryphon had returned some time in the night and the two of them had helped him. There was no mention of Johnny. Simon didn’t ask.

Currently, Price was half-shifted with his wings out, and he and a fully shifted Gaz were tossing a squealing Ailsa through the air. 

They were high enough off the ground that it made Simon nervous, but everyone involved had reassured him that no, no one was going to fall, and even if they did, it wasn’t high enough to hurt. He had only agreed after they dragged the extra mattress outside to serve as a landing pad. Duncan had made a game of being dropped onto it from the air only to bounce when he landed. 

“My turn!” he announced. It made Simon smile. This game had been the first time he had noticed Duncan having so much fun that it brought him out of his shell. Even when he got excited about various insects to show Simon, he was quiet. He showed his emotion where his sister shouted hers. 

“I want to keep going!” Ailsa protested.

“We’re taking turns, darling,” Price reprimanded gently as Gaz swooped down to scoop up Duncan. “How about you give the mattress a jump?”

“Fine!”

With the sounds of happy children in his periphery, Ghost continued to hammer away at the cabin extension. He had finished the foundation the week before, and now he was beginning to erect the frame of it. 

When he was finished, there would be three additional rooms. They were all slightly larger than his own bedroom. He was still debating if he was going to add a second bathroom for when the pups were older. That might be a project to put off for a later date. 

Besides, the one bathroom was working fine for the four of them. Or would it be three of them?

No. He was not thinking about it.

Something startled the shifters playing below him.

“Simon!” Ailsa yelled. “The phone!”

He chuckled. It was probably Laswell letting him know she was coming. 

“Did you hear that from all the way out here?” Simon asked, smiling softly at her as he climbed down from where he was perched. Something twinged at the motion, reminding him that he got up to some vigorous activities the day before.

Both she and Duncan barreled over to him, clinging to his legs.

“I heard it too,” Duncan insisted, not one to be left out.

“What big ears you have,” he teased, picking him up and propping him on his hip while he ruffled Ailsa’s hair with his free hand.

“No, silly, it’s because we’re wolves,” she argued.

He could hear the ringing as he approached the door, moving swiftly so he could catch Kate before she got the answering machine he was half certain he had set up.

When he picked up the phone, he skipped the greeting and said “So when are you getting here?”

“Hey, Si…”

It was not Laswell.

Simon signed his name on the last of the forms as he waited for one of the uniformed officers to bring Johnny out.

Arrested. He scoffed. So that’s where he had been.

Before he left the house, he had finally asked Gaz about the night before.

“We ran together for a bit before he said he needed to be alone to sort some things out. I thought he was just gonna have a think, not do something stupid!” Gaz had said, defending himself against Price’s dour look. 

“It’s Soap. You didn’t think he was going to do something stupid? When his pups and his… Simon are involved?”

He hadn’t stayed to hear the rest of the conversation.

The police station in town was small. He recognized most of the people working there even if he didn’t know them by name. They apparently knew him, though. And Johnny.

“Alright, Mr. Riley, Mr. MacTavish will be out in just a minute,” the receptionist said when he handed her the pile of completed forms. 

He hadn’t introduced himself.

Tension crept its way into his shoulders, leaving them high and tight. He had to deliberately relax them to adopt the appearance of nonchalance. Didn’t want to draw any more attention than necessary.

Soon enough, Johnny appeared through the doorway that led deeper into the station. He looked disheveled, like he hadn’t slept. His hair, which was normally tousled, was unkempt with flyaways going in every direction. There were deep purple bags under his eyes. The button-down he had worn for their date was wrinkled worse than it had been when they got back to the cabin. There were some stains that he couldn’t identify sprayed across it as well. One that looked suspiciously like blood.

“Simon,” he breathed. The expression on his face was a cross between embarrassed and relieved. 

Without saying anything, Ghost turned around and left the building, unsurprised when he heard footsteps behind him. They walked in silence to the car, but as soon as they were inside, it was broken.

“Si, I can explain—“ Johnny started. 

“We moved too fast,” Ghost cut him off. 

“What?” 

He sounded confused. Simon couldn’t bring himself to look.

“We moved too fast,” he repeated. “It was irresponsible. We have Duncan and Ailsa to think about.”

“What are you saying?” There was a hitch in his voice. “If this is because of last night, I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have said what I said. It was uncalled for, I was just frustrated!”

“John.”

