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#in most of the day. shortness of breath is now a symptom of being me i guess
javierpena-inatacvest · 2 months
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Cramps
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Summary: After going off of birth control, your periods have been a little more intense than you're used to. What starts out as a stressful morning between you and your husband, very quickly turns into a night that bodes very well for the both of you.
Paring: Husband Frankie Morales x Wife f!reader (no use of y/n)
Word Count: 5.4K on the dot (idk how we got here)
Warnings: SMUT (18+) PERIOD SEX, unprotected p in v sex (do better, but also they want a baby so), vaginal fingering, oral (f receiving, again, you're on your period but our pussy eating king Fransisco Morales is an unstoppable force of nature), creampie, praise kink, big fat nasty breeding kink (it's who I am now, I won't apologize for it), Frankie's got a NASTY mouth, Frankie is the best husband, reader is on her period/has period symptoms, talks about family planning/not being on birth control, use of nicknames (hermosa, quierda, cariño), reader has no physical descriptions besides that she can wear Frankie's clothes
A/N: Well... This was gonna be a drabble... and then it was just gonna be fluff.... and then it was gonna be just some implied smut... and now, we're here??? Idk, don't ask me 🥴 self indulgent bc I just finished my period (and my periods have been whack since stopping bc) and what better way to heal myself than imagining what Frankie would be like taking care of you 🥺 also pls be nice to me this is my first time writing Frankie and I'm v nervous EEK I hope you enjoy!!! sorry Javi bby, I still love u
Bitchy. 
You wished you had a better word to describe your mood for today, but truth be told, bitchy was by far the most accurate. 
You and Frankie were hoping to start trying for your first baby soon, and had recently gone off your birth control after your doctor had told you it may take a few months for your body to regulate itself before you had a better chance at getting pregnant. Your doctor had also  warned you about many of the symptoms and side effects that stopping the pill could have, one of those being becoming more aware of your emotions and mood swings throughout your cycle. That, you were prepared for. 
What you were not prepared for, was to feel like an absolute psychopath in the days leading up to your period. 
 Your cycle had  been wonky the past few months as your body began to sort itself out- you had a feeling your period was probably about to start soon, but hadn’t thought much about it, considering your terrible and grouchy mood had overshadowed it. You had tried your best to pull yourself together the past few days, chalking up your grumpiness to long hours at work, or just being in a weird funk, but today, you woke up with a fire in your gut, ready to fight, and poor Frankie was about to be your punching bag. 
Sweet Frankie had been nothing short of a saint when it came to just about anything, but dealing with your newly heightened emotions right before your period really should have earned him some sort of Presidential Medal of Bravery, considering that your newly discovered highs and lows while PMS-ing were just as frightening as any time he had spent during his time in the military. 
Unfortunately for your husband, despite his best efforts, he had been on your nerves all morning. Not because he was really doing anything wrong, but because the little things that you were normally so good about letting go, or the patience you frequently had seemed to have flown out the window, and you were convinced that if Frankie even breathed the wrong way, you were going to absolutely lose it. 
So when unsuspecting Frankie decided to ask you a simple request about after work plans, there was very little he could have done to prepare for your response. 
“Morning, Hermosa.” Frankie cooed, emerging into the kitchen, his hand rustling through his untamed, sleepy brown curls as he let out a yawn and a stretch, the slight softness of his stomach peeking out between his t-shirt and pajama pants as he raised his arms above his head before settling behind you. He wrapped himself around your waist, pressing a gentle kiss into your shoulder as you finished putting the last of your lunch in your bag for work, trying to force yourself to focus on his sweet good morning, rather than the empty bowl of cereal in the sink that had greeted you first thing when you woke up, already starting you off on the wrong foot in your already irritable mood. 
“Morning, babe.” You grinned, forcing yourself to forgo the annoyance hidden behind your smile as you pecked a quick kiss on Frankie’s lips before gathering the rest of your things for the day scattered across the kitchen table. “Sorry, I didn’t have time to make you breakfast this morning because I was running late, but there’s extra scrambled eggs on the stove if you want them. I’m really sorry, Frankie, I gotta head out, have a good day, I’ll see you later okay?” You sighed, slinging your work bag over your shoulder, your hands full of your coffee mug, water bottle and keys, your cluttered grip and running behind schedule only adding to your frustration. 
“All good, Querida, no worries. Hey, actually baby, before you leave,” He paused, setting down the coffee mug he was just about ready to take a sip of, as if a little lightbulb had just gone off in his brain, “do you mind picking up stuff to make that really good buffalo chicken dip for Benny’s tonight? I told ‘em we’d bring like, an appetizer or something, if that’s okay.” 
For Frankie’s sake, you couldn’t have been more thankful that you had your back turned to him, because if looks could kill, Frankie Morales would have been a dead man. 
Every rational part of your brain knew that even though his request perhaps wasn’t the best timing, stopping by the store and making dip to bring to Benny’s for game night really wasn’t that much time or effort out of your day. But today, it seemed like every part of your brain but the rational one seemed to be functioning properly, and the raging, irrational part might as well have heard that Frankie wanted you to prepare and cook a Thanksgiving meal for 74 after you got home from work. 
You took a deep breath, your grip tightening around the items in your hand, praying with every bone in your body that someway or another, you had misheard your husband. 
“Tonight? As in, like, today, after I get home from work?” You questioned, trying to do your best to keep your tone from sounding too condescending. 
“Yeah, we don’t have to be there until 7, I just don’t think I’m gonna have time to since I probably won’t be outta work until 6:30.” He shrugged nonchalantly, taking another swig of his coffee 
Oh yeah, you’d heard him right.  
You let out a deep sigh, even more over dramatic than you had intended it to be, arms crossed over your chest and stark frown spread across your face as you turned towards Frankie. 
“Oh, perfect! That’s a great thing for me to find out about at 7:45 A.M. the day of, Frank!” Your voice oozed with ferocious sarcasm, now slamming your things back down onto the table to run your hands over your face. “No, that’s great, because there’s nothing I wanted to do more than to come home and make buffalo chicken dip instead of all the other shit I needed to do today before we left! Amazing! Thank you!” 
At this point, you were almost positive that if your eyes rolled any further, they’d be in the back of your skull, letting out another angry huff as you shook your head at Frankie, who was looking absolutely petrified as he leaned back against the counter, eyes darting to the floor to avoid yours, running his hand over the wispy curls at the nape of his neck. Frankie began to stammer, trying to defend himself from your wrath. 
“Hermosa, I’m- I’m sorry? I know it’s last minute, but you normally make it every time we go over there, I just- I figured it’d be easy for you to do? You can get something else, or I can try to stop by the store really quick on the way home, I just might-” 
“Nope, you want buffalo chicken dip, apparently I’m making buffalo chicken dip!” You groaned, collecting everything back into your hands, swearing under your breath as you tried to balance everything in your grip. “Jesus, okay, I need to go to work, just- I don’t even know. I gotta go, Frankie.” 
“Querida, I-” Frankie pleaded, beginning to trail behind you as you made your way to the front door. 
“Frankie, whatever, it’s fine! I’ll make the stupid dip! I have to go to work, I’ll see you later.” You could feel the muscles in your jaw beginning to clench as you gritted your teeth, trying with everything in you to keep from exploding as you headed out of the house. Without even a kiss goodbye, you left Frankie in the doorway, watching you throw your things in the car and slam the door behind you as you drove down the driveway. 
But as soon as you were on the road and your house was out of view, you could instantly feel the tears beginning to well in your eyes, slowly streaming down your cheeks as you began to sob, wondering why you had ruined the morning over as stupid as an appetizer, and even worse, that you had been a complete asshole to your husband about it. 
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You couldn’t have been more thankful that work had been quiet today- no meetings on the schedule, and no one coming to bother you, leaving you plenty of peace and quiet to continue sulking and brooding in your unpleasant mood. 
Right around lunch time, you found yourself eating alone in your office, wishing your lunch was about ten times saltier and chocolatier than it was, crying to yourself as you watched a video of a dog meeting its new human sibling for the first time.
Just as you were beginning to pack up the rest of your lunch and start back up with your work, you felt a terrible twinge in your lower stomach that had you just about keeled over in pain, followed by that all too familiar feeling in your underwear. 
Frantically scrambling, you reached into your bag to pull out a tampon, hurriedly shuffling to the nearest bathroom, only to reveal the murder scene equivalent as you pulled down your pants. 
Your period had come.  
In that moment, as much as you were dreading the pain and misery that was the next few days to come, you couldn’t also help but feel a slight sense of relief, realizing that you were in fact, not actually a crazy person for the way you were feeling, you were just PMS-ing out of your mind. You couldn’t also help but feel absolutely awful for your unjustified freak out at your husband this morning, your heart sinking with guilt as you made your way back to your desk, immediately grabbing your phone to text Frankie. 
“Hey… I’m so sorry about this morning. What you were asking me to do wasn’t a big deal at all and I totally freaked out on you. My period just started, I think that’s why I’ve been such a bitch this morning. I’m sorry, Frankie, I love you.💕 ” 
It was almost instantly after you hit send that the reply bubble popped up in your message, your heart pounding anxiously waiting for your husband’s reply. 
“It’s okay, I kind of had a feeling 😉 babe, you weren’t being a bitch- I should have talked to you about it sooner. Shitty timing on my part. I’m sorry. I love you too, Querida.” 
Before you could even respond, another message popped up below his first. 
“Don’t worry about going to the store or making anything tonight. I already texted Benny and told him we couldn’t come. We can spend the night in, just the two of us. I can pick up takeout on the way home if you want and we can pick a movie to watch.” 
You could feel your frustrated facade beginning to melt away as your lips shifted from a pursed frown to a small smirk reading Frankie’s text, your thumbs quickly tapping across the screen of your phone to reply. 
“Thank you. You’re the best.” 
“Of course. Hopefully none of your co-workers ask you to make buffalo chicken dip before you leave 😘” 
“Oh shut up, meanie.” 
“Just kidding. Have a good rest of your day, love you. 💙
“Love you too. 🤍” 
Although the rest of your day was nowhere near enjoyable, given the fact you felt like you were getting punched repeatedly in the uterus and your personality resembled that of Oscar the Grouch, you knew that your night in with Frankie was your light at the end of the tunnel, and only needed to make it a few more hours before there was at least some sweet relief finally headed your way. 
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Despite the constant stabbing pain in your lower stomach and back, your drive home from work had you in much better spirits than your drive there, now not only having an explanation as to why you had felt like such a mess, but also knowing the rest of your night was going to be dedicated to nothing but cuddling up in your comfiest clothes and snuggling up next to Frankie on the couch. 
As you pulled down your street, you were surprised to see Frankie’s truck already parked in the driveway, wondering what he was doing at home almost an hour earlier than he had mentioned he would be this morning. Gathering all of your things out of the back of your car, you quietly entered your home, confusion scrunching in your brow as you called out for your husband. 
“Frankie? Babe, are you home?” 
Before you could even kick off your shoes or hang up your coat, Frankie had already appeared at the front door to greet you, boyish grin spread across his face as he grabbed your things out of your hand, carefully placing them on your entryway table before engulfing you in a bear hug, his broad arms wrapping around your body and pulling you closer into his chest. 
You could feel all the muscles in your body instantly relax as your face rested against the soft cotton of his t-shirt, soaking in the familiar woody and savory scent of him, letting yourself be consumed by every ounce of his embrace. 
“Hi Hermosa.” Frankie cooed, pressing a soft kiss against your temple, running his hands up and down your back as you looked up at his sweet brown eyes shining down at you. 
“What are you doing home so early? I mean, not that I’m mad about it at all, I just thought you said that you had to work until 6:30 and-” 
“Told my boss I had to head out early for a family emergency.” Frankie smirked, laughing at you playfully rolling your eyes from his so-called excuse. 
“Last time I checked, your wife being a grump because she’s bleeding out of her cooch doesn’t classify as a family emergency, Fransisco.” You teased, giving him a little shove, making the two of you giggle in tandem. 
“Eh, close enough. I’m really sorry about this morning, querida. I was a dick for not talking to you about plans beforehand and just assuming you could go do it. It wasn’t fair of me.” 
“It’s okay, Frankie. What you were asking for wasn’t a big deal and I made it one because I’ve been a psycho all day. I’m sorry, too.” 
“Well,” Frankie paused, pressing another kiss onto your cheek, the width of his palm gently cradling your jaw as you stared up at him and his sympathetic smile, “number one, you are not a psycho. I can’t imagine how uncomfortable you must feel right now, so even if you were, I wouldn’t blame you one bit. Number two,” he paused again, shifting his kiss from your cheek to your lips, his thumb delicately swiping across your skin, “you’re my wife and I love you more than anything, and if I can take a little time off to help make you feel better, it’s the least I can do. So, why don’t you go change into something comfortable, and when you get back down here, I will have pizza and ice cream, whatever movie you wanna watch, and a back rub ready for you, okay?”   
“Okay. Thank you, Frankie. God, you’re the best.” You grinned, pressing up on your tiptoes to let your mouth meet Frankie’s, the plush pout of his bottom lip swiping across yours, lingering just long enough to let the butterflies in your stomach begin to swirl, heat creeping through your cheeks in the tenderness of the moment.
“Of course, cariño. Te amo. Now go get changed.” With one last peck on his lips, you wiggled out of Frankie’s grasp to make your way up the stairs, grinning to see that your husband had already set out your favorite of his oversized sweatshirts and sweatpants, neatly folded on the bed for you to grab, quickly shuffling out of your uncomfortable work attire and exchanging it for Frankie’s clothes, your smile growing even wider at the feeling of perpetually being wrapped up in the essence of him. 
As you made your way back downstairs to meet Frankie, you found your heart skipping a beat again to see that the better part of the living room had been turned into a cozy sanctuary- lights dim and candles lit, both parts of your couch squished together, filled with every pillow and blanket you owned, and Frankie sitting in the middle, giant box of pizza, tub of ice cream and your handsome husband waiting for you. 
As if your emotions hadn’t already taken you on a wild roller coaster of a ride today, the adorable sight in front of you had you on the verge of tears again, wiping the wetness pooling in your eyes with the back of Frankie’s sweatshirt sleeve drooping off your arm before crawling into the blanket fort he had constructed for the two of you. 
“Frankie… You didn’t have to do this.” You sniffled, curling up next to Frankie as he draped a blanket over your lap and his arm over your shoulder, passing you a plate with 2 large pieces of pizza. 
“It’s the least I could do. I put on Hercules for us to watch, but if you wanna-” 
Before you could let him finish the rest of his sentence, you were running your hand across the scratchy stubble of his cheek, pulling his face closer to yours as you planted a kiss on his lips, feeling your smiles melt into one another's as your mouths met. “That sounds perfect. God, how’d I get so lucky?” 
“I could say the same thing, mi amor. You ready to start the movie?” 
“Only if you also pass me that tub of Ben and Jerry’s to go with my pizza.” 
“I think I can make that happen.” 
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About half way through the movie, pizza and tub of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream, your and Frankie’s bodies were tangled together in a sea of limbs and blankets, contently snuggled up with one another as Frankie’s fingers traced lazy circles on your back and shoulder as you laid against his chest. 
“You doin’ okay, querida? Need anything?” He cooed, his soft voice dancing in your ear. As if it weren’t enough that you had already been through the extreme highs and lows of almost every feeling under the sun today, the one you hadn’t been until this very moment was insatiably horny. While the mood swings you had mentally prepared yourself for with your new period symptoms, the constant other kind of ache between your legs you had not, and feeling the low rasp of Frankie’s words tickling your neck had been just enough to flip the switch to make you desperately needy. 
Letting your leg slide over Frankie’s lap, you pushed yourself up to straddle his hips, running your hands through the dark curls of his thick, brown hair, and down his broad chest, your fists bunching the worn fabric of his shirt in your hands as your mouths became a mess of tangled tongues and teeth. 
“I need- fuck- I need you, Frankie, please.” You pleaded between muffled moans, his tongue swiping in the parted space where your lips melted together as one, instinctively beginning to grind your hips into his, feeling the bulge in his sweatpants starting to grow beneath you. 
“Fuck- You sure, baby?” Frankie rasped, reactively bucking up into you, making you whine as his hands dug into your hips, guiding you as you swirled over the tented fabric of his bottom half rubbing against your covered core. 
“Please. Please, Frankie.” You were all but whimpering at this point, nodding frantically in approval as Frankie used the grasp on your hips to guide you onto your back, making you cock your head in confusion as Frankie scampered to the other side of the couch, back turned to you as he reached over the ledge, pulling out a thick, black towel with a smug grin on his face. “Did you seriously have a towel ready incase I wanted to have sex?” You snorted, shaking your head at Frankie, now crawling back to you, caging your body under his with an electric kiss as he shimmied the towel underneath you. 
“Maybe.” Frankie smirked, breaking from your kiss to let his lips trail down your body, his hands toying with the edge of his sweatshirt covering your body as he pushed it up your stomach and chest, helping you to shimmy it over your head, leaving your top half exposed. He gently palmed at your breasts, taking each pebbled nipple in his mouth, sucking and flicking at the buds with his tongue before letting his kisses travel down the soft skin of your stomach and waistband of your sweatpants. The clothes on your bottom half soon joined your sweatshirt in a crumpled pile as Frankie nestled himself between your legs, gently nudging your hips to let your thighs part, revealing your pussy, slick and shiny for him with your juices. 
Even though Frankie would eat you out for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and a late night snack, you couldn’t help but feel guilty that he still found himself between your legs during your time of the month, considering any other man probably would have scoffed at just the thought of going down on you on your period. 
But, then again, Frankie Morales wasn’t just any other man. 
“Frankie, baby, you know you don’t- Oh fuck!” You gasped, cut off in surprise as Frankie’s tongue licked a long, broad strip across your cunt, making you shudder in pleasure as his head perked up, revealing the devilish grin spread between his cheeks watching your chest already heave in heavy, shaky breaths. 
“Oh I know I don’t have to, sweet girl. But I want to. Relax, baby, lemme take care of you.” 
Before you could agree, protest, or anything in between, Frankie was back between your legs, arms wrapped around your thighs as they draped over his broad shoulders, digging his fingertips into the plush softness of your skin, dragging his tongue through your folds with the exact grace and precision that he knew made you fall apart in seconds. 
With flat, firm presses of his mouth latched against your clit, you could already feel your bottom half writhing under him, the perfect pressure of his tongue dancing around your sensitive bundle of nerves making you moan in pleasure. As your head dipped back, falling into the couch pillow behind you, your hand shot down, fingers burying themselves in the wild curls of Frankie’s hair, tugging at the thick ends for any sort of release as he worked relentlessly at your aching cunt. 
“Fuck, Frankie, oh fuck- Fuck, baby, you feel so good.” You whined, your praise only intensifying the way your husband drank every ounce of you up, two thick fingers now gently pressing inside your heat, curled deliciously as they rocked in and out of your entrance, nudging against your g-spot. 
Frankie had spent enough time worshiping the altar that was your pussy to know exactly how to make you crumble beneath him, leaving you chanting his name like a prayer as his lips latched around your clit, ferociously sucking as his fingers prodded at the soft, spongy spot that made your cunt begin to clench and heat in your belly pool. 
“That’s it, Hermosa. I know you’re close, baby girl. Let me feel you, mi amor. I’ve got you.” Frankie groaned, his words humming deep in his chest, placing chaste kisses on the inside of your thighs before drinking you up like a man starved, adding a third finger into your heat, the added fullness and stretch, combined with Frankie’s relentless pace, enough to have the tingle that had been building at the base of your spine now washing through every inch of your body. Your orgasm began to crash through you, your pussy fluttering as pleasure radiated in your veins, making you cry out Frankie’s name over and over. 
Frankie worked persistently through your high, only pulling back after making sure that you had cum again, sitting back on his haunches as he admired the blissed out and ragged mess you had become, your pussy slick and swollen as your chest rose and fell in wrecked inhales and exhales, trying to compose yourself from the Frankie and fucked you senseless with just his tongue. 
Wiping the slick and juices glistening in his mustache with the back of his hand, Frankie tugged the sweatshirt covering his own body over his head, followed by his pants and boxers, freeing his painfully hard cock as it slapped against his stomach, his tip red and leaking with precum as his broad body loomed over yours, sucking and nipping at your pulse point as you whimpered his name. 
“Frankie, holy fuck.” 
“Such a good girl for me, querida. You still want me to fuck you, baby?” He mewled, the metallic and tangy taste of you still lingering on his tongue as he kissed you, laughing to himself at the way you found yourself frantically nodding your head to tell him yes before your words could. 
“Jesus Christ, yes. Fuck, please Frankie, I need to feel you.” 
Reaching down to stroke himself, he lined his cock up with your entrance, easily sliding into your heat and brushing his tip against your cervix, taking a moment to let you adjust to his fullness. The whine you let out as Frankie filled every inch of you was nothing short of ragged, digging your nails into the skin of his broad back as he ever so slowly began to thrust in and out of you, dragging his length against the slick of your cunt. 
“Oh fuck me- Fuck, you hear how wet you are for me, sweet girl? This what you needed, baby? To fill up that pretty little pussy of yours?” Frankie groaned, letting his forehead rest against yours, his sweaty curls now starting to stick to his skin as he pounded into you, rutting his hips at a faster and faster pace. 
“It’s all for you, Frankie- Oh shit- only for you.” You moaned, your fingers wrapping around the width of his biceps, flexing deliciously as he hovered over you, sucking you in to a long, deep kiss, fucking into you over and over. 
Even with the years between you and the ring on your finger, the possessive part of Frankie’s brain would never get over how the primal and all consuming feeling of knowing you were his, forever, your words shooting straight to his dick as a low groan rumbled in his chest, silently cursing to himself through gritted teeth, watching you fall apart below him. 
Readjusting himself, Frankie sat back on his heels, hooking his arm under one of your legs to drape it over his shoulder, the new angle stretching you out in a way that had you seeing stars as Frankie rammed into your g-spot and began thumbing at your clit, still swollen and sensitive from your first orgasm. You could already feel the heat beginning to bloom in your belly once again, your leg beginning to tremble hoisted over Frankie’s shoulder as he dug into the meat of your thigh with a bruising intensity. 
Just like he would never get over the fact of knowing you were his, Frankie would never get over watching you begin to crumble under his touch, taking the time to memorize every twitch and twinge your body made as you came closer and closer to your end, always savoring in the moaning mess you’d become as you fell apart around him. 
“Fuck, Frankie, Fuck, oh my god- I’m close, baby.” You were all but rambling at this point, your brain barley stringing together coherent sentences as you felt your cunt beginning to clench around his cock, the lewd noises of your moans, wetness and skin slapping together as your hips met filling the room at a borderline pornagraphic rate. 
“Meirda, I’m not gonna last much longer, hermosa. Fuck, where do you want me, baby?” Frankie growled through gritted teeth, his eyes locking on yours and telling him everything he needed to know without you saying a word. 
“Inside. Fuck, please Frankie, I want you to cum inside me.” 
Your confirmation was all it took to flip the switch in Frankie that sent him absolutely feral, the thought of being able to actually knock you up now that you weren’t on birth control anymore, giving you a baby, proving another way to the world to mark you as his? The thought alone was enough to have him bracing every bone in his body to keep him from cuming right then and there. 
“Fuck me. You want me to fill you up, querida? Fuck me full of you? Fuck a baby into you? That's what you want, huh?” Frankie moaned, grunting with each thrust of his hips, his rhythm becoming more frantic and shaky as he felt your pussy begin to flutter around him, pressing the pads of his fingers against your clit, swirling them in frantic circles to make sure you came before he did. 
“Fuck, yes. I need you too, holy fuck- wanna make you a daddy, Fransisco.” 
You could feel the tightly wound knot in your core starting to snap, your legs trembling and breath shaking as Frankie fucked into you, finding yourself on the verge of collapse- but not before Frankie’s filthy mouth got the last word in. 
“Jesus, fuck- Fuck, hermosa. That’s what you want, pretty girl? I swear, I’m gonna fuck myself so deep into you it’ll fucking take. Get you fucking pregnant tonight.” 
That was all it took to have you orgasm come crashing through you, every inch of your body radiating with pleasure as you came, crying out Frankie’s name as you gushed around him, your eyes practically rolling to the back of your head, your mind going blank and numb, the only thing grounding you were the incoherent ramblings of your husband as he followed suit behind you. 
“Fuck, that’s it, baby. Fuck, I’m gonna cum too, fuck, fuck-ahhhhhh.” With one final thrust, Frankie could feel himself spilling against your walls, coating you with his spend as his cock pulsed, making sure he milked himself of every last drop deep inside your cunt before even thinking about pulling out. Moving your leg, Frankie slumped into you, splaying himself across your body as your chests rose and fell in sync, laying in silence as you let your breathing steady, coming back down to Earth from your high. 
With a shallow grunt, Frankie carefully pulled his softening cock out of your heat, leaning back to admire the mess he had made between your legs, his cum dripping down the inside of your thighs and pussy glistening with the mixture of your arousal. You let out a soft hiss at the loss of Frankie’s fullness inside you, only to quickly be replaced by a gasp as he buried his two fingers back into your cunt.  
“Gotta make sure every last drop stays in there, hermosa. Gonna keep you full of me all night, baby.” He mewled, carefully gathering his spend and pushing it deep inside you, making you whimper as he slowly pulsed his fingers back and forth, pulling away his hand to lean back into your body, engulfing you with an electric kiss. 
“Holy fuck, fuck me. Jesus, Frankie.” You laughed to yourself, your head dipping back on the pillow as you buried your face in your hands, at a loss for words at how euphoric you now felt in your post colital bliss. 
“Wow, again, already? Gotta give me a few after that querida.” He smirked, making you roll your eyes at his joke as you playfully swatted at him, making him lean in to pepper your body with kisses, leaving you squealing and squirming in delight. 
“You are absolutely ridiculous, Fransisco Morales. If you keep fucking me like that, then yeah, absolutley.” 
“If I keep fucking you like this, I have a very hopeful feeling that next month, we’ll have something else to care about besides period cramps.”
“I swear to god, if one of my cravings ends up being buffalo chicken dip once I’m pregnant, I’m gonna be pissed.”
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alizalayne · 16 days
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Whats the ventilation and heat like in the suit head? I can't tell if it would be warmer or more cool to wear in compaison to a faux fur fursuit head. The only thing I worry abt is how durable needlefelting is and if it can be cleaned like a traditional fursuit head. That being said I really hope you continue making these, they're cool as hell 👍🔥👍
Okay first of all I'm super jazzed to be able to talk about this with people, and I kind of went overboard answering this, but thanks for asking! Putting this up in case anyone else is curious.
The main answers to your questions are 1: wool is cooler than acrylic fur and less stinky
2: A fursuit head is a swamp and i am snorkling in it.
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I mentioned this in my behind the scenes post and there are pictures there but I literally just made a snorkel out of a snorkel mouthpiece and two collapsible automotive funnels, the kind that you can bend into a shape so that you can get goo into a weird part of your car.
that snorkel piece goes straight out of a vent hole in the inside of the ear and I felted a pink skin flap in front of it and then felted white fiber into that so it just looked like a tuft. it worked perfectly, it's just that I couldn't talk in it that well. But I'm definitely going to keep using it if I can't think of a better mouthpiece for it because as SOON as I breathed inside the head instead of through the snorkel I was like oh my god everyone is living in hell.
You can see it in this picture a little bit. nobody noticed it at all!
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My friend had made a much more traditional head with a bigass electric fan in it and he was having more heat issues than I was, because I cannot stress enough that acrylic fur is like, one of the most horrifically hot fabrics you can wear. I don't know how everybody is even alive!! and there's a layer of ACRYLIC BACKING on it! Also check out how "short-pile" my fur is, most of the head is only an inch thick, it's a half-inch bucket head made out of foam covered in maybe 1/3 of an inch of wool? the less space you have between the fibers the less heat gets trapped. I was shocked by how comfortable I was, and I was having migraine symptoms that day and was extra sensitive to heat. The con where we were had the air turned down and it was chilly outside, but I was shocked when I took the head off and shook my hair out and I wasn't even sweating. I had long hair in a wig cap under that thing and I wasn't sweating. It was crazy.
As for cleaning the wool, I cannot find anyone else who has done this who has cleaning tips for me, but the foam is what I'm worried about. After a few hours of wear there's nothing wrong with the wool at all, but i can TELL the foam is ever so slightly nasty, because the foam is polyurethane and wool is what you make hiking socks out of. I have some wool cleaner coming in the mail that's made for delicate needlefelted items like scarves and deposits lanolin, which is what keeps wool "alive" kind of like how you have to care for leather. It's definitely an experiment! Nothing ventured nothing gained!
I don't have an idea in mind for a second head right now and the next thing I want to make is a cowl so I can wear lower-cut tops with this head, but I might try something else if I think of an idea! I'm probably never gonna sell these because I'm weird about selling sculptures for whatever reason. They're like my living beasts.
But I definitely hope this encourages other people who might be interested in bringing needlefelt or other fiber art sensibilities to this space, that would be a massive complement and a high honor to give people a new way to enjoy a hobby that I know means a ton to a lot of people.
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fairysluna · 1 year
Note
Hello, I just stumbled into your old account and read and LOVED one of your Aegon fanfics (What Should've Been) and I have a teeny tiny request, if you don't mind. It seems the reader had tuberculosis from the symptoms, especially the bloody coughs, and since Aegon was thoroughly exposed to it, I was wondering if you can maybe make a teeny tiny follow-up about how he also contracts the disease and dies and later joins the reader in the afterlife under the same weirwood tree where she's waiting for him in her wedding gown and Aegon goes to her and tucks a purple pansy in her ear and they walk off into the light, together at last.
Please, I'm terribly heartbroken (and depressed but that's just my usual depression) over this beautiful story and I'd love a follow-up, even if it's just bullet points of what happens 🥺🥺
Author's Note: Hi hun!! I love the fact that you love my story enough to come here and ask me to write more, I will always love to make a follow up of my fics... so this is entirely dedicated to you, love!! thank you for enjoying my writing (and srry for breaking your heart). These are bullet points btw and it is quite short, but i hope you like it!!🤍
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WHAT SHOULD'VE BEEN — Aegon's Grief.
Summary: The aftermath of the biggest loss in Aegon's life: you. An epilogue for this story.
Pairing: Aegon II Targaryen x Arryn!Reader
Tags/TW: angst, grief, death, mentions of depression, sickness, sensitive content. If something is missing pls let me know.
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Aegon didn’t leave his bed for days. The grief and sorrow in his heart was too much for him to bear. He wouldn’t eat, he wouldn’t bathe, he wouldn’t even stand from his bed… the bed he used to share with you.