There was a pause before Johnny launched back into desperately trying to get him to understand. “I wasn’t going to do anything, I was just watching Collins! The bastard wouldn’t leave us alone, so I wanted to see how he liked it. He was at the pub, so I had a few drinks, I wasn’t even drunk!”

“You were arrested for drunk and disorderly!” he yelled, finally raising his voice. Calming slightly, he spoke again. “You were arrested, John, for being drunk and getting into a fight.”

“I know, and I’m sorry. I can’t guarantee it won’t happen again because I will always defend my pack—“

“What am I supposed to say to the children? They heard the phone call, they know you were arrested. What kind of example are we supposed to set for them?” Ghost’s voice was low, serious.

“I’m sure they’ll understand if I explain—“

“They’ll understand what? That going out of their way to fight humans in public is okay? As long as they’re ‘protecting their pack?’ They’re five! Except now you’ve drawn more attention! You accuse me of not doing anything, but this is exactly what I was trying to avoid!” 

“Si, will you just look at me?”

He turned the key in the ignition without acknowledging the question. The rumble of the engine as he pulled out of the parking lot was the only sound for several minutes.

“My priority is and always will be Duncan and Ailsa. The best way I know to keep them safe is to keep them away from everything. The less anyone knows about them, the better.”

“I’m sorry,” Johnny murmured. “Please look at me, Simon.”

“I shouldn’t have let my personal feelings compromise that,” Ghost continued, still ignoring Johnny.

“Please don’t do this,” he begged. Simon had never heard him sound so small.

“I still need your help with the children. They need to know how to be wolves. But you and I, we’re done.”

“Aye… okay…”

He allowed himself one small glance over at the passenger seat. 

Johnny was leaned back into the headrest with his eyes closed, silent tears streaming down his face. He looked utterly exhausted. 

They had nothing more to say to each other for the rest of the drive back to the cabin. 

Simon refused to identify the pain he was feeling as heartbreak. 

Duncan and Ailsa were still in their human-shape when they arrived home. 

They eased the hurt in the way that children do so easily with their joy.

“Johnny!” Ailsa squealed, barreling past him to jump into Johnny’s arms.

He caught her easily, spinning her around once before setting her back on her feet.

“Hey there bonnie girl,” he chuckled. Simon could see his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

As Duncan came over, Simon scooped him up and propped him on his hip. The boy nuzzled his face into Simon’s neck before he turned to look at Johnny.

“Hi, Johnny. What’s arrested?”

So they were going to get right into it. 

Simon raised a brow at Price and Gaz who gave him sheepish looks. When Johnny looked at him beseechingly, he just stared back.

“Uh, well. I broke the rules, so the police took me to jail for the night, like a time-out…” He stumbled his way through an explanation when it was clear he would not be getting any help from the other adults in the room. 

“The mean man who keeps asking questions?” Ailsa asked, reaching up for Johnny to pick her up again. 

“Yeah…” It was clear he didn’t know how to answer her. 

Taking pity on him, Price spoke up.

“Ailsa, love, why don’t you show them the picture you did?”

She visibly brightened and squirmed her way out of Johnny’s arms, racing over to the kitchen table which was covered in crayons, colored pencils, and markers. Ailsa snatched up the open sketchbook on the table, and ran back. She paused before she showed them her drawing. Her gaze was trained on the floor in an unexpected display of shyness. 

“Um, well, I drew us, our pack,” she explained, turning the sketchbook around so Simon and Johnny could see. 

There, as little stick figures, were six shapes in the center of the page. There were two blobs in the middle with triangle shaped ears. One one side were two figures with wings, holding hands. They both had what appeared to be hats. On the other side were two more figures. One sort of squarish while the other was lankier with two triangles on the head. 

“That one’s me,” Duncan said quietly, pointing to a vaguely wolf-shaped blob in the middle of the page. 

“I could tell,” Johnny hummed. “This is very good, Ailsa. I like how you gave me my wolf ears.”

She giggled and blushed. “Simon’s not a wolf, so he has regular ears, see?” Her little finger pointed to the rather comically large ears she had put on the square figure with yellow hair.

“I like the faces you drew on the clouds,” Simon added. 

Both Ailsa and Duncan’s smiles faded.

“That’s Mummy and Da. They’re up in the sky now,” she explained. 

“I’m sure they’d love your drawing too, darling,” Simon told her, gathering her close and kissing the top of her head. “What do you say we put this up somewhere?”

She smiled again at that, nodding eagerly before running off to find the perfect spot. 