It was hard for him to go inside the room, the weeks before your funeral he couldn’t even bring himself to look at the door of it. Needless to say, he didn’t even step inside of it until the funeral was over. The sheets were still there, the shape of your body was still seen on the bed. He did not allow the maids to clean up the room; he could smell the scent of death that was left behind, but once he went closer to the bed he was able to smell your perfume… and that was enough for him to bury his face against the pillows as he sobbed and whined.
Alicent tried to go and persuade him to go back to his duties. He had become a King, but what kind of King he was if he didn't have his Queen by his side? What purpose was left for him when the most important person in the world was now gone? The forces of your love had left him without warming, the warmth of your love no longer covered his body in the shape of an affectionate kiss. He felt useless without you, for you were the only thing that brought meaning into his life.
Aemond would start to cover him up in the Small Council meetings and other duties. Aegon was in no condition to fulfill his activities, because not only his spirit was broken but his health was deteriorating with each passing day. The health of their King was starting to cause rumors around the halls, servants claimed that he went mad out of his own grief.
His chubby shape soon became a skeletal one. His rosy cheeks were now pale and bony, his cheekbones being too noticeable now. Alicent would go at night trying to make him eat something, but Aegon had lost his will to live the day he lost you. And eventually, the Gods were merciful enough… and they made him sick too.
Alicent knew what was coming, she had witnessed the same symptoms in you a few weeks ago before you took your last breath. She cried herself to sleep many nights as the Maester would only inform her that her son was slowly dying, with no signs of improvement at all. And then, the hallucinations started as Aegon was being slowly killed by the fever.
His already weakened body could not handle that sickness that came upon him. The lack of food, of sleep, along with his lack of will to live were enough to get him seriously ill, to the point when he started to speak to the maids thinking they were you.
"Oh, my sweet wife," he would say with a thin voice, barely audible. Most of his wording would be interpreted as mumbling and nonsense, "can't wait to see our beautiful child growing inside of you."
A few days later… Aegon passed away in the same bed that he used to share with you, grasping the same sheets that covered your body during your last days, and in the same bed where he held you close every night. And even though that was the day his body died, his soul had left him the same day you left him.
Alicent cried for days after the news, but she wasn't surprised at all. No one was. The love Aegon had for you was too obvious for everyone.
"Not even death could pull them apart," Aemond would say as he consoled his mother during the funeral, where Sunfyre was the one lighting the fire that ended up consuming his skeletal body.
Aegon thought he was dreaming when he found himself standing in the gardens, wearing a black suit but feeling light, the anguish that had haunted him for the past weeks was no longer there.
And then, he heard your laugh.
A small giggle that made him feel as if his heart was beating again. A sound so soft and gentle, delicate and blissful, that it brought a rose color upon his cheeks, which returned to be as chubby as they were before.
At first, he was afraid of turning around, thinking that it was a delusion, some trick of his mind making him hear things. But then, he heard it again, and the urge to look at your beautiful face once again was stronger than any fear that might succumb him. He needed to see you… and he did.
There you were, as beautiful as you have always been, wearing a tighter and less pompous version of your wedding gown. Your hair was falling down your shoulders in cascades, your eyes gleaming with pure happiness as you laughed at the pages you were reading. Aegon was enchanted, mesmerized by the angelic sound your laughter would produce.
He walked slowly towards you, as if he was scared you would become a pile of dust and fade into the wind, but you never did. Instead, you looked up at him and your eyes shined so bright that Aegon was sure he saw stars in them. You were so gorgeous, far from being the sick woman he saw before you passed. You were your old self, the woman who would make him laugh and make him fall in love all over again every single day.
"You came," you said with a radiant smile.
"You know I've never done well without you, my love," he replied.
You saw him picking up a flower from the greenest grass he's ever seen; a purple pansy soon was on your hair, and Aegon's heart felt alive once he felt your lips against the softness of his flushed cheeks. A gesture that he had terribly missed.
Aegon cupped your face between his hands, and looked down to you with admiration and pure devotion. Your eyes were full of life once again; a sight that Aegon wished to never forget again. Before you could say anything to him, he kissed you, and your lips felt warm and soft as they always were. Your touch made him feel like a teenage boy, the same boy that fell in love with you many years ago.
He realized then that he finally found heaven, that all his wishes and pleas were listened to by the Gods by sending him back to you; back to where he belonged.
Aegon saw your eyes once again, and right there he realized that the Gods were finally merciful, because now he got to spend the rest of his life by your side without having the constant fear of losing you again.
He finally found peace, because you were there with him.
432 notes · View notes
aduckinpain · 5 months
Text
Stop, but not forever
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Tags: Character study style writing, heavily implied Lestappen, Symbolism. Hurt/comfort, Happy Ending, Austin was a fever dream but Mexico made it better
Word Count: 1.3k
This is also on AO3 by roianamustang (me).
Poison: Any substance that can cause severe organ damage or death if ingested, breathed in, injected into the body or absorbed through the skin. Many substances that normally cause no problems, including water and most vitamins, can be poisonous if taken in excessive quantity.
Symptoms may include changes in consciousness, body temperature, heart rate, breathing, such as shortness of breath, and many others, depending on the organs affected. 
Poison, is something physical that crawls deep into your body, and the only way to heal from it is to let your body flush it out—if it isn’t harmful enough already, or use an antidote.
Poison, is the substance thrown around in old fairy tales and folklore, with witches, curses and unhappy wives.
Poison, is a moment of weakness. It's an act of desperation, a cry for help.
Poison, is harmful.
Poison hurts.
Stop.
At a moment, however, it will come to a full stop. Whether that be the substance circulating through your bloodstream or your heart.
If it’d stop his mind from running, Charles Leclerc would have dunked his head in it. Closed his eyes and inhaled.
But poison, can’t hurt poison.
Location: Circuit of Americas, Austin, Hilton Austin, Room 017
Date and time: 22.10.2023, 11:23 PM
If the race was Charles’ thoughts, he'd be on his way breaking world records. 
Austin was a breath of hope, of unexpected outcomes, dare he say even happiness, for but a moment. At least until Saturday that is.
In the land of the free Charles remembers. He'd always been fascinated by hurricanes. Strong gusts of wind, rotating, never ending. Chaotic, destructive yes, but at the end of the day, thoughtless. 
When he was 12, receiving the knowledge of his fathers diagnosis was something he could not comprehend. Theoretically, he understood. But he was innocent, young, driven and his dad was smiling every day. By now he recognizes denial when he sees it, ironically enough, but he would never be able to detest his young self for the way he dealt with it.
He stumbled upon the phenomenon of the hurricane in school, but he discovered the existence of its eye at his own hands late under his covers, where the world stopped rotating. It was still, it waited.
Sometimes, Charles feels like he is a small eye, being surrounded by fury. A small eye twitching, turning, searching for knowledge, but life, life was the whirlwind around him. Inescapable, unavoidable, transient. When he got small glimpses of the other eyes and their hurricanes, he'd see how different theirs were. Some eyes’ hurricane ended, but started again as a gentle wind. Some eyes’ hurricane slowed down. Some eyes’ hurricane transformed into a shape. This hurricane didn't rotate, it touched the eye. That eye hurt. Some eyes’ were the hurricane. Some eyes’, like the one with the shaped hurricane, became the hurricane. 
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Water has surrounded him his whole life. Monaco itself, with its gorgeous views and extraordinary lavishness, is caressed by the sea every day. 
He's surrounded by water yet he cannot have it. It's salty, unattainable, so far away from helping him, healing him, letting him live.  It's right under his eyes and around his cheeks, under his chin, drip dripping, but it's just not right.
Charles was thirsty as a child when pushing his hurricane into a puddle of water.
Charles is parched as an adult when feeling the water escape his windows.
Charles has this feeling, that he'll never really be quenched.
And the water he has had contact with for the past years, is just not right. It’s never blue enough.
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Grief was sadness. It was tears shed and unshed, bleeding hearts, unheard screams, untouchable breaths. 
Grief was anger. It was rage, it was blinding, it was fury.
Grief shapes you, changes you even.
But the thing with grief, is that you can shape it back.
So Charles learned from previous open wounds. His grief became a weapon. A double sided sword.
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When he lost his godfather, Charles raced. 
When he lost his father, Charles won and Charles lied.
When he lost his friend, Charles became Destiny.
Il predestinato was born and it felt like a phoenix.
It died, it crumbled and it fell, but it returned, temporarily, as the hurricane. In an unending cycle, that phoenix is not leaving anymore. Its ashes will whirl around his cheeks and hide under his skin, under his eyes asleep, awaiting. 
It feels like a curse on bad days, a blessing on others.
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Red.
If you ask people about a remarkable color, red would show up in most of their answers. Its meaning infinite. Its solitude finite.
Red is potent, sexy, hot, scary, bright, passionate, too much, not enough. Red is there. Red is everywhere. Red is history. Charles, in quiet nights and loud thoughts, decides that he hates history.
History is in him, pumping through his heart. History is wrapped around him. History protects him in case of red, hot, burning, fire. History made people hope, dare. 
History was his expectation, from others. 
History is his future.
He touched history’s hand on his deathbed, he lied to history.
He stole history too early, so he points at it any time it's made. Up in the sky. Next to his heart.
He tried to make history proud, but history can’t answer.
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Saying all of this he can't deny that he himself, Charles Leclerc, is the poison, the eye, the phoenix, the thirst, the sword, the history. It trails after him, caught in his shadow, climbing, crawling towards the light. 
But the poison has an antidote.
That eye attracts life, it gets scraped, but never hurt.
The phoenix rises.
The water is filtered, it's close.
The sword dulls on the side that isn't used.
The history is the past, present and the yet to be discovered.
And hope.
Hope stands tall, leans over, checks, and it sees. It doesn't leave, it just hides. He catches glimpses of it outside of his hurricane. Hopes for hope to slip in. But that's not enough.
And Charles Leclerc may have learned new lessons and lived more years, but he'd be damned if he doesn't catch what he wants. He will stretch, he will climb, he will throw. He is Success and Success is him. 
He will take it, he will earn it, he will hold it up in the air and he will swing it at his hurricane with water. His hurricane which never leaves, always follows. His hurricane who balances history with respect.
Respect is blue.
And Charles is a World Champion.
CHARLES LECLERC SEALS THE 2025 WORLD CHAMPIONSHIP BY A LANDSLIDE
Charles Marc Hervé Perceval Leclerc seals his Maiden Championship, Max Verstappen in second place, Lando Norris, with a promising future, occupies the third place.
December 8, Abu Dhabi
“This is for Jules, this is for Papa. But most importantly, this is for me.” says the young 27 year old.
Becoming the first driver since 2007 to win Ferrari a Championship, Charles Leclerc took this year by a storm. His teammate, Carlos Sainz was on the podium in Abu Dhabi, alongside him. 
The young man has shown promising career results since his phenomenal win in F2 and impressive debut year with Sauber in 2018. 
Leclerc joined Ferrari in 2019, alongside 4 time World Champion, Sebastian Vettel. The next few years were a whirlwind of emotions with the highest highs and the lowest lows. He has dedicated all of them to his godfather Jules Bianchi (17), who helped shape him into the man he is today, and unfortunately passed away after a crash in his career, and his father Hervé Leclerc, who passed away when Leclerc was only 19. 
Watch Charles Leclerc's first race as a world champion in the Abu Dhabi GP on Sunday live on Sky Sports F1.
-End-
Notes:
Some explanations cause I love analyzing:
The poison is Charles' mind.
He is the eye of the hurricane. The hurricane mostly represents life.
There is a mention of a hurricane that takes shape and hurts its eye. That is Max's father, who had full control of his life and decisions. Max growing up and succeeding allowed him to become a hurricane himself, with his amazing rise to success and emotional growth. However he is and will always be inexplicably attracted to Charles. The hurricane rotates around its eye after all.
The water if its drinkable represents success (at the end, the champagne), in most of the cases before he manages to succeed however, it was salty, like the sea and like his tears. The windows of the soul of which the water escapes from, are his eyes.
Grief is pretty self explanatory but it became double edged the moment he was willing to sacrifice his career for the impossible, Ferrari.
Red is history and history is him immediately means Ferrari during its years, and the impact it had on people close to him. History takes the shape of his father on his deathbed, and the shape of Jules in the sky. His history holds him back, at first at least.
History is balanced by Respect. Respect is blue. He swings the water at his hurricane. These are all direct representatives of Max Verstappen and his impact on Charles' life.
Please note that no matter how much I am writing here, it is all artistic speculation of what Charles himself has decided to show the world. Do not forget that these drivers are real people.
I wrote this after feeling quite low so I do reflect some of my own thoughts here.
Thank you so much for the dividers to @cafekitsune and @saradika ! They are so pretty!
And the amazing picture editing to @nesaluvstherecoms ! I love you bitch.
Thank you so much for reading! It would mean a lot if I managed to get some comments or reposts!
If you like this, I have written more stories that can be found on my Formula 1 masterlist. Including: Lestappen and Landoscar with more to come. If it manages to spark your interest, please go support those as well!
74 notes · View notes
Note
AITA for being upset at my mom?
🎵🎵 (to find it)
I know it's not a real big deal, but it's starting to get upsetting. English is not my first language and im on mobile sl sorry about that.
Okay, so my(20f) mother (F mid40s) suffer from long covid. Her symptoms consist of chronic fatigue, short breath, join pain and brain fog. (I still live home because im a college student, and finding an appartment in this market is hell)
We've been really supportive of her :
I drive most of the time, and my sister(16f) has her apprentice driver license, so she drives for mom when im at school; when we go to the mall and she need to take a break to breath, i always offer to go get her a wheelchair, or going to get the car, she sleeps a lot in the day so we don't make noise, i bought her loops earplug for sleeping, etc.
We're are used to it and my dad (mid40s too) work 12 hours a day to compensate for the money we're losing with mom on sickleave (where we live we have job insurance and etc): he starts at 5:30am to 6pm, and i usually only see him in the evening, so the only time we really are together as a family is during the evening meal.
There is where i could be the a-hole:
Since mom got long covid, it takes more time for her to respons us, and her memory isnt as good as it was (shes well known in her workplace, she a well respected manager who takes great care of her employees). It's just, almost every night, when me or my sister or even my dad are telling a something that happened in our day, she always cut us to say something, like :don't forget to put this in that, or just to say something she did that day over our own story, or asking me to bring her water in the middle of my sister's sentences (which she could have waited for after she was done).
So we, someone different each time, always tell her "X was speaking, you just cut them, and you do this often, please let them finish" and, well, when it happens everytime i am (or my sister) is trying to say something, it get upsetting. And she always uses the same reasons: "we're a family and we're cohabiting, sometime we talk over you but still listen to you" (no she doesn’t, i have to tell her a million times the same fucking thing and she always forget) or "you know my mind is a little slow right now, i'll forget if i don't say it" or she gets upset because we're annoyed by it.
But god forbid if you cut her! She'll raise her tone, and still doesn't get why we're upset.
Like, i get it, she got long covid and it's a bitch to deal with the way your cognitive capabilities slow down with the fatigue, but we've been extremely helpful (and im still gonna be, because she's my mother) and her allowing herself to lack respect towards us doesn't excuse her because she's ill. At least this is how i see it?
At this point i dont really know if i can feel upset? Like, she's my mom, and she's ill (and it's really depressing seeing her this put down by the symptoms i don't wish it to anyone) but im just so tired to have to restart the same sentence four or five time because she keep interrupting me
So, aita?
What are these acronyms?
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iambilliejeanok · 2 years
Note
Can you do Baby boyfriends again for itachi madara shisui sasuke and Obito 🥺 I know you’ve already done sasuke but it’s just so cute! (Pls include calling them mama) SWF and NSFW ❤️🥺🥺❤️❤️ PLEASEEE
Warnings: 18+, mdlb, overstim, smut. No madara 💔
✨💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗✨
🌸Obito🌸
Sfw
From the very start of what ended up being your adorable love story, Obito showed signs and symptoms of being a little bit co dependent.
“Hold my hand y/n”, is what he’d say as a front, but one day it was no longer a command, it soon became a clingy “Please hold my hand baby”, and he’d make the cutest face you’d ever thought he could muster as he slouches his shoulders and puts his hand out to you. The minute he feels the warmth of your hand spreading over his he immediately straightens up, feeling confident again, walking with a bounce in his step knowing his baby is by his side.
Trying to mask his needy personality off as a protective dom didn’t last too long. For a matter of fact, his plan failed dismally, you see, being a natural loving and caring person is Obito’s biggest weakness. Show him a crumb of compassion and he’s really yours to keep🥺 the man has mental health issues.
Obito loves to spend some quality time with you, cuddling, soft kisses that leave him out of breath and pleasant conversation is the purest therapy he has ever experienced in his life.
He finds it very difficult to be separated from you. If you’re the type of person who appreciates their personal space, Obito might not be very understanding of that. What is personal space even? Not around him. He needs to be apart of your existence somehow, someway.
He feels most loved and appreciated when you feed him his breakfast or dinner. It’s not like you have much of a choice, he gets all grumpy and all the more clingier when you deny him the kind of attention he’s asking for. He’s so heartbroken when you tell him “no” and struggles to understand why you need space from him sometimes.
Nsfw
He sure is needy under the sheets too. Sometimes when you’re cuddled up or about to go to sleep, he won’t stop bothering you. Burying his big hands under your shirt to cup your breasts, teasingly pulling on your nipples so you can smack his hand away, enjoying how you’re constantly whining his name out and playfully fighting him away.
He loves play fights!! Yes yes yes!! Wrestling for dominance is his favourite kind of foreplay. Even though it’s short, he loves having his hair pulled on and will sometimes take your hand and place it on top of his head, silently asking for you to tug a little. It turns him on so much when you’re both in the middle of love making and you can’t keep your hands off of him, tugging, scratching, pulling, kicking. If you’re not fighting him off of you he won’t feel like he’s doing much of a good job for you. So he’ll become a little whiny and start begging you for some instructions.
While he’s eating you out he wants to hold your hand, and begs you to keep going for him once he starts overstimulating you. “No, don’t tell me to stop, please baby, please just a little more, you taste so delicious”
When you’re fucking him, the mommy kink might peak through if you let him. He loves being edged and denied by you alone since you spoil with with affection and love for lasting long enough. When he’s gripping the sheets and digging his heels into the bed, you might need to finally give in to him, because he begs for you in the sweetest way, tugging at your heart everytime. “Fuck!, uhhh, mommy please this time please!!”, he whimpers and he’s so fucking cute and whiny you have to talk him through it or else because how can he manage🥺
Also, talk to him right please. Nice and soft.
“Wow, is my precious boy gonna come now? Show mommy how good she’s making you feel my baby”, and it’s just too fucking easy, he’s spurting hot loads of cum all over your fists like and erupting volcano, his back hips lifting off the bed to accommodate the immense pleasure.
Cleaning him off while sweet talking him and being gentle and calm with him is the type of aftercare he could only experience in heaven. You make him feel so safe and secure, praising him for doing a good job for you this time around. He’s so tired and clingy afterwards, he just wants your to wrap your arms around him and fall asleep with him.
💗Shisui💗
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Sfw
Shisui has always shamelessly shown you how vulnerable he could be since you’re so loving and kind towards him.
He notices that you are in fact affectionate, and takes advantage of that by being a baby around you all the time!
He puts your hand of his head to communicate head pats. HEAD PATS!!! Will unnecessarily whine and put on a whole performance for you when you don’t just do it on instinct. Please head pat him every time you greet each other. It’s worth it anyways, the cute blush across his cheeks and how he smiles trying to surpass the giddiness he’s embarrassed to unleash.
Always wants to match with you. Matching pjs, matching sweaters, matching kunai designs. If you’re not playing along he gets so offended. Like excuse me ma’am, you’re supposed to find every idea of his adorable and entertain it. How dare you.
Don’t worry, Shisui is the easiest baby to cheer up. Some raspberries on his neck, extra wet kisses on his cheeks and forehead, holding his and jumping in his arms. Please yes.
Loves snuggling with you and burying his hands in your pants for extra warmth. What they say? Thick thighs save lives or something 😭🏃🏾‍♀️
Nsfw
He NEEDS to please you. No matter how it happens. Being overstimulated? He can take it if it will make you happy. Even as he closes his eyes shit, hisses and grips the sheets, he will bare the pleasure you’re giving him since you told him to. “Uh uh,” you warn him as he tries to push away from you after he cums. “Be a good boy, lay down and take it baby. Can you do that for me?” And this man has a new obligation. He’s going to prove to you that he is in fact 100% your good boy.
You absolutely love dominating Shisui. He’s so pliant and eager to please. You can play around with him as you please. And he eats it all up.
“Damn mama, pleeeeaaaseee”, he whimpers as you suck the life out of him, tugging your hair to hopefully escape. “Tell me I’m good, fuck!!! mama, what are you doing!”, he moans in that sexy, soothing voice of his, confused as to what route he should take. Enduring this, or chickening out sooner than expected. Such a brat, he knows either way he’s getting all of his mamas attention and affection either way.
You’re going to take advantage of him all soft like this for you. “Well I’m not sure baby, do I have to stop or can you take more for me?”, and he’s gritting his teeth, this love hate relationship he has with pleasing you. “Damnit! I can momma🥺!”, he whimpers and it’s wholesome how he tries to stay macho while completely submitting to your pleasurably sick will. “Good job baby, I love you sweetie”, and he might just cum again from hearing you say that.
🌸Itachi🌸
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Sfw
Shit man, Itachi spent the majority of his childhood having big people stress levels. He’s the most childish mf you’ve ever met!
He loves to play. As in actively play with you outside. If you happen to get sent of missions with him, he has a line up of games in his head for the two of you to enjoy as you travel, ranging from tag, to hide and seek, and other games. You’re not the biggest fan of tag because he always wins and it’s not fair. But if you don’t play with him, he sulks a little, and wants to be all of over you some affection to soothe his aching soul. 🙄
Won’t bother to clean up his act when the rest of the group is around, or even other people. The Uchiha slaughterer will gladly snuggle up against you, hold your hand, rub his cheek against yours and hug you even in public, no matter the place or time.
He really feels like he can connect with you over moments so special where you play with him and entertain his existence.
He feels so special when you cook and clean for him, bowing very low to show his gratitude before giving you and giant bear hug.
Nsfw
I’m sorry but it’s no playing around with Itachi in this category of things. “Uh uh, more. Keep going mamas”, he whispers in your ear, his voice so deep and rugged from the constant panting, “If you want me to stop you’re going to cum one more time”, he promises, just like he did the last two times you came, and you believed him, nodding your head in desperation, “god! Itachi! “, you’re screaming, so dumb and overwhelmed when Itachi chuckles to him self, wrapping his arms around you to press you against his chest, his hips still thrusting at the same steady pace. Deep and slow. “Yes mammaa! Let go, it’s fine, it’s okay shhhh”, he hushes you, holding you tight against him as you violently convulse in his arms.
Loves to fuck standing, simply to watch you struggle to stay up. The more dependent you become, the better.
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okok so i was listening to remains of the day and i could not stop thinking of corpsegroom!eddie and victor!steve from @undreaming-fanfiction's Corpse Groom AU
Aneta, ilysm!! i hope you don't mind me adding onto your au!!! 🫶
---------------
Steve awoke slowly, blinking up at three (surprisingly) familiar faces. 
His kids.
Okay, not actually his kids, but the ones he took care of not that long ago. They had the same sort of blue tinge to their skin as Eddie did, but it was still them.
Wait...Eddie!
Steve sat up, way too fast, causing his head to spin.
“Whoa, slow down Steve.”
“Dustin? Dustin, what’s happening? You died! Years ago!” Steve frantically looks over the round faced boy, looking for any indication that this really wasn’t Dustin, but nope. He still looks exactly the same from the top of his curly-haired head right down to his feet.
“Yeah, I did. It’s not that big of a deal.” Dustin waves his hand nonchalantly and sits back on his heels from where he’d been kneeling over Steve.
“Not that–Dusty, buddy, I was crushed when you died. When all three of you did.” Steve looks at the other two, a red-headed young girl named Max, and the tall, lanky, and kind, Will. “I couldn’t believe you were all gone..”
“Well, it’s not like we meant to.” Max gripes at him, sitting cross-legged on the stone floor of…wherever this is.
She’s right, of course, the sickness that had shot through the kids of their small town had taken many under its cloak, but luckily only scurried away to the afterlife with a handful. Steve had found out half of his beloved group of kids (friends?) he’d watch over passed when he and his parents returned from holiday. Having skipped over the short-lived plague by happenstance.
He would’ve taken any of their places in a heartbeat.
“O-of course,” Steve stutters out, “I didn’t..”
“It’s okay Steve, we know you didn’t mean anything by it.” Will pats his leg and stands up, offers Steve a hand. “But the real question is, why did Eddie drag you down here.”
Steve lets Will pull him up, and he’s surprisingly strong, maybe it’s a symptom of being dead. Undead? Do you get stronger when you un-die?
“Eddie…Eddie! Where’s Eddie?” Steve looks around for the boy–nope, not really ‘boy’ any longer. The corpse that clawed itself out from under that tree definitely looked older than when Steve first knew him all those years ago.
Looking around the place, he meets the curious eyes and empty eye sockets of the other souls of this world. All those whose skin hadn’t quite gone had the same blue tinge as Eddie and the kids, and some still bore the marks of the events that’d taken them here. To this pub.
Is the afterlife only a run-down looking pub?
Dustin interrupts his scanning of the bar’s patrons. “We really need to play catch-up here, how do you know Eddie?”
“We–I–how do you know Eddie?” Steve retorts.
Max rolls her eyes. “Met him down here, of course.”
“He took us under his wing, helped us adjust…kept us out of too much trouble.” Will smiles.
“So, back to the original question, how do you know him? Dustin asks again. 
Steve lets out a long breath. “I knew him when I was young. Younger than you lot. He taught me to play piano.” Steve smiles at the memories of Eddie humming and singing along to whatever tune Steve’d make up. “He was a very good friend to me, until I just…stopped seeing him around. Whatever happened to him?”
Dustin winces minutely. “It’s kind of a long story..”
“And what a story it is!” A booming voice calls out from behind them.
Steve whips around, finally laying eyes on Eddie again. His arms are held wide as he’d come through the doorway to the bar, but the dirty, rumpled suit he wore and his full head of curls, now filled with debris, did nothing to staunch the glow coming off him. 
He’s so beautiful… and apparently just as much of a showman he’d been when Steve had known him, a fact that made him smile.
“It's a tragic tale of romance, passion, and a murder most foul.” Eddie continues, his low story-teller’s voice cutting through the background noise of the bar as he stalks toward them.
Max elbows Steve in the ribs and says, “This is gonna be good.” at the same time Steve catches Dustin grumbling, “..please don’t.”
Steve gulps. “Did he say ‘murder’?”
Max nods enthusiastically, obviously having heard this story before, while Dustin and Will grimace and nod unenthusiastically, also obviously having heard this story before.
“You all know how this begins, with little ol’ Eddie being cordoned off to his own side of town after getting caught befriending a Harrington.” Eddie begins his tale, speaking to and winding through the tables of patrons. “Can’t have us low-lifes on the ritzy side of Hawkins now, can we?”
Ouch. That stung a little.
“Life moved on, Eddie grew into a dashing young man,” Eddie stands straight and flashes a charming smile over the bar, one hand comes up to his chest and the other flings half of his dark mane over his shoulder. “Dashing enough to even make a deal with a more well-off family perhaps?
“A deal was bartered with the Cunninghams, to wed their only daughter to the once-distinguished Munson family.”
Steve knew of the Cunninghams, their only daughter was shipped off years ago to be wedded to the Carver’s first-born son in the next town over. He’d never heard that she’d once been thought of for marriage to Eddie, though he had been forbidden from knowing anything of the long-haired boy he’d met after his father had found out.
“But alas, the lone Munson heir was not one to choose the company of ladies, as lovely as Christine was and likely still is. She was his best friend, and he would not put her through a loveless marriage. Especially not when he had a love of his own.
“SO!” Eddie jumps up onto a rickety-looking chair with the exclamation, “He did what he thought best and he planned to run away.” he steps up further, onto the small wooden table, much to the apparent excitement of the skeleton seated there. “He took what remained of his family’s money, leftover dowry from his mother’s marriage to his father, and fled.
“That was the plan,” Eddie continues, plodding across the closely placed tables as he went. “Take the money and run, elope with his beloved; they’d already picked a meeting place, so he asked Chrissy to send word to his lover to meet that night, in the graveyard by the old oak tree.”
Oh no. That’s where he first found Eddie.
The crowd reacted together in a combined wail of “Don’t go!” as if rehearsed, all of them hanging on his word.
“I must!” Eddie replied, as if this was a play and not the tale of his own murder. “My darling dear will wait for me and we will flee to my only remaining family!”
“No!” the patrons yell again.
“Yes! We will go to Uncle Wayne, we’ll elope, start anew…we’ll get to be together.” Steve’s chest starts to constrict hearing the story-telling tone leaving Eddie’s voice. This was real. This is what he’d actually thought back then, back when he was alive, still full of hope.
“Oh no..” comes Will’s whispered voice beside Steve.
There’s a single beat of silence where Eddie seems to collect himself at the same time the crowd waits on baited breath (at least they would be if they had any) for him to continue, knowing what happens next.
Eddie jumps from the table he’d been atop to the nearby stage, spins around, and starts again, voice fully back in story-mode, and many-times-repeated words spill from his mouth.
“So there I was, next to the graveyard by the old oak tree, on a dark foggy night at a quarter to three. Ready to go! But where was he?”
Another round of call-and-answer picked up across the dingy bar, the entire place calling out, “And then?”
“I waited…”
“And then?”
“There!” Eddie points off to the side of the stage, “In the shadows, was it him?!”
“And then?”
“My poor little heart beat sooo loud….” Eddie clasped both hands over his un-beating heart.
“And then?!”
Eddie’s chest was heaving.
Steve took a step forward on instinct, not knowing if the panic on Eddie’s face was just for show.
“And then…everything went black.” The crowd gasps at once, all still seeming to be horrified by the turn of events no matter how many times Eddie may’ve told this tale.
Eddie starts speaking again, gaze far away, back in time. “When I opened my eyes, I was dead as dust. The meager amount I had on me, gone, along with the sound of my heartbeat.”
He starts back across the tables toward their little group, voice gaining confidence again as he recites his story. “So I made a vow, lying under that tree, that I’d wait for my true love to come set me free. So long I’ve been waiting for someone to ask for my hand,” He quick-steps down to the floor from a chair so generously pulled out for him by a kind looking woman more skin-and-bone than flesh.