“Did you do anything fun, Bug?” he asked, craning his neck to look at the child in his arms. 

He gave him a secret sort of smile and nodded. 

“Yeah? What did you do?” Johnny pushed gently.

“We read some books, didn’t we?” Gaz provided, coming close to ruffle Duncan’s hair. “We read ‘A Very Hungry Caterpillar,’ on account of the caterpillar.”

“I liked it,” Duncan whispered to Simon, “But I like when we read at bedtime better.”

“That’s cuz Gaz isn’t very good at reading,” Johnny mock-whispered, nudging Gaz with his elbow. 

“Oi! I can read perfectly well, thank you very much!” he protested, shoving Johnny right back. 

“Well tell that to the five-year-old who says Si is better,” he laughed, looking up and meeting Simon’s eyes before his grin fell away.

They stared at each other for a moment, letting all the what-ifs sink into the space between them. The children looked at one, then the other. The silence was definitely awkward.

He cleared his throat and set Duncan back on his feet. 

“I’ll uh, get started on dinner,” he muttered, escaping to the kitchen. 

“Si…” Johnny started, but Ghost just brushed past him. 

It’s quieter in the kitchen. Price and Gaz stay out with the pups and Johnny in the living room. 

Simon goes through the motions, ignoring every echo of a memory when he does something that Johnny taught him. It helps that he’s making so much more food than usual. Though it’s not the first time Gaz and Price have stayed for dinner, and he’s grateful that by now he’s mostly figured out the right amount to make. 

There’s a lull when he sticks the roast in the oven. He’s not entirely sure what to do with himself. He can hear Ailsa laughing in the other room, and after a moment Duncan’s quieter giggles, but he’s deliberately got his back turned.

When a hand touches his shoulder, he startles, whipping around and twisting the offending arm backwards.

“Just me!” Price announces a moment too late. He winces when Simon let’s go of his arm.

“Sorry.”

“No, I shouldn’t have snuck up on you,” he said, shaking his hand out. “You’ve got good reflexes there.”

He grunted, moving towards the cabinet where he kept the liquor. This seemed like the evening to have a drink. Simon looked back at where Price had settled back against the counter and held up the bottle of whiskey in a silent offer. 

“Yeah, I could do with a glass.”

Between them, the only sound was from the ice clinking in the glasses and the slosh of alcohol. Wordlessly, Price accepted the tumbler from Simon. They stood on opposite sides of the kitchen, sipping at their drinks while waiting for the other to be the first to break the silence. 

With a sigh, Simon decided it would have to be him. He didn’t have the energy to beat around the bush. 

“Is this where you tell me to give him another chance?” Simon gave him a droll look. 

“No,” Price admitted, surprising him. “I wanted to make sure you knew that no matter what happens with you and Soap, Gaz and I’ll always be here for you and the little ones. You’re pack now.”

“Oh,” he breathed, letting his shoulders fall back. “Thanks.”

“I will say one thing on Soap, though.”

Simon tossed back the rest of his glass in one go, letting the burn of the liquor brace him. 

“John’s a good man. Can be an idiot, but the boy’s as loyal as they come. I hope he does right by you, Simon.”

He tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling. The burn behind his eyes was from the liquor, not tears, he told himself. When Price took his drink and left the kitchen, he was nothing but grateful. 

“Why don’t we go outside for a bit? I bet I could find a few flames in me,” he heard him say, gathering everyone so Simon could be alone.

So he could cry in peace. 

That’s the thing that got him. No matter how many times he was reminded that it was the people he trusted who could hurt him the most, it still hurt when he pushed them away. He couldn’t win.

Simon sank to the floor, clutching his empty glass to his chest and let silent sobs wrack his body. 

He would do it again, he told himself. No price was too high to keep those children safe. Even his own broken heart.

The next few days were awkward. Simon and Johnny no longer shared the bed with the pups. It was one or the other again. If it wasn’t about Duncan and Ailsa and their care, they didn’t speak to each other. When it was the two of them alone in a room, Simon quickly left. 

There were a few times when Johnny had tried to speak to him, but Simon shut him down every time. 

Duncan was the first to pick up that something was very different. He sat on the ground, watching Simon measure out where the door should go from the main cabin into the extension. 

“Simon?”

“Yeah, Bug?” 

“Are you mad at Johnny?”

Oh.

He sighed. “Um, yeah. I’m not very happy with him right now.”

“Oh.”