“Then out of the blue comes this beautiful young man,” Eddie’s directly in front of Steve now, and reaches for his hands. Steve lets him take them, takes in the man in front of him, every last detail he can.
He’s just as beautiful as Steve remembers, even through the lens of crushing on someone much older than you; his hair was just as wild, his eyes as fiery, his hands much colder than the ones that used to guide his fingers along piano keys, but just as soft, just as sure.
What had not been there before was the dark purple, crumpled looking gash on his forehead, just under his hairline. The sight of which had pure rage boiling in Steve’s gut at whoever decided it was his place to take such a soul from the world.
“He who vowed forever, to stay by my side.” Eddie all but whispers.
Steve looks down at their hands and his heart squeezes in his chest at the sight of his ring on Eddie’s finger. He looks up with a smile, squeezing Eddie’s fingers in his and suddenly, the panic is back on Eddie’s face. For a fraction of a second, then replaced by one fully-cocksure. 
Steve’s hands are suddenly empty, Eddie spinning around to the crowd, “That’s my story. The story of your resident corpse groom!”
Eddie flings his arms wide, like he had when he first returned to the bar, and gives the raucous crowd a low bow. 
The muted claps of the corpses’ skin on skin, and the rattling ones of the skeletons around him are drowned out as Steve steps forward to place a hand on Eddie’s shoulder.
“Eddie, I–”
“No worries Stevie, I’ll get you back up to the surface again, no sweat.” Eddie takes a step backward, then another, his face under the grin falling sharply, “I gotta go find Elder Gutknecht, he’ll know how to get you back, no ties still tethered here.” then he turns and all but runs from the room.
———————-
ahhh!!! i couldnt get the idea of eddie, the story-teller he is, being the one telling his own story in remains of the day 🥺
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halogalopaghost · 8 months
Text
As It Never Will Be
read on AO3
“What is this, some kinda game? Like hide’n seek or somethin’?”
Raph chuckles ruefully. “Yeah, somethin’ like that.”
Donatello sits down. In the middle of the lair, surrounded by his family, he sits down before he can fall.
They're all on top of him instantly, Leo kneeling beside him while Splinter puts a warm paw on his head, and they're all trying to talk to him. Donnie can’t hear them through the high-pitched whine buzzing through his skull, everything around him is all blurred and muffled. And he can't breathe—why can't he breathe?
“—Donnie, Donnie please—” Leo, beside him, shakes his shoulder. The world tilts to the left.
“—bruised, he needs to—”
“—son?”
“Can you hear me? Donatello—”
“Bro, take a breath!”
It's Mikey’s voice that cuts through the fog. The flash of orange in his peripheral vision—so bright and happy, not a single stain in sight—snaps him out of it. Suddenly he’s groping for Mikey, grabbing his arm—both arms, and just releasing control of his own body. He feels the lurch as his full weight falls against his baby brother, but there are so many other hands on the both of them, they don't fall.
“Donnie,” Mikey murmurs, stroking his brother’s head, “buddy, you're kinda freakin’ us out here dude.”
He closes his eyes, which are suddenly burning for some reason. Why are his eyes burning? “Eight days,” he murmurs. He can't even feel his mouth moving.
“What?”
He hooks his shaking fingers onto the edge of Mikey’s plastron, memorizing the feel of the waxy smoothness and trying to replace it with the memory of the jagged, dulled scutes he last touched. “ Eight days , not ten minutes.” He gasps for breath, but his chest still feels too tight. Did the air in the lair get thicker while they were gone? Terror grips him as he wonders—is this even the right reality? Is this his earth?
He can hear them talking now, their voices are clearer, but he’s panting too hard to try to respond. His head is spinning, and he hasn't had anything to eat but small dry rations for days, and he can still feel The Shredder’s blood on his skin. He can feel it .
“Mikey, we’re going to the lab, come on,” Leo says in the most Leo-like way possible. God, it’s good to hear his pitchy teenage voice again.
His brothers haul him to his feet and practically have to carry him into his own lab, depositing him on the cot against the far wall. His little doctor’s station is there, with his magnifying lamp and sterile gauze and needles and antibiotics—stuff he would have killed for two days ago, when he saw to rebel after rebel with infections or burns or skin torn from bone—
“Donnie, what's hurt?” Leo asks urgently, hands hovering over his brother.
He takes in a thin, gasping breath, but hot tears are still coming down his cheeks and he still can't speak past the lump in his throat or that dull ache in his chest. Oh, is he having a heart attack?
Raph shoulders his way into the space beside Leo. Donnie’s vision goes double, giving him four brothers instead of two. “He ain't hurt, he’s havin’ a panic attack. Donnie, try to breathe with me.” He kneels and takes one of his brother’s hands, placing it on his own chest while taking deep and exaggerated breaths.
That matches up, he thinks as he gasps for breath. Accelerated heart rate, chest pain, shortness of breath, all classic symptoms of a panic attack. But no amount of logic can stop his body now, auto-pilot has taken over and he can’t stop the short, wheezing breaths that are quickly making him more and more lightheaded.
“Just breathe, Don,” Raph urges.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he remembers being years younger and teaching Raphael how to do this when their roles were reversed. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries, really tries to synchronize his breathing with Raphael’s, but he can barely take in any air at all. 
“Can't—” he gasps, shaking his head. “Can't, Raph—” 
He feels Splinter’s paw rest heavily on his forehead, thumb smoothing the creases in his temple, and senses, rather than hears, his Master’s soothing words. “ My son. Whatever you have seen, it is no more. You are home, you are safe. Let your mind and body be at rest .”
The world around him goes dark.
“His chest is bruised, he has four lacerations on his right leg that probably need stitches, he’s got other cuts and bruises everywhere , and I think he might have a concussion. I—I can't tell, Sensei. Usually I would ask him…”
“I know, my son. Look! He is waking up.”
Donnie’s head is pounding like a three year old with a drum kit and his eyes are crusted shut, like he’s been sick or crying, but he can’t quite remember when he fell asleep. He forces his eyes open anyway. He wants—no, he needs to see his family.
Only Leo and Splinter are there, sitting side by side at the cot. They both have their hands on him at once—Leo on his chest, gently applying pressure so he can’t get up, and Sensei holding his hand. He lifts the other hand to rub his eyes and nearly hits himself in the face with the IV tube they affixed there. He glares at it. “How long was I out?”
“About twenty minutes,” Leo says softly. “You're a bit dehydrated, so…”
Damn. At first, he felt like he slept for days.
“Are you alright? You really scared the shell out of us, Don.”
He stares at Leo for a long moment, then laughs. The giggle burbles out of his throat suddenly, hysterical even to his own ears. The last time he heard Leo swear, his voice was thirty years older and he didn't say shell . 
“I'm—I'm okay,” he stammers out, trying to hold the hysterics in his chest. If he laughs again, he might just burst into tears afterward. “Where’s Mikey and Raph?” He swallows thickly. “I need—I need to see them, Leo. I need to see you all side by side.”
Leo moves to stand, but Splinter beats him to it. He pats each of his sons’ hands, then excuses himself.
Leo scoots into Sensei’s chair, closer to his brother. His hand still hasn't strayed from Donnie’s chest. “I understand if you don't want to talk about it, but—”
“I don't.” That giddy feeling from just a moment ago is gone, and the hollow that it leaves behind might collapse into itself like a dying star if he has to say another word about it. He lays his head back against the pillow and fixes his eyes on a blank patch of brick wall somewhere behind Leo, suddenly drained of any ability to pretend.
He nods. “Okay. That's…that's okay.”
It's gonna kill Leo until he knows, because he thinks he always has to know everything. But Donnie is unequivocally certain that Leo doesn't want to know what he saw over the last few days. Hell, Donnie wishes he could unsee it himself. 
“Bro!” Mikey enters with two plates of pizza. They ordered it just before everything went down days ago—hours ago?—so it’s hot and fresh and the sight of it makes his mouth water instantly. “Thought you might be hungry, who knows what they were feeding you…wherever you went.”
Leo throws a look over his shoulder as Mikey sidles into the seat beside him. It shuts him up pretty quick.
“Thanks.” He takes the plate and lifts the slice to take a bite, but the smell of the grease and cheese suddenly sends a wave of nausea over him. Mikey has a point—he hasn’t eaten much in the last few days, so maybe he should start with something milder.
He sets it aside and swings his legs over the side of the cot, aware of Leo’s watchful eye. He reaches out and puts his hands on Mikey’s biceps, gripping them firmly. He knows it's weird, he can plainly see how they're both looking at him, but he just has to convince himself that it's real , and he's home, and maybe it was all just a nightmare after all.
“You sure you're feeling alright?” Mikey asks, mouth full of pizza.
He pulls his little brother into a bone-crushing hug, smiling at the surprised squeak. He doesn't bother answering the question.
“Hey, don't go crushin’ Mikey without letting me in on the fun,” Raph says as he shuffles in.
Don parts from Mikey just in time to see Leo reach up and wipe a smudge of pizza sauce off Raph’s chin, only for Raph to glare down at him with an energy of do it again, I dare you .
As soon as Raph is sitting (and thus within arm’s reach), Donnie reaches out and snatches the bandanas from his and Leo’s heads. He just looks at them for a long moment—eyes intact and seeing, faces free of scars and age spots and sunken frowns. Sixteen years old, voices still a little pitchy, not yet grown to their full height.
“The hell are you lookin’ at, brainiac?” Raph snatches his mask back. “Exactly how hard did they hit ya on the head?”
Yeah. He's home alright.
Leo breaks the uncomfortable silence by standing up and dragging the med cart closer. He starts ripping open sterile packages and setting out things for sutures to tend to his and his brothers’ wounds. Luckily, it looks like Mikey and Raph were more or less unharmed. The other two weren’t quite as lucky, though Don is sure he looks the worst by far.
“Okay so I know it was bad and everything, but the place I went was kinda awesome,” Mikey gushes. “We were superheroes! But like, it wasn’t really us or something, none of them went by the same names as us. It was spooky, dude.”
“Mikey, we’re giant turtles that practice ninjutsu, how much closer to ‘superhero’ do we really need to be?”
“Uhhh, I dunno, Raph, can you change size and shape at will? Can you fly? Huh ?”
Donnie sits back against the pillows while Leo gently positions his leg to do the stitches. Just a pinch of local anesthetic, exactly like he taught them, and he’s ready to go.
“Pfft, doesn't matter, I got to race across multiple hostile planets on a bike the size of the battle shell.”
“No way! Did you win?”
“‘Course I won!”
“That must be awesome for you dude, since you lost the Battle Nexus so hard .”
Donnie smiles idly at his brothers as the youngest receives a vicious noogie.
“I went to Usagi’s world,” Leo says quietly, not looking up from his task. Donnie barely hears him over the other two bickering.
“Oh, that’s…nice, I’m glad you were among friends.”
He chuckles. “It was weird, being in a world where anthropomorphic animals are the norm. I walked through cities in broad daylight.”
Donnie only hums in response.
Leo doesn’t look up until he’s finishing off the stitches on the first of three cuts that would receive them. Don doesn’t meet his eyes, just pretends he can’t see him at all. The look Leo gives him is a knowing and expectant one—usually this is how they have hard conversations, one exchange of information at a time. But Donnie isn’t interested in that bargain. Not this time.
“You think we’ll ever see Draco again?” Mikey asks. 
“Nah, that lizard’s done for. Though I woulda liked to get in a few hits first,” Raph grumbles. “Make the world’s ugliest snakeskin boots.”
“And Lord Simultaneous just recreated the Daimyo's son! Talk about a bad idea.”
“Maybe not,” Leo says with a shrug. “He’ll have a chance to do things over, and he’ll know what to watch for this time. People aren't inherently evil.”
Mikey shrugs it off. “What about you Donnie? What crazy shenanigans did you get up to?”
“Oh. It was…” he tries to formulate a lie that isn’t too far from the truth, but boring enough that they won’t ask for more details. “It was basically the same as here,” he shrugs. “I manifested in the lair, met you guys…”
“Boo, lame,” Mikey pouts. But Donnie catches the look that he gives him—he’s reminded that Mikey has always been more perceptive than they gave him credit for.
Donnie barely manages to beg off sleeping in the lab—Leo wants them to take shifts through the night, sitting at his bedside and observing him, but Donnie insists that they all need rest in their own beds after whatever-the-shell-it-is that happened to them in the last few days. (Minutes? Hours? He’s still not sure, and at this point he doesn’t care either.) He desperately wants to sleep in his own familiar room and listen to the groaning water pipes in the wall behind his bed, with Raph snoring just next door. He craves that normalcy like oxygen. 
Leo seems especially loath to leave him alone as he lingers in the doorway of his bedroom later on. He watched Don like a hawk all evening as he forced down some Gatorate and a few stray pizza crusts, and now he apparently wants to watch him sleep too.
“Leo, I’m fine,” he insists. And he really is, tucked into his warm bed and truly comfortable for the first time in days.
His eldest brother still hesitated, gripping the door and staring uncertainly into the dark room. “Are you sure you don’t want someone to stay with you?”
“ Leo .”
“Okay, okay,” he sighs. “Let me know if you need anything. I’ll see you in the morning.” He pulls the door to behind him, leaving a thin sliver of light across the floor and up onto the wall. Someone flicks off the hall light, and then that disappears too.
Honestly, Don is one hundred percent down for any and all of his brothers piling into his bed for the night, but admitting that to Leo would just raise more red flags on his already-sensitive radar, and he simply did not have the energy to deal with that tonight. So he lay in bed alone, pillows and blankets all tucked in around him the way he likes, glow in the dark constellations wishing him goodnight from the low ceiling, and tries to sleep. And tries.
And tries.
As time goes on, it becomes increasingly obvious that he just isn’t going to be sleeping tonight. Every time he begins to drift off, he sees flashes of his brothers from the future; blood, scars, the horrible things they said to each other, Master Splinter’s grave in the park, the way Mikey would occasionally grip the stub of his arm and faintly grimace like he was in pain—
Enough of that, he needs to get up.
Don rolls out of bed decisively, coming up a little wobbly on his feet. He doesn't have a concussion, that much he’s sure of, so he shouldn’t feel this unsteady. Maybe it’s just the too-quick pumping of his heart inside his shell, screaming like a steam engine about to fly off the rails, or the fact that he still can’t draw a full breath without feeling the tug of panic in the pit of his stomach. No matter what it is, he can’t just lay in bed like this. He needs to do something.
He pads out into the hallway and takes the stairs down one at a time, mindful of the stitches all up and down his right leg straining against the movement of his muscle and skin. In the dark, it’s easy to imagine his home as he’d briefly seen it in that other reality: broken, scorched, empty. Utterly devoid of life. He has to remind himself that Mikey’s ripsaw snores are real, and the flickering light of Master Splinter’s one ever-lit candle from behind the screen of his door are real, and he isn’t alone, and his brothers are safe, and he is safe.
But The Shredder isn’t dead.
He has a feeling that the fact is going to haunt him for a while—even more than usual, anyway—maybe until Saki really is dead. Next time he faces The Shredder (and there will be a next time), he won’t be making any assumptions about whether he’s dead or alive. He wants whatever the Utrom equivalent of asystole is, to see him bleed out then burnt up until there isn’t a single atom of him left to identify. Because even if those turtles weren’t really his brothers, that Shredder was the very same that he’s faced again and again—the same one that has tormented and abused his family again and again. And he’ll have his preemptive revenge, that is no question.
As he reaches the threshold of his lab, the comforting whir of computer fans and the blinking lights on various equipment greeting him like a warm blanket, and he’s absently surprised to hear Mikey’s voice in his head instead of their father’s. “ Fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate, hate leads to suffering,” says Mikey’s uncanny Master Yoda impression in his head. It used to drive all three brothers crazy that the Jedi code sometimes matched up so perfectly with principles of bushido; Mikey could spout Star Wars nonsense and Sensei, none the wiser, would simply nod along with him and tell the three that they should be more mindful like their brother. Of course, that had long since passed when Leo practically forced their father to marathon the entire Star Wars hexalogy for the sake of everyone’s sanity.
The memory brings a smile to Don’s face. He won’t let anger consume him like it had with Darth Vader—or indeed with The Shredder himself. He’s going to be intentional about involving his brothers every step of the way and make sure they’re all united and equally prepared when the time comes. If he’s learned anything in the last week-and-some-change, it’s that no one of them could take on Shredder without all three of the others. 
He leans into the doorway of the lab for a moment, just breathing in the familiar smell of motor oil and hot CPUs and trying to relax his tense body. Honestly, now that he’s gotten up, he feels more tired than he had when he was in bed. Maybe he just needed the change of scenery; a cognitive shakeup. Whatever caused the change, his body suddenly feels like it weighs a hundred tons, and he’s overcome with an all-consuming need to lie down. He easily crosses the lab in the dark and finds the soft edge of the cot against the wall. He lays down on his plastron and pillows his head on his arms. The moment his eyes close, the sleep which had so evaded him swallows him whole.
Mikey kept staring at him, eyes narrowed and suspicious, the whole way to the rebel base. Donnie thought about addressing it a few times, but quite frankly, he didn’t know how to address this older, cynical version of his brother. He hadn’t seen him smile once, or even crack a joke, or make an obscene gesture. This Mikey was covered in scars, missing an arm, and utterly suspicious of Don.
And looking at the world around them, Don couldn’t blame him.
Mike stopped short at a street corner. Donnie rushed to melt into the shadows of an alley anxiously, assuming his brother had spotted something or someone coming around the way. Instead, Mikey just stood there and kept staring at him with those shrewd, narrowed eyes. He’d be lying if he said it didn't feel a little threatening.
“Mikey?”
“How old are you?”
“Uh—sixteen.”
Mikey’s expression went completely blank, shrewd gaze gone into a faraway stare. 
He moved to take a step forward, then falters and stops. “I told you Mikey, I didn’t abandon you guys. Something happened . I haven’t—I mean, I didn’t live through the last thirty years.”
Mikey leaned heavily into the crumbling brick facade of the building Don had his shell pressed against, staring wide-eyed at the ground.
Donnie had a hundred questions he could’ve filled the silence with. First and foremost, he wanted to ask how the heck old he thought he was, half a head shorter than his younger-but-older brother as he was, but he thinks better of it. There was no good way to frame a question like that, and Mikey was clearly reeling.
“So you, what…time traveled here? Is Renet involved in this?”
Donnie almost laughed. “I wish, Mikey. It was Draco and the Daimyo’s son.”
Mikey uttered a string of colorful profanity. Well that, at least, was more like the Mikey he knew. “We spent all that time looking for you, we were all so angry with you…”
That stung. That his family could ever think him capable of outright abandoning them like that... He had to remind himself what this Mikey had been through, and the extremes that it must have taken for them to arrive at that conclusion.
“I’m not sure that I’m really…from this timeline,” he added hesitantly, voice small and uncertain.
Mikey straightened out. “Doesn’t matter. I just needed to know you weren’t…some kind of trick of The Shredder’s. I couldn’t live with myself if I led them right to the base, after everything. Come on, we have to get in before sunrise.”
Fuck, fuck , there’s blood running down the side of his face, and his hands are pinned, what happened? He vaguely hears the cries of a brother in the distance, but which one? Which brother, and where, and does he have enough strength to save them?
He groans and tries to gather himself, tries to force himself to think through the fog in his head. He feels paralyzed and stiff—something must have hit him in the head. But he can’t hear his brothers anymore, he’s alone now, and his entire body is slick with blood.
No, something seems wrong about that.
He peels his eyes open, almost forcing them, and slowly, slowly comes down from the false adrenaline high. He’s in his lab still, on the infirmary cot instead of the unidentified rocky terrain he’d seen behind closed lids, but he is definitely damp, that much is real. His hands, pinned beneath his plastron, are vaguely prickly and numb. He moans again, more conscious of it this time, and rolls himself onto his side. The prickling floods full force into his fingers as blood rushes to fill the oxygen-deprived tissues and his nerves respond in kind. His entire body buzzes in the dark.
He lurches to his feet and sways dangerously, righting himself at the last moment on his rolling medical cart. Something crashes to the floor and takes a few other items down with it, but the sound barely registers to him. He’s still wet, and in the dark he really can’t tell if it’s blood or not. As he stumbles out of the lab, he has one hazy goal in mind: shower. 
Don feels drunk on his own exhaustion and the leftover panic from the dreams he can barely grasp. He gropes for walls to support himself as he makes his way around the lair the long way, slowly skirting the edge until he comes to the stairs. He ascends them just as carefully as he’d descended them earlier. (How much earlier? His foggy mind hopes it was enough that he won’t have to go back to sleep, that maybe he’ll shower and feel rested enough to face the day, but the silent darkness of the lair betrays that hope.)
He doesn’t even turn the light on in the bathroom, just goes by the nightlight and touch as he opens the hot water tap and steps underneath before it’s even warm. The pipes in the wall shudder alongside him until they finally open blessedly hot water over his skin, scalding away what he now recognizes only as sweat from a restless, nightmare-filled sleep. His heart pounds in his ears over the rush of the water.
In the darkness, he rests his hands on his knees and rests his shell against the tiled shower wall. Vaguely, the logical part of his brain is aware of what’s happening: he’s tripoding—the medical shorthand for the posture a patient commonly assumes when experiencing mild to severe respiratory distress. He’s seen his father, his brothers, and his friends do it after a battle or a particularly brisk run, and he’s seen his brothers do it the few times when panic overtook them. He can feel his neck straining as he breathes, notes the peripheral muscle involvement to his list of symptoms. His heart rate…was still less than ideal, but it never really slowed down since he got home from that nightmare earlier in the day.
Simply put, he’s having another panic attack. Alone, in the shower, in the dead of the night. He drags in steamy breath and forces it back out too quickly, shaking under the scalding water. He doesn't understand—he held it together so well with those alternate versions of his brothers, kept cool and level headed and led them to victory, no matter how pyrrhic it may have been. And now, even though he intellectually knows what’s happening and has experienced this sort of post-trauma breakdown before, he doesn’t understand why it’s happening to him . Can’t he just catch a break for once? Can’t he just sleep through the night, suffer through whatever nightmares his traitorous subconscious deals him, and move on like the rest of his brothers? Does he really have to be such a crybaby about it?
He pounds his fist into the tile, grits his teeth together as it gives and cracks beneath his fist, then sinks to his knees in the shower stall. Even if he has to tape his eyelids open, he won’t be risking sleep again tonight.
Mikey, usually the earliest to rise out of all of them, looks positively shocked when he catches sight of Donnie sitting at the kitchen table at zero-dark-thirty, coffee mug and book laid out in front of him. If Leo and Raph are equally surprised to see him up and about when they file in, they don’t show it.
Sensei suggested the night before that they skip the day’s training, giving everyone a chance to rest and reorient themselves in their home. Donnie had a sneaking suspicion that it was solely for his benefit though, as his brothers appeared more or less unaffected by their adventures, and he just isn't going to take any of the misplaced sympathy. Just before the clock strikes seven, their normal gathering time, Don stands up and pointedly enters the dojo. He supposes Sensei really meant it about taking the day off—no one has lit the candles nor dragged out the sparring mats, so he sets to the task himself. 
He hears the telltale dull thunk of a shell hitting the wooden frame of the dojo door and pointedly ignores it.
Raphael clears his throat loudly. “Don,” he starts evenly, “whatcha doing?”
“What does it look like I’m doing?” he mumbles in reply.
Raph doesn’t say anything right away. Instead, he waits until Donnie has dragged the first mat into the center of the room and stands panting over top of it, shell still toward his brother.
“Looks like yer being more stubborn than Leo. Which I’d usually commend, but you look like shit.”
Don wipes a thin sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, pretending that it wasn’t shaking, then turns to face his brother. “Gee, thanks. Are you gonna help me or not?”
Raph, arms crossed over his chest, shrugs. “Nah, I’ll letcha wear yourself out.”
Donnie rolls his eyes and goes for the next mat, pulling it from its place leaning against the brick sewer wall to rest on the ground, then dragging it into place. It doesn’t usually take any effort at all for him to do this, but today it feels like he’s trying to drag an entire continent across the dojo. Fcine, so he hadn’t gotten the best rest or nutrition while he was in that godforsaken future, but he can’t begin to recondition his body until the dojo is set up and his Sensei has stopped babying him.
When he finally pulls it into place, arms trembling, he centers himself on the mat and sinks into a lotus pose with less grace than he’d have liked. He holds no delusions that he’ll be able to meditate like this, but he wishes his brothers would at least sit down with him so that he could pretend to join them and have that deep-meditation connection.
Eyes closed, Donnie listens to Raph close the dojo door, heave a great sigh, and assume a matching pose beside him, knees just barely touching.
“You look like shit,” he repeats. “What happened, Don?”
He flinches. “I spent a week in an alternate reality. It was just—tiring, is all. I’m fine.”
“Bull-fuckin’-shit you’re fine, you look like ya lost fifteen pounds and ten years off your life. I don’t need all the gritty details, but I like t’think you trust me enough with the gist of it.”
“It’s not about trusting you,” Donnie snaps, opening his eyes and jerking his knee away from Raph’s. “I just don’t want to talk about it. Is that a crime?”
He wants Raph to rise to the challenge, meet his anger in kind and start a fight. He wants someone to yell at and blame and be angry at instead of the hollowed-out, bone-deep exhaustion in his chest. But his brother’s gaze doesn’t harden, and his hands don’t ball into fists. Damn him for having compassion, damn Leo for helping him get his anger under control, damn him for losing an eye, damn him for his recklessness that will eventually get him killed.
Raph’s face softens instead. “I heard ya bumpin’ around last night. Did you sleep at all?”
Donnie searches his brother’s eyes for a hint of mockery, a thread of wayward anger he can pull at and unravel, but all he sees is a reserve of compassion that Raphael keeps on tap just for him. He wants to scream, wants to hit something, wants to rip his metaphorical hair out and go apeshit, but he’s the smart one. The level-headed one, the one holding everything together, the one that they look to for strength when things are uncertain. He can’t waver, he can’t let them know their potential future, he can’t let them know how horrible it could be if he fucks up even a little bit.
Raph reaches toward him, and when Don flinches away, he drops his hand into his lap instead. “When you decide you wanna talk, I’ll be around.” He waits a moment, watches as Donnie shifts his gaze to the mat and tries to keep his breathing level. Eventually, he leaves and closes the dojo doors behind him.
Don lays down on the mat and buries his face in his hands.
“Wait, so you aren’t our Donnie?”
In the basement of the rebel hideout, after two days of waiting, Donatello finally had this battered version of his brothers together in one place. They sat around a battery-powered lantern and talked in hushed tones so as not to wake the infirmary of rebels sleeping on the far side of the room, and the harsh shadows cast at harsher angles made his brothers’ weathered faces look truly foreign.
“Well, not exactly,” he said slowly. “I think your Donatello and I are one and the same, but this timeline seems to be a result of my disappearance at Draco’s and the Daimyo’s son’s hands,” he mused. “If you—that is, the younger version of you—are able to put me back in my own time and place, this all may not come to pass at all.”
The three turtles around him, simultaneously his brothers and not his brothers at all, let out a collective sigh that sounded like relief.
“But that’s a lot of maybes, and since you all have no clue what happened to me in this timeline...it’s far from the only possibility, or even the most likely one.”
Leo reached under his dark glasses and scratched at a scar. “If there’s a chance that you could go back to your own timeline, then you need to stay here. Whatever you’ve cooked up in that brain of yours, we can do it ourselves, the three of us, and leave you out of it. You’re of more use to your brothers than...us,” he said awkwardly.
What he meant was if you die here, now, that cements this future, and we don’t want that. Donnie didn’t want that either, but there was nothing to say that this wasn’t already cemented. If his brothers, or Lord Simultaneous, or Draco or whoever was going to pull him back into his own timeline, it would make the most sense to do it at the moment when he showed up. Honestly, there were a thousand different possibilities and Don didn’t have the time or brainspace to do the necessary calculations to rule some of them out. What mattered was that he was prepared to face this reality as the only true future and do whatever it took to save his brothers, these brothers, even if that meant death.
“I’ll be careful,” he said, trying to brush it off. But the Leo of the past wasn’t that gullible, and this elder Leo for sure was not. 
“Yeah, sorry Don, that’s not gonna fly,” Raph grumbled out, beating Leo to the punch. Leo’s words died on his lips. “Losin’ you once was bad enough,” he adds, voice cracking at the end.
The foursome grew silent, each willing the other to speak first. Finally, it was Mikey who broke the silence with a harsh laugh.
“Seriously, he’s here after thirty years, offering us a solution on a silver platter, and you’re gonna turn him down on the off chance he can prevent this altogether? This is our chance , guys.”
“Our last chance almost cost you your life, Mike,” Raphael snaps. “And it did cost ya an arm. We’re not draggin’ him into this.”
“Hey, don’t I get a say here? You’re not dragging me into anything, it’s literally my plan .”
Leo held up a hand to silence the argument, and to Donnie’s surprise, the other two actually listened. Even after all this time. “Donatello, I won’t let you put yourself in harm’s way. I failed to protect you once, and I will not make that mistake again. You can go, but you’re going to stay inside the tunneller.”
Donnie bristled, crossing his arms over his chest. He’d spent the last two days, while he and Mikey waited around for him and Raphael to show up, treating the wounded and ill. He’d sewn more stitches than he could count—so many that his fingers were sore and stiff—and held more than one hand while its owner passed into the next world. He helped April dig graves while Mikey stood by watching, physically unable to wield a shovel to help. He watched his brother sleep, whimpering in pain and pleading with invisible enemies in his dreams. He might be thirty years younger than them, but he’d done enough damn growing up in the last forty eight hours to at least make his own decision. 
“Let me get this straight. Leo, you’re assuming that I’m not your Donatello?”
Leo hesitated, clearly trying to follow his brother’s train of thought. “Yes,” he said hesitantly. 
“Good. Then you’re not my Leo, and I don’t have to follow your orders. I’m going, and that’s the end of it. You guys need me.”
Mikey, sitting between Leo and Raph on Raph’s blind side, grinned and gave Donnie a wink. It was the first bit of the Mikey he knew that he’d seen in two days. 
Leo opened his mouth to speak, a finger raised, and Raph once again beat him to it with a harsh, grating laugh that sounded more like silverware in a garbage disposal than his own brother.
“I always knew ya had more balls than brains, just like the rest of us.” Raph sighed and cuffed him on the shoulder affectionately. “Let’s hear the rest of the plan, you little maniac.”
Donnie couldn’t help it—despite the gloom and terror and hopelessness around him, he smiled. And for the first time in who knows how long, so did all three of his brothers.