Simon looked back at Duncan who was quietly shredding a blade of grass. When he felt Simon’s gaze on him, he paused and looked up.

“Are you mad at me?”

He immediately dropped the measuring tape and got to his knees, gathering the boy in his arms. Duncan very quickly settled into his favorite position with his face tucked in Simon’s neck.

“Oh no, Bug, I’m not mad at you. Whatever happens between me and Johnny will never change how I feel about you.” He stroked Duncan’s hair, pushing some of the longer pieces out of his face. “Okay?”

The boy nodded. 

Ailsa was less tactful in her questioning. Simon was sitting with her as she drew in her sketchbook. 

“Does this mean you and Johnny aren’t married anymore?”

He choked on his saliva, coughing a few times. 

“Umm, no,” he started. “Johnny and I were never married.”

That confused her. She paused what she was doing, her face scrunching up in an expression he should not find as cute as he did. 

“But you live together. And you smell is all mixed up together like Mummy and Da’s.”

“Yes, but he moved in when you and Duncan started living here,” he tried to explain, choosing to ignore the comment about their smell. Sometimes he forgot about the heightened senses. Simon didn’t believe in lying to children, but he also wasn’t sure how much to tell her. 

“Where did he live before?”

“With Price and Gaz.”

“But Price and Gaz are married. Does that mean Johnny was married to them?”

He had to stop himself from chuckling. “No, love. Just because adults live together doesn’t mean they’re married.”

“Oh.” 

She then went right back to her coloring, leaving Simon feeling like he just went a round in a boxing ring.

When the time came for Simon to go down to the police station for his appointment with D.C. Collins, things were still very strained. 

“I don’t know how long I’ll be,” he said as he shrugged on his jacket. 

Johnny nodded. He had the look of a kicked puppy these days. Simon found it distracting.

“If the phone rings while I’m gone, it’s probably Laswell. She should be coming any day. You can tell her where I am. If it’s anyone else, take down their information then hang up.”

“Aye.”

Simon ducked down to kiss each of the pups goodbye. They were in their wolf-shape today. 

“Be good. I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

The drive to the station was uneventful and soon enough he found himself in front of one of the more unpleasant people he had ever met. 

“D.C. Collins interviewing Mister Simon Riley,” Collins spoke into the machine recording their conversation.

They sat in an interrogation room. The chairs were uncomfortable. Stainless steel. So was the table they sat at. 

As Collins flipped through the file in front of him, Simon glanced at the metal ring welded to the table. It was used to thread handcuffs to to keep subjects’ hands visible. His eyes flicked around the room. There was a disturbing amount of familiarity to it. Ghost catalogued every item he could see, picturing in his head how he would use it to break Collins.

“Simon Riley, age forty-three. Single it says on your taxes.” Collins looked up at him as if to confirm. 

He nodded. Ghost was very familiar with the file on the table and all the lies it was filled with. It was blank in a lot of places too. It had been a rush job when he retired. He hadn’t wanted to spend too much time on it.

“If you could speak your answers out loud for the recording,” he said, sounding annoyed. 

So there was no video. Good information to have. 

“I’m not married.”

Collins nodded. “There’s very little in your file on your background. No work history.” His eyes narrowed.

Ghost shrugged. “Should I be flattered you’ve spent so much time looking into me?”

“How long have you lived in the area?” 

“Six years or so.”

“And where were you before that?” he pushed.

“I’m not at liberty to say.” 

Collins barked out something that resembled a laugh. “You’re not at liberty to say…” he repeated. “Well can you tell me where you were on March 14th?”

Ghost settled back in his seat. This man was an amateur. “As I said before, I don’t keep a diary.”

Collins mirrored him, leaning back. “So you don’t have an alibi.”

He didn’t say anything, just waited for him to get to his next question. 

“Your file says here you’re an only child—”

While he knew it was in there, Simon did not expect the pit in his gut at the words.

“So you’re unfamiliar with the bond between brothers,” Collins continued, his voice hard and low. “Let me educate you, Mr. Riley. My brother and I? We were as thick as thieves. He was my best friend. Jeff would do anything for me, and I would do anything for him. So when he didn’t call like he said he would, I was surprised. He was supposed to come back from his trip and see me on his way home. But as I’m sure you’re aware, he never did.” 

He whipped out a second folder, slapping three photos on the table, one of each of the hunters. Collins tapped so hard on the first one that it was a wonder he didn’t break his own finger. 