He wakes in a sticky sweat for the third time in one night, on the living room couch this time. He tried replicating the success of last night’s nap by trying the cot in his lab first, then the couch, but he keeps having the same results no matter where he falls asleep: visions of blood, of swords, of the Shredder’s angry pink face, of the angry pink gore that spilled out of it as the crystal drill bore into him—
Enough to keep him awake again.
He sits up, panting, and freezes completely when he sees a shadow of a figure across the dark lair. He has the nearest thing in his hands in an instant, which just so happens to be the oversized, unlosable TV remote that Master Splinter scavenged after the third time Mikey misplaced the old one. It makes a poor replacement for his staff, but a stick is a stick, and he’s got killer aim. 
“Whoa, I come in peace,” Mikey stage-whispers. 
Don’s entire body sags back into the pillows, tossing the remote aside. He lets out a dizzying sigh and resumes his labored breathing, hand over his eyes. “You scared the shell outta me, Mikey.”
“Duh, Captain Obvious.” Mikey comes closer, the soft plap-plap of his feet on the stone floor a comforting metronome. “You okay bro? You were having some killer nightmares.”
Don scoots over and makes room for his brother on the couch, gesturing to join him. He obliges, lazily throwing an arm around his brother’s shoulders. Ah, so he isn’t hiding the distress very well. He never could hide much from Mikey, anyway. 
“I’m fine,” he insists. “The usual stuff.”
“Shredder?”
A ghost of an ironic smile flits across Don’s face. “Yeah.”
Mikey’s quiet for a while while Don gets his breathing and heart rate under control. It’s easier than it was yesterday night, but still harder than he’d like it to be. He’d never been the praying kind, seeing as he and his brothers were somewhat of an affront to any god that might exist, but he would do damn near anything to forget those images of his brothers’ battered bodies, covered in blood and the scars of too many years on their own, lungs stilled by his failure. He knows he has many more sleepless nights to come, but the reminder that he doesn't have to face them alone is more than a little comforting.
These brothers aren’t dead, they aren't maimed, they aren’t at odds with each other. At least no more than usual. He shouldn’t push them away—he needs to drag them in closer and make sure they all know how much he loves them.
Stupid Raph, forcing perspective on him and making him see reason. Of all his brothers. 
“Donnie?”
“Hm?”
His little brother hesitates, hand idly tracing patterns over Don’s scaly shoulder. “I know you saw something bad, wherever you went. You don’t have to tell me about it, but you’ve been acting funny—like, not ha-ha funny, and what you said about…my arms? It's just been wiggin’ me out, man.”
Wow, he barely remembers saying that. The confusion and sheer emotional gut punch of going from Shredder’s throne room to standing beside his brothers, young and whole again, it was…something else.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Don opens his mouth to dispense an automatic reply as he’s overwhelmed by horrible images of his brothers’ mangled bodies and the sharp smell of their blood in the air, but finds himself stopping short. He didn’t want to talk about it with Leo at first, or with Raph earlier, but Mikey…
Even if it wasn’t this Mikey, a Mikey had been his anchor throughout the whole ordeal. Maybe Donnie going missing was what kickstarted the apocalypse or whatever, but he realizes now with a start that Mikey was the glue that held them all together long enough to get anything done in that dismal future. Maybe their older brothers don't need to know about it just yet, but Don is seized by the sudden realization that Mikey deserves to know.
“It was a future where Shredder won,” he begins quietly. “Not our future, I'm going to make sure of that. But he ruled the entire world and you—you were in hiding. Near the lair, but the lair had been destroyed.” He smiles a little, in spite of it all. “You were a badass . I mean, not that you aren't already, but in the future you were seriously wrecking the Foot’s shit. But you were…well, you only had one arm. The other was gone.”
Mikey mumbles out a dulled “huh” that sounds vaguely horrified, but it’s hard to tell without seeing his expression. “That—uh, that's messed up dude. But everyone else was fine, right?”
Donnie worries his hands together in his lap. “No,” he says hoarsely. “Sensei was…gone. Raph and Leo didn't talk anymore, and Raph was missing an eye, and Leo was blind —” He shudders and takes in a thin, trembling breath. “It was horrible , Mikey, like a horrible nightmare I couldn’t wake up from. I helped you take down the Shredder, but it cost you all your lives . I couldn’t save you —”
Mikey pulls him into a hug so suddenly that he lets out a startled cry. With his little brother holding his head to his chest, Donnie finally just can't hold it in anymore. He cries bitterly for the broken future he saw and those brothers that he couldn't save.
“It was my fault,” he cries. “I disappeared and everything fell apart—”
“Hey, hey, bro, it's okay.” Mikey squeezes him gently. “That wasn’t me, or Leo or Raph, those were just some other guys that looked like us. See, I’ve got two good huggin’ arms here! Leo is definitely not blind since he’s been glaring at everything all day, and Raphie is perfectly capable of rolling both his eyes at us. You’re here now, and—I know you’d never leave us. It's okay.”
He hiccups another sob. “It could still happen. If I go missing, or die—”
Mikey pulls him out to arms’ length to look at him. He can barely make out the unusually stern features of his brother’s face in the dark. “Hey, you are not going to die. Don’t even think about it.”
His mouth hangs open for a moment, stunned by his baby brother’s serious tone. Then another wet sob strangles his throat, and he's falling apart all over again. “I'm so scared Mikey, there's nothing to say that isn't exactly what’s going to happen to us.”
Mikey must not know what to say to that, because he just pulls him back in to hold him while he cries. Donnie isn't even sure why he’s crying—it’s all over now, it maybe never even happened, there's no point in dwelling on it now. The tears fall all the same.
“Hey, what's with the ruckus in here? A turtle needs his— Donnie ?” Raph is up and over the second-floor railing and kneeling by the couch in seconds, his hand on Don’s arm as he continues to cry. He just can't stop , no matter how hard he tries.
Leo’s in a second later, a sheathed sword in one hand, the other on the hilt. At the sight of his brothers, he sets it down by the stairs and silently joins them, perched on the edge of the coffee table.
With Raph clinging to his arm and Leo gently stroking the back of his shell, he calms faster than he thought he could. The silent comfort of his brothers—his strong , stubborn, loving brothers—is like a balm on his aching soul. His cheek pressed to Mikey’s plastron, he takes in deep, shuddering breaths and tries to focus on the moment. He’s here now—they all are.
“I'm scared,” he says again, words slightly slurred by his position against Mike.
“It's okay to be scared,” Leo says softly. His hand’s gentle movements on Don’s shell don't cease.
“Yeah, Mikey’s scared all the time,” Raph suggests with a hint of a smile.
“I didn't think I'd ever see you guys again. I didn't—I didn't even know if I was in another reality, or if it was just too late to change things. I still don’t.”
Mikey makes a sad, strangled sound in his throat, and his arms tighten around Donnie. “We’re here, dude, we’re not going anywhere.”
Donnie can tell that Leo and Raph are both barely holding back on a million questions, but he can’t find it in himself to repeat any part of the story now. Now that it’s out of him, he feels like a weight has been lifted from his chest and he can breathe for the first time since the Ultimate Draco vanished him away. He has all three brothers, every part of them, and the next thirty years stretch out in front of him like eons. He knows they’ll get hurt, he knows they’ll have to face Shredder again, but for now just being whole and together is enough. Knowing that his brothers could live with him and this failure, the horrible reality that even though he has the smarts and the skills to match he can’t always save them , soothes something broken inside him that he didn’t even know was there.
“I love you guys,” he mumbles, the words mashed and mangled between the thickness in his throat and his mouth so close to Mikey’s shell.
They’re each quick to respond in kind, hands and arms tangling around him in a warm and confusing embrace of scales and shells and tears from more than one of them.
They sleep in a tangle across the couch and living room carpet that night, all as close to Donatello as they can be. Every time he wakes to a nightmare, at least one of them is there to assure him that he is not alone, the nightmare is over, and he hasn’t failed.
By the time morning rolls around again, warmth has curled up and made a home in Donnie’s chest, replacing the hollow and horrible feeling that had taken respite there ever since he had to look at his brothers’ broken and bloodied corpses. He watches them all sleep—Mikey sitting up at the end of the couch, Raph in Master Splinter’s armchair, Leo sprawled across the carpet with a blanket haphazardly thrown across his legs—with a smile, knowing they’re alive, and they love him, and he loves them. For now, that’s all he needs in the world. The rest of it? They’ll do what they do best, and take it one punch at a time. 
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adhdstudybitch · 6 months
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Can disability side of tumblr help me out? Particularly physical and autoimmune-related disabilities.
I got hit with a bunch of symptoms a little over a month ago that none of my care team can figure out. I'm going to list then below, and if you have any ideas for what I could suggest my care team look into, I'd really appreciate it! Disclaimer: I'm not asking to be diagnosed. I'm working closely with my doctors. Please don't reply/reblog with something like "no one here can tell you what this is, you need to see a medical professional." I am. I just want suggestions.
Anyway, list of new symptoms:
Chest tightness/pain (triggered by: standing, bending, walking "too fast," climbing/descending a short flight of stairs)
Shortness of breath (same triggers as above)
More fatigued than usual
Brain fog
Dizziness
Dry cough
Heart palpitations
Anxiety, not triggered by outside situations
Trouble focusing or staying present (even when my adhd meds are at what is typically their most effective time of the day)
This all began after I'd gotten the covid booster. Because of the timing, my doctored looked into, and ruled out, myocarditis and pericarditis, pleurisy, and general lung issues. Doc has now put me on an acid reflux medication for two weeks. I've been on it almost a week and nothing has changed (big surprise, I know). I did some digging, and I want to throw out the possibility of POTS to my doctor. That being said, is there anything else folks think would be a good idea to look into? Again, not asking to be diagnosed, but yall know how doctors are.
Even if you don't have suggestions, pretty please reblog this! Whatever this is has made it very difficult for me to do...well, most physical things. I could really use some suggestions!
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squirrellypoo · 10 months
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I will be your blood loss consultant
Hey IWTV fic writers - want to ensure your character's blood loss feels realistic? Got a situation where a petit coup has gone too far, or a character got gravely injured? I've got a unique perspective to offer to the fandom - I've lived for extended periods of time with extremely low blood counts* and I'm happy for you to send me WIP snippets or to ask for advice on blood loss storylines.
To break it down a bit further, from my experience, how being low on the different types of blood feels/affects you:
Red blood cells - Red blood cells carry oxygen around the body, so if you're low on these, you're effectively low on oxygen in the blood. This is the most obvious, but you feel really sluggish, tired, and will be breathing heavily at the slightest physical exertion. Physically, it kinda feels like you're moving underwater, and your limbs feel heavy, and even short walks feel hard. (I went from running 10km 3x a week to getting out of breath just walking up stairs, for example). Cognition is fine, but frequent naps are a requirement.
Platelets - Platelets are what allow your blood to clot and heal cuts, so a lack of these means you bleed and bleed for a long time. But also you bruise super easily, and bruises last a really long time (weeks/months). You can also have spontaneous burst blood vessels in the whites of your eyes. Parts of your body that wouldn't normally bleed also do - like waking up to blood on the pillow because your gums bled overnight. The most unexpected part for me was having a constant background rushing sound in my ears - kinda like holding a seashell up, but all the time (until a transfusion).
White blood cells / neutrophils - A lack of these doesn't make you feel that different, tbh, but a lack of WBC means you can't fight off viruses so you pick up every single cough and cold, and have it for twice as long as normal people. A lack of neutrophils means you can't fight off bacteria, so your body's normal bacterial cohabitors cause problems that can really mess you up. So you've got to be insanely conscientious about what you eat (no runny eggs, unpasteurised cheeses, raw vegetables!), and brush your teeth and mouthwash after you ingest anything. You'll really only need to worry about these symptoms though if you've got low blood levels for an extended period of time (several weeks+).
Overall though, I've described the extreme examples. If your character is young and healthy, they will probably only experience the red blood loss symptoms (and possibly minor platelet symptoms) for a few days, depending on how much blood was lost. If they're in a situation where a hospital would give transfusions, be aware that you'll only ever be given enough to get you out of the dangerously low territory, never so much that you'd be "back to normal" counts after the transfusion(s). But transfusions do make you feel better almost instantly (better, but not good).
But again, feel free to message me with any specific questions (I can also tell you how chemo, meningitis, spinal taps, surgery w/o anaesthetic feels if that's of use!), I'm happy to talk about all this and I want to give back to this fandom and IWTV fanfic writers in particular to say thanks for the hundreds of hours of enjoyment you all have given me!
* I'm absolutely fine now! Over my lifetime, though, I've survived off the blood of literally hundreds of people. A bone marrow transplant saved my life 14 years ago and I run marathons now and am probably healthier than most 40-somethings, except I'm still Clinically Extremely Vulnerable to Covid and can't go into crowded places or unmask indoors. But my bloods have been fine for over a decade and this is in no way traumatic for me to talk about!
Please consider joining your country's bone marrow donor registry and/or donating blood regularly if you're able to! Both saved my life.
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gaynfl · 5 months
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Can you talk about how you got diagnosed with sleep apnea? I think I have sleep apnea, but my consult with sleep medicine isn’t until January
hey there, I would LOVE to talk about this
so the main "symptoms" of sleep apnea are waking up exhausted, waking up with a headache or dry mouth, daytime sleepiness, falling asleep sitting up, and pretty much anything you associate with being sleepy (mood swings, irritability, difficulty focusing or learning new things, etc...) so even before I shared a bed most nights with my then girlfriend (now wife), I knew something was wrong because man... I was tired all the time. I would fall asleep at work sitting up. I wouldn't be able to get out of bed all weekend because my body was so tired. I would barely be able to wake up for work, I had to keep cold water next to my bed to wake myself up. I had headaches all the fuckin time. I thought it was just fatigue (because I had experienced intense fatigue after my sisters death and it felt like it just didn't go away, yk? Wrong!!)
But I finally went and talked to my doctor about all of these things after my mom and wife were like "this is sleep apnea" and I told my doctor all of the struggles I was having (especially daytime sleepiness, I would almost fall asleep driving) and my doctor got me a sleep study referral like as soon as I said I was falling asleep sitting up.
I had an at home study with the whole set up, which was wild to set up and everything. Sleeping was Very Hard with all of that attached to me and I kinda wish I had pushed for an in person one but it was COVID so I took what I got! The at home test includes oxygen monitoring, a cannula to monitor your breathing, heart monitors and position equipment to see how you're sleeping when you have an apnea. It's all attached to your chest with this box that keeps all of the info for the doctors to look at later, it was actually pretty cool.
My sleep study results... ouch. So they average out your apneas per hour as well as your average oxygen levels per hour. But they'll also tell you your oxygen high and oxygen low. My high was like 89 and my low was 48 if I remember correctly. My average sleep apnea's per hour was 117, which means about two a minute! Horrible stuff!! Explains a LOT. And as soon as they sent me my results, they were getting me a machine. I think I had my test on like January 18th and by the 31st I had my CPAP.
now, if you get a CPAP please for the love of god use it. the difference in me as a person were night and day. the first weekend after only using it for Thursday and Friday nights was a whole new world. I was awake all day, didn't have to lay down to take long ass naps, and the first day I woke up I had deep indents from the mask but I felt SO good
so, long story short - if you think there's something wrong with your sleep, there probably is and a sleep study will help figure out what. I hope you're able to get answers and some rest soon!!