“So you look at these men, and you tell me again you don’t know where you were on March 14th.”

Ghost had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. 

“Like I said, I couldn’t tell you.”

The other man did his best to stare him down. 

He leaned forward, and tried a different line of questioning. 

“What is your relationship to the children in your care?”

“They’re under my guardianship.” Simon hoped Laswell had gotten all the paperwork properly filed in time.

“You’ve adopted them?”

“It’s in the works.”

“How did they come into your care?” Collins was far too curious about the children.

“I’m not sure how this is relevant, Detective Constable.”

“Humor me.”

“I don’t think I will. If you’d like to continue this conversation, I will require my legal counsel be present.”

“Hmmm,” Collins hummed, staring him down.

When Ghost didn’t budge, he glanced down at his watch. Whatever he saw had him smirking. Simon did not like that.

“Interview concluded,” Collins said into the recording device before shutting it off. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Riley.” 

The smile on his face left Simon feeling uneasy. 

As he was escorted to the lobby of the police station, the sinking feeling in his gut plummeted even further. 

“Simon!”

“Johnny!” 

What was he doing here? Why was he in handcuffs? Where were they taking him?

“They let me call Price and Gaz. They’re on their way to the cabin for the pups,” he called, tugging his wrists away from the officer leading him towards the back. 

“Don’t say anything, Johnny, I’ll get you out!” 

Despite being rather roughly hauled away in handcuffs, the look on Johnny’s face had been rather soft when he looked at Simon. 

He hurried over to the receptionist’s desk. 

“Is there a phone I could use?”

She directed him over to a phone that was hooked up off to the side. Quickly, he plugged in the number for his own landline. 

He cursed as he heard it ringing. Again and again. Just when he thought no one would pick up, he was answered.

“Hello?”

“Gaz,” he breathed. “They’ve just brought Johnny in in cuffs.”

“Shit. Me and Price are with the little ones, but we have a guest staying over, and she insisted on coming. I’m sorry, Simon, we didn’t have time to stop her,” he rushed out.

“Do you trust her?” His knuckles were white where he gripped the phone.

“I—“ Gaz was cut off.

“Simon Riley.”

His breath rushed from him in utter relief. “Kate.”

“We’re on our way. Stay put. See if you can get in to see John.”

He exhaled. There was a mission now. He could focus on that.

Hanging up the phone, he turned back to the receptionist. He should really ask her name at this point considering he had spent so much time with her that week.

“What’s the process for getting in to see someone in custody?” he asked without preamble. Simon didn’t quite have it in him to be charming at the moment. 

“Well, um, visiting hours will be over by the time Mr. MacTavish is processed, so you’d have to wait for tomorrow,” she explained. 

“Is there any way I could see him today?” 

She pursed her lips. “Well not unless you commit a crime yourself,” she laughed nervously, glancing back in the direction the officer had taken Johnny. 

“Okay, thank you,” he said. Simon wouldn’t take his frustration out on her, it wasn’t her fault. 

Looking around, he tried to find something he could use. There was a glass paperweight on the receptionist’s desk. He grabbed it.

“Does this have any sentimental value?” Ghost asked her.

“Well, no, but—“

Before she could finish protesting, he threw it as hard as he could to the ground. It shattered, sending glass flying everywhere. 

A uniformed policewoman came running to the front looking rather frazzled.

“What happened?”

Ghost raised his hand. “That counts as destruction of property, right?”

#soapghost #fic #my writing #cod fic #ghostsoap #werewolf soap #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley

[punkeccentricenigma]

!!HALLOWEEN SPECIAL!!

Relationship status: Platonic

Reader prounouns: They/Them

Words: 1565

TW: Mentioned Leo x Usagi ship, Kinda crack fanfic, Some grammatical errors because english is not my first language.

A/N: Happy Halloween, my dear ones! I wanted to write a special oneshot for this day, even though I personally don't celebrate this holiday. Poland is a 'Catholic' country, so such parties are not widely welcomed on a larger scale here. But that's nothing; I hope you'll like it, as I was in a bit of a hurry while writing this. Enjoy!

"Donnie, did you really have to order so many of these packages?" Donatello's sharp black eyebrows raised as he glanced over his shoulder at the red-headed turtle leaning against the mentioned items.

"Oh, Nardo, do you have to breathe?" Soft-shell responded with a shrug, continuing to type rapidly on the keyboard. "Of course! That's going to be the theme of my Halloween stream today—unboxing mystery boxes." Donnie's gaze returned to the screen in front of him as he organized all the tabs in OBS to avoid unnecessary issues.

"Wait, a stream?" Raph grabbed attention, setting down larger packages on the floor. "How do you even envision this, Donnie?" His tone suggested less than enthusiastic approval.

The genius's eyes started to sparkle as he began to gesture. "So, first, I'll greet the viewers with very enthusiastic manners, I have everything rehearsed. Then, I'll present today's plan with an intelligent joke, and after that...!"

"No, no, wait! That's not what I meant!" The red enthusiast furrowed his brow, shaking his head in disagreement. “What about ‘this whole situation’??” Donatello sighed in annoyance, rolling his eyes when his older brother made a characteristic hand gesture.

"My dear spiky brother, there's such a thing as 3D avatars used in VR, or Vtubers with other enhancements, so it's not a problem," Donatello declared, crossing his muscular arms. Sometimes he got frustrated with the lack of internet culture knowledge from those close to him. "Besides, it's Halloween today! No one will question the fact that giant mutated turtles are walking across the screen."

"Well, kind of right." Raphael slightly embarrassed himself, adjusting his arm from behind his neck. Suddenly, Mikey emerged from behind him, holding a small package.

"Oh, oh! Will you tell about my Tumblr!? I've been losing followers lately," the youngest of the brothers asked, throwing the object directly at the purple lover, who barely caught it.

"Yeah, yeah, maybe someday." Donatello mumbled, throwing the item at Leonardo, who took a hit on the head, letting out a soft 'ouch.' "Okay, get ready, it's about to hit six pm," he reminded his brothers, returning to his computer.

The atmosphere in Donatello's room was filled with movement as the sound of rustling cardboard boxes filled the air. Occasionally, the silence was interrupted by April's distant but loud voice as she entered the room with Sunita and [Y.N].

"Yo, guys!" April called out, her voice resonating in the room. "Wow, that's a lot of packages!"

The turtles looked at them in harmony, noticing their unusual costumes. April was dressed as a pirate, probably based on Captain Sparrow with feminine additions; Sunita, despite being in her original Yokai form, had an outfit reminiscent of Rosalina from the Mario series. And [Y.N]? Just plain white rabbit ears on their head.

"Not too much, is it?" The rabbit teenager added, nudging one of the packages to get through.

"I'm not starting that topic again," Soft-shell announced with a quiet sigh.

"But it might take ages to unpack them, and we wanted to go trick-or-treating today!" [Y.N] observed, standing next to Leonardo, who wanted to touch their hair accessory. Of course, the teenager hit his three-fingered hand. "Your boyfriend has the same, if not better."

"He's not my boyfriend!" His voice was sharp, but a moment later, a malicious smile appeared on his lips. "...Yet."

"I want to be invited to your wedding," [Y.N] winked with a smirk, lightly elbowing the center of his plastron.

"Okay, we're starting, everyone take your seats!"

And so the stream began, initiated just as Donatello had tried to explain earlier.

"...So, moving on to the first package, Leo, catch!" Leonardo's dark eyes narrowed as he saw another incoming package, so out of reflex, he pulled out his sword from the sheath and impaled the cardboard on the blade.

"Oops?"

"LEO, YOU IDIOT, I TOLD YOU TO LEAVE YOUR WEAPONS IN YOUR ROOMS!!"

"MAYBE IF YOU DIDN'T THROW STUFF AT ME RANDOMLY, I WOULDN'T FEEL THREATENED IN THIS PLACE!"

"And here we go again..."

Fortunately, there was nothing more valuable in this box than simple fabric hairbands used for makeup.

"Do you think there will be anything cool, D? Like the latest iPad, or at least good coffee?" [Y.N] asked, handing a small, fluffy package to Donatello.

"I hope so because I spent over 4 thousand dollars on this palette!"

"WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO, DONATELLO??"

□□□□□□□□

"Aww, this little octopus is so cute!" Sunita declared as she unwrapped a small blue octopus from the foil. "But why does it look so sad?"

"Oh, oh! Wait, I'll show you something!" Michelangelo tossed the camera up (which Raph caught at the last moment), practically jumping to the sitting girl on the floor. With a nimble move, he took the plush from her and turned the material to the other side, revealing a pink octopus, this time smiling.

Sunita's eyes sparkled, and she easily hugged the toy.