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Hiii can i get a fic where Scully is on her period during a case trip and she has really bad periods so she’s super moody and sensitive? Like she has really bad cramps and other symptoms and she does EVERYTHING to hide it from mulder but he eventually figures it out and spoils and cuddles the shit out of her? Thanksssss
Oath
Rated X / 363 words / Posted on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic
He would have happily eaten her pussy. Fucked her, let her sit on his face, any and everything if she’d let him. Despite her misgivings, there is nothing about her that he finds unappealing, no state of her body that might make him not want to touch, and taste, and smell her. 
She’s been apologizing for her mood all day. For being short and snippy, for refusing to go out to the crime scene just one more time before they returned to the motel. He isn’t oblivious—he saw the pamprin in her purse and a box of tampons on the counter in her bathroom. 
“Let me make you feel better,” he told her, and she brushed him off, mumbling something about messes and white hotel towels. 
He promised her that he’d deliver any stained linens directly to the dumpster, and assured her that establishments such as these do not keep count. 
Now she’s supine on the bed, one of those white towels folded carefully under her hips, and he knows without looking that it’s more than blood wetting his two fingers as he slides them effortlessly inside her. She mewls, canting her hips as she sucks the air from his lungs with her hungry mouth. She needed this, and he needed to do it for her. 
His erection strains beneath his sweats, reaching for the relief of her warm body pressed against it, but he shifts his pelvis away. How many times has she set aside her own needs in service to his? How often does he have the opportunity to return the gesture? 
“Mulder,” she whimpers, and he hears both the wanting and the question in her voice. 
“I want to feel you come,” he breathes into her ear, swirling his middle finger around her clit. 
She breaks in a way he’s yet to witness—so painfully vulnerable, so open to him, so trusting. It’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. 
They share a shower, and a pint of ice cream from the gas station across the street, and finally a pillow. He stays awake for hours, watching her sleep. He’s never been more confident in the existence of miracles.
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adhd-worlds · 1 month
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okay. hi. *breath*
i've always hated being called normal - but now when i look at myself i am thinking - is that because i'm not? - i show 'symptoms' (sorry but i kinda hate that word) of autism and adhd, but nothing major???
short attention span on certain topics, easily distracted, bad time management, i can zone out doing a repetative task/motion for 10/20 minutes (playing with figit toys and simular) or just staring into space - which i find oddly calming and helps me to zone out. i take stuff very literally and people tell me i take it personally, i don't think i do, i just don't understand them. this happens with certain peolpe more than others and alot though text messages. i don't like noisy areas but can cope most of the time. i get angry if i am asked (by close family members) to do a task i am already doing/do regularly every day without fail, but it also depends alot on tone of voice. i get upset very quickly and find it hard to control my emotions alot of the time. i find that stimming (though voluntary, something i conciously start and can stop) relaxes me and helps me focus. i am a visual learner and can take a long time to complete tasks, and sometimes just loose interest altogeather.
sorry for rambling, just hoping for some help, i have suggested i have mild ADHD to my dad who instantly told me not to start feeling pressurised to label myself and that it's okay because i'm totally normal...
thanks
j.
Lets go bit by bit. I don't think a lot of people like being called normal because it equates to being called "boring" or if you have idk, a "normal music taste" it means mainstream. Generally people don't like being seen as the same as everyone else, imo but then again, I live in an echo chamber filled with very interesting and different people who in some way or another, don't fit into "normal".
Secondly, a lot of what you shared are traits of autism/ADHD, quite likely you have both but I wouldn't use me as something to go by. I recommend doing the RAADS-R test for autism and there are questionnaires that are used in adhd diagnosis appointments online that sort of gage if you are. Also helps to read experiences people have online, especially those diagnosed with one or both later on (teens to 20s) and their day to day experiences and their schooling experiences. And then, if (when) you can or want to, start seeking out a dx from doctors.
Also, just an FYI, stimming is a voluntary action. If it was uncontrollable, it would be a tick. Stimming is usually fueled by a very strong desire to do xyz action in order to calm down or show excitement etc so it seems like it's uncontrollable. But myself and many others have repressed the urge to do so around certain people or at work or school bc masking. And part of unlearning the masking is to let yourself/choose to stim
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lorei-writes · 9 months
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To remember is a heavy burden to bear I
Chevalier x OC (OC Chart: Esther) Chevalier's POV (Light) Angst
Because having a perfect memory is a double-edged sword...
This work deals with the topic of debilitating illness. Reader discretion is advised.
It is hardly an unexpected change, considering that the symptoms she has reported could lead to a mere handful of outcomes… The only unforeseen thing about the current predicament is that the reaction first evoked by this conclusion has not yet grown any duller. The specifics of her condition stir the memories from back when she first arrived at the palace.
Observation is the prerequisite to treatment. The current situation, however, does not call for the initial diagnosis to be reassessed – much rather, it stands in support of it. It is utterly superfluous for me to be here.
But I am.
The sun hangs high on the sky, the silence within the room merely confirming that Esther has failed to rouse. I step further inside, my body acting of its own volition to conceal any traces of my ever being there, the carpet muffling my footfall sufficiently. The dark shadows cast over her eyes suggest my caution has indeed been warranted.
Esther sleeps. Quiet breaths lift off her pillow at gradually extending intervals until she enters the state of deep slumber. The hair that would be disarrayed on any other day is now bound in a braid; although it may be a deceptive trick of light, her freckles do appear darker. I sit down at the edge of her bed.
I don’t have any particular reason to do this.
There isn’t a thing here I have not been previously made aware of. The fact that I’ve remained informed of her condition, however, is now irrelevant.
Esther’s face is pale, paler, with sharp cheekbones. It is hardly an unexpected change, considering that the symptoms she has reported could lead to a mere handful of outcomes… The only unforeseen thing about the current predicament is that the reaction first evoked by this conclusion is yet to grow any duller. The specifics of her condition stir the memories from back when she first arrived at the palace.
It’s been over three years since then. I thought her worthless for my purposes. She was less than a Belle, which by itself was already a completely useless figure. Esther herself could hardly be considered a threat; however, were any third party actors to exploit her sister’s personal animosities, the masquerade they indulged in could compromise the internal security of the kingdom, potentially resulting in its annexation. I did not intend to allow for the situation to persist, not until…
“I am a dead woman either way,” the Esther of the past laugh-snarled bitterly. “If it took you a week to confront me about this, I do think that I’ve done an excellent job buying my sister time.”
Between hollow eyes and scrawny hands clutching onto the bucket of fresh vomit, she was quite a pitiful sight. Bony. Pale. Covered in sweat, feverish. Clearly malnourished and anaemic, as implied by her shortness of breath and thin hair. A poor diseased ferret cornered by a predator, both unable to move and unwilling to give up.
I towered above her. If I swung my sword, it would have cut clean through her throat. I stood in her only path of escape, although it was hardly a necessary precaution. It would be surprising if she as much as managed to raise from the floor. Nevertheless, Esther held my gaze and squared her trembling shoulders, even as my hand dropped to the hilt at my hip. Her knuckles grew whiter still.
“I have another offer to make, Prince Chevalier.”
I had no incentive to hear out the rest of her drivel. However, Esther continued to talk as I lifted the blade, the desire to live burning bright in her irises despite her prior statements. Whether the heart she possessed was the most beautiful within the nation was a disputable matter, but I could not deny her determination… Courage in the face of certain death is generally not the most obvious of choices. Not that she’d agree.
I turn my eyes towards Esther as she lies. Her face is not yet as angular as in the past, although that’s hardly a reason for satisfaction. She stirs in her sleep before opening her eyes briefly. Her eyelids flutter again the moment she becomes aware of my presence.
“Chevalier…?” she mumbles, her gaze unfocused. She attempts to sit up, likely worrying about appearing exactly as fragile as she is now. Ridiculous – it is hardly a reason for concern when it is only us. I push her down by the shoulders, to no resistance.
“Go back to sleep.”
Esther stares at me for a moment before assuming a fetal position. Being awake would only expose her to pain. I place my hand on her thigh and her eyes close.
Rest, Esther. Mornings are far too vile when you’re this unwell.
Tag List: @lancelotscloak @violettduchess @pathogenic @fang-and-feather @tele86
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beneathashadytree · 1 year
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Hii! May i request rumi falling in love w her dormmate?
FREE-FALL - MIRKO/RUMI USAGIYAMA X READER
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Warnings : none that I know of, this is not proof-read, reader is gender-neutral!
Genre : fluff <3
Word count : 0.6K words
Additional notes : Hey, nonnie! As you now know, I haven’t got the faintest idea how to characterize Mirko😭 However, I did my best trying to write this! It’s a little short, though, cause I didn’t want it to be too OOC. Hope you enjoy this!💗
Requests : Are closed for the time being.
Tip jar if you’d like to buy me a Ko-Fi!
Masterlist
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It started out with the little signs.
Lazy half-smiles and drowsy eyes sent her pulse rising in the morning as they watched her brew their coffee with messy hair and crumpled clothes. Glamorous fitted clothes at parties accentuated every fine line and curve of their body, and she found herself unable to take her eyes off of them. Bright, loud, and carefree laughter from her side during movie nights had her heart threatening to burst out of her chest. A flush almost always settled on her cheeks whenever they walked into the same room as her.
Really, Rumi felt that it was ridiculous. She wasn’t new to the feeling of having a crush, and she recognized these signs, but damn did she feel foolish acting so brashly like she often did when she was so eager to spend time with her roommate. She wasn’t a young schoolgirl anymore, so she’d thought she’d long outgrown the habit of wearing her heart on her sleeve. She clearly hadn’t, though, if the glaze to her vermillion eyes whenever they directed words at her was anything to go by.
Still, crushes were easy to get over, weren’t they? All it took was for her to snap out of her infatuation phase, and she was good to go. That’s how it always had been.
Wrong!
The little signs soon turned into major embarrassing symptoms. Rumi found herself dreaming of a future spent in their arms. She couldn’t help thinking they were the most captivating person in any room when they spoke of their day animatedly, and she could swear they were heaven-sent whenever their warm palms cupped her cheeks mid-crying session, when she was feeling like the entire world had come crashing down her shoulders. For every bit of their heart they bared to her, Rumi felt a small piece of her inch closer and closer to the dangerous L-word zone.
The zone that, ironically enough, had her bounding into their lap on the living room couch. They laughed, that angelic sound sending more butterflies to the pit of her stomach. “Eager, aren’t we?”
As they wrapped their arms around her, Rumi only curled deeper into their warm sweatshirt. “Time to binge-watch chick flicks.”
“It’s… Christmas eve?” Looking a little confused, they glanced at the calendar perched on their coffee table.
Rumi reached out for the remote, humming as she did. “Exactly. Now shush, because I need to concentrate on a good order to watch them in.”
“Alright, do your thing. I’m fine with anything.” Relenting to her wishes, they settled back properly against the back of the couch and pulled the discarded blanket over them. After all, it wasn’t the first time they cuddled up into each other to share warmth while watching the TV. That was one of the sweeter developments after their months of bonding.
What was a completely brand new development, however, was the way their hands wandered now. Nothing inappropriate, no, but something so flustering and sweet: one reached to lightly scratch her scalp right behind her sensitive ear, while the other splayed against her waist and left gentle strokes behind.
Rumi’s breath caught in her throat, and the remote nearly flew out of her hand after she’d finally settled on a movie. Every expanse of covered skin was left burning in the wake of their touch, and it took all her self-restraint to not breath out a shaky moan of satisfaction at the feeling of the hand in her hair. And when they leaned in to whisper fondly, “Hey, come a little closer. It’s cold,” Rumi knew without a shadow of a doubt.
She’d already tumbled head-first deep into the pit of that dangerous L-word zone, and she could no longer even pretend to try picking herself up.
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Taglist: @thispersoniscrazy @wifeofkyojuro
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winderlylandchime · 3 months
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Fanfiction Year in Review 2023
I fell out of fandom in 2021-ish for mental health and other reasons (iykyk). I returned this past year and reunited with old friends and made new ones. I absolutely adore fandom and all that it brings with it. The passion, the love, the community, the complete bypassing of cringe. Please, more.
This year, I returned to fanfiction and published over 150k words. I know absolutely that word counts mean nothing but if we’re taking writing as a symptom of emotional and mental well-being for me (for me!), then I feel so very good about this. I also learned how many ways someone can write about the same theme (prom! arc!) without completely losing their audience. I wanted to do a little year-in-review by listing the fics I’ve published and my favorite line from each.
Thank you so much to every single person who encouraged me in DMs, servers, kudos, and comments. Writing brings me happiness but the community around writing brings me the most joy. I would not have returned to fandom without each of you.
And then there were three rating: T, word count: 727, ficlet, inspired by a prompt by @lostcol and a bit of a character study of Brian Kinney.
Favorite line: Oh, there are mothers in Brian’s life now. They’re surrounding him as he sits, head bowed, face covered in tears-streaked blood, scent of death and ammonia in his nose.
(and I’d do it again) rating: E, word count: 6,865, one-shot, canon divergence in S5, maybe something other than a bomb can bring them back together
Favorite line: It’s not like Justin is going to come back to the loft with him. Not after he up and left five weeks and three - no four days ago. He’s ready to wash his hands of this night. Ready to be done to the extent that he’ll ever be done with Justin. To the extent that he’ll ever be able to fully wash his hands of any of this. He feels like Lady Macbeth with her eternal spot, forever marked by blood on the cold cement floor of a parking garage.
carried me with you rating: E, word count: 36,405, after prom Jennifer asks Brian to stay away from Justin, and he does
Favorite line: ”But that’s not me taking care of you. That’s, that’s - ” I struggled to find the words to convey what was natural, what was something that didn’t require effort or thought or intention. “ - that’s like breathing.”
love is so short (forgetting is so long) rating: T, word count: 2,777, WARNING MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, what the fuck was I thinking?
Favorite line: His mama, an artist, just said, “Gussy, some people, most people, have an infinite capacity to love. Other people have the capacity to love one person infinitely.” He never asked again.
clothes mean nothing until until somebody lives in them rating: M, word count: 3,007, 5+1 things and clothes sharing
Favorite line: That night, Justin lies in Michael’s old bed and holds the shirt over his face while he remembers the vibrations of Brian’s moans against his skin as he ate him out the night before. He jerks off to the memory. Not the first boy to jerk off to thoughts of Brian in this bed.
you’re like a tattoo (something i can’t undo) rating: E, word count: 87,170, my first QAF complete AU, sugar daddy AU. also kinneycutt!
favorite line: “Oh, darling,” Emmett’s voice is dripping with something cashmere soft. “Oh, oh, oh . Darling, you are fucked. Oh, you are beyond fucked.” He looks at Brian. “And you don’t even know it.”
beautiful like the darkness between the fireflies rating: E, word count: 18,611 (WIP), my first QAF post canon, exes-to-lovers, soft fluffity fluff
favorite line: “And, dad?” There’s a hopeful edge to Gus’ voice, something that hasn’t been killed by the spectacular failure of their moms’ marriage and generally having Brian as a third parent.
“Yeah?” He feels the word bubble up from deep in his chest. He wants this kid to hold onto hope for as long as they can.
“An anchor can be good, it can keep you grounded, you know?”
very low-key, no pressure, tagging to share your 2023 wins fanfic, gifs, or otherwise: @getmehighonmagic @magicandarchery @lostcol @kiranerysed @sophsun1 @bigassbowlingballhead @bartbarthelme @sheisraging @eusuntgratie @xoxoemynn
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