"Okay, viewers, if anyone wants this plush, message me on...!"

"I want it!"

"But...!"

"Please, D!" The charming Yokai's voice caused a slight panic on Donnie's part, who couldn't maintain eye contact with the girl.

Finally, he sighed heavily, turning towards the camera. "Okay, take it," he said quietly, glancing at the chat from the corner of his eye. "Sorry, viewers, content creators' friends come first!"

□□□□□□□□

"Hey, hey, people!" Leonardo started, almost sinking into colorful styrofoam as he tried to reach for something. Finally, he raised his arms, revealing a costume based on the character Lou Jitsu.

"Woah!"

"I'm taking this!" The high-pitched voice of the red-faced turtle woke his brothers from admiration.

"Hey hey! That's not fair, Leo!" Raphael was visibly displeased. "You had such a costume when you were at Big Mama's!"

"Hahaha! But this is a limited edition~!" Nardo replied with a malicious smile, pointing with his hand at the entire suit, then putting on his distinctive glasses. "So, no, no defeat!" And so he began to escape from the Laboratory amidst the protests of his brothers. The remaining trio of friends stayed in the room, giggling.

"Well..." April began, taking off her pirate hat. "Let's keep opening."

Sunita nodded energetically, grabbing another package, also trying not to knock the plush off her arm.

[Y.N] uncertainly picked up the camera and turned it towards themself. "I still don't know why you willingly want to watch this nerd," the teenager commented with a malicious smile, reading the chat. Her eyebrows suddenly raised "No, it's not Markiplier in a turtle costume. Start reading Ao3, not Wattpad, you pervs."

□□□□□□□□□

"We have about 6 packages left, good job, guys!" Donatello's empty joy echoed through the room. Raph rolled his eyes, getting up from the chair.

"I'm going for chips," he declared straightforwardly, heading towards the exit. Suddenly, in front of his face, he saw the characteristic red eyes and puffed cheeks along with a loud 'BOO!'

The teenager screamed in horror, jumping backward and accidentally knocking over packed items. A chorus of laughter filled the room, causing a groan of pain from the red enthusiast.

"Hahaha! Sorry, big guy!" [Y.N] took off the 'Saw' horror series mask they were wearing. A proud smile was on their face. "I'll give this mask to Casey Jr. It seems to be in his style."

Raphael muttered quiet curses, pushing some things aside to stand up. "I'll revenge, [Y.N]!"

"Mhm, then Mrs. Cuddles will come into play."

If turtles could miraculously turn pale, Raph was feeling it perfectly now. "Okay, I take it back..."

A moment later, after a brief commotion and endless jokes about Raphael's fear, everyone sat down again at the table, ready to continue opening the remaining packages.

Determined, Donnie started talking to his viewers, trying to encourage them to donate, ignoring the earlier incident. This time, Leo carefully observed everyone approaching with a package, waiting for any surprises.

Suddenly, April's laughter resonated as she pulled out one of the many candy packages.

"I know what will help lighten the mood!" April exclaimed, holding another package in her hand. "Who wants the gummy bears bag first?"

Everyone immediately jumped up, reaching out to her.

"May the fastest win!" [Y.N] shouted, trying to grab the gummy bears package. It could be said that it was the favorite candy of the gathered group.

"I'll never lose!" Michelangelo already had the package in his hands, but suddenly Raphael's hand appeared and grabbed it before him.

"It's for me!" he exclaimed, holding the bag in the air.

A mix of joy, laughter, and sighs of disappointment filled the laboratory.

And when the last package was opened, and the contents exposed on camera, everyone looked at each other with a smile, after ending the stream. "So, can we go trick-or-treating now?" Sunita innocently asked, bouncing.

"We already have plenty here," Leo pointed out, swallowing the bitter chocolate that was found at the beginning of the stream.

"Give me a break; it's not such a pleasant experience!"

"Ohoho! The youth is going trick-or-treating?" from behind the frame, none other than Splinter himself peeked out, wearing his attire from the days of glory. "I am going too!"

"Aren't you too old for this?" Donatello sarcastically asked, shutting down the computer. Their father's muzzle revealed displeasure at his attitude.

"No one is too old for sweets! Let's go before Cassandra grabs them all!"

#rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt #rise donnie x reader #teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt x y/n #rottmnt x you #rise leo x reader #rise mikey x reader #rise raph x reader #rottmnt x reader #Halloween special #trick or treat #april x reader #sunita x reader #april o'neil