#catch me throwing hands every time they dismiss this kid

[thegeekyartist]

I have started watching TNG

[whore4abby]

italian summer; abby anderson

part two

part one

warnings; younger!reader (20), older!abby (28), mentions of nudity, masturbation (r) internalised homophobia (r), mdni

wc; 1.6k

you wake up to the sunlight streaming through the sheer curtains that hang over the window at the side of your bed. you feel a little groggy as you stretch your arms out, your vision quickly focusing on the room. you roll over and sit by the edge of the bed before letting out a loud yawn as you blink your eyes awake, stretching your limbs as you put both feet on the floor and stand up.

you walk towards the door connecting you to your shared bathroom with abby and swing it open. your eyes widening as you catch abby mid-change and are immediately frozen in place. your stomach doing somersaults as you’re met with the sight of abby's bare chest as she slips out of her sleeping t-shirt. her chest covered with a delicate spray of freckles that are lightly dusted across her tanned skin.

she senses your presence and smiles, the drowsy grin spreading across her sun-kissed face slowly. "good morning~" she throws the discarded shirt onto her un-made bed before grabbing a clean one to wear, obviously not phased by her partial nudity in front of you. you stand for a moment, contemplating whether or not to turn around and leave but the temptation to glance down at her tits is becoming harder to ignore with each fleeting second.

a feeling of guilt floods over you as you look down at her chest for a split second, your eyes focusing straight onto her puffy nipples before you rip your gaze away just as she pulls the clean shirt over her head, smoothing it down over her torso.

“see you downstairs?” her voice low and alluring as she raises an eyebrow. you look back up into her eyes and pray to god she didn’t notice you staring at her like a fucking pervert. little did you know that the idea of you looking at her like that has abby filled with utter self-satisfaction and pride in the way she’s able to fluster you with such a simple act as changing her shirt.

“yeah, i’ll be down in a second…i just gotta….“ you trail off your sentence, gesturing towards the sink. she smirks and looks you up and down briefly, taking in the way your shorts are clinging to your hips and how good your thighs look in them before she makes her way out of the room.

you hear her footsteps bounce down the stairs and you turn to look at yourself in the mirror, feeling immense amounts of shame - why do you have to feel such a way about another woman, let alone the older sister of your best friend.

thoughts of doubt about your own identity swirling around in your brain, but one thought remains at the forefront of your mind - why couldn’t you just be into guys like every other girl you know. “god im a fuckin freak.” you mumble to yourself before grabbing your toothbrush and turning the faucet on.

after spending an overly suspicious time in the bathroom borderline-psychotically contemplating your whole existence, you eventually make your way through the villa and towards the kitchen. the sounds of plates and cutlery clashing and clanging fill the air. you walk into the kitchen and notice you’re surrounded only by the adults, with lily nowhere to be seen. your eyebrows furrow in confusion but you still take a seat at the table. “where’s lily?” you ask, not really talking to anyone in particular.

abby looks up from her newspaper and waves her hand dismissively towards the patio doors, “she went to hang out with some local kids.” she takes note of the disappointment on your face and squeezes your shoulder reassuringly. “hey, you can hang out with me if you want. i can show you around the town?” you try to hide your excitement about spending the day with abby but a little shy smile breaks out across your face as you nod, “yeah. as long as you don’t mind.” your cheeks hurt as you try your hardest to supress your smile, beyond happy to spend the day with her.

“of course i don’t mind, sweetheart!” she smiles widely and pushes a coffee mug towards you, waiting for you to sit down and eat breakfast before you guys head off.

you both pass through the perfectly tended gardens, the sky dotted with a few stray clouds above your heads. you giggle timidly as you watch abby waving to the gardener as you walk through the countless apricot trees, the lush grass brushing across your ankles.

eventually after a short stroll filled with idle conversation and some borderline flirting that had you giggling and squirming, the two of you make it to what you can only assume is the town center. “you see this?” she points to a building in front of you and you shake your head, shielding your eyes from the sun as you glance up at her. “that’s the oldest cathedral in the city….opened in the 13th century. has a crypt underneath it too.”

“is there anything you don’t know?” you smirk up at her and cause her to let out a little chuckle before she goes on to explain more history to you as you stare at her in awe of her seemingly endless intelligence.

you eventually stop by the river, the plush grass tickles the backs of your legs as you lay down beside her and lean up on your elbows to gaze at abby. “whatcha staring at?” she murmurs, looking you up and down and not even trying to hide the fact that she’s totally checking you out.

she takes another deep drag and blows out the smoke a couple seconds later, extending her arm out and offering you the cigarette. you smirk and open up your mouth for her to wedge it between your lips, “there you go, that’s a good girl.” she purrs as you take a drag, her un-occupied hand skimming gently across your bare thigh. your eyes grow wide and you splutter a little, the smoke filtering out through your lips in a cloud. “you’re always so nervous around me…its cute.”

she moves her hand to your back to soothe you as you cough out the remaining bitter smoke from your lungs, desperately avoiding eye contact with her as you know you'll make a total fool of yourself. she grasps your chin in her hand, forcing you to look into her eyes and giving you a knowing look. you realise that she’s probably taken note of all the sneaky lust-filled glances you had been throwing at her over the last couple days and you just wish the floor would open and swallow you.

“cmon, its just me you don’t have to be shy.” she watches as your eyes trail down her face and towards her lips and her eyebrows raise slightly before she throws the cigarette to the ground and cups you face with both hands, “you’re so pretty, baby. can i kiss you?” you nod and she moves in to brush her lips against yours, catching your bottom lip in between hers and kissing you softly.

when she pulls away she brings her hand up to cup your cheek and she then brushes her thumb up and down your cheek, stroking your skin lovingly, “prettiest girl.” you pause for a second before leaning back up and connecting your lips again, not giving her time to react as you move to straddle her. she smirks against your lips and pushes you back. “nuh uh…we gotta be good, you know that.” she shakes her head and sits up. she pushes you away and stands up, dusting off her shorts and reaching for your hand.

you pout and take her hand, letting her strong arms pull you back up to your feet. “that was your first kiss, huh?” she teases, rolling her eyes and shoving you playfully, your legs buckling and almost knocking you off your feet. you scoff and try to tackle her but she catches you and pins your arms down to your sides. “yknow i’m much stronger than you, right? i could beat you in a fight easy.” you sigh in defeat and look up at her innocently, “just wan’ another kiss.”

“don't tell anybody though…keep this between us.” she lets go of you and lowers her head again, leaning in to press another kiss onto your waiting lips, lingering for a second before pulling back. “there, you happy now?” you giggle and nod, grabbing onto her hand and swinging it back and forth as she looks at you in amusement. “we should get back home…” she mutters sadly as you both start to walk away from the river and back onto the dirt path.

the rest of the night you spent laying awake, tossing and turning all night with abby being the only thing running through your mind. the familiar warm feeling blossoming in your tummy as you think about the way her lips felt against yours. that same feeling you’re never quite sure how to handle, but its so much stronger this time and before you know it you succumb to the urges. your hips start grinding against your mattress, giving your clit just the right amount of attention that has you shoving your face into the pillow beneath you to silence your pathetic noises as you whine out abby’s name.

once you finally come down from your high you roll over onto your back, chest falling and rising as you pant, copiously gasping for air. you quietly slide out of bed, slipping off your now soaked panties and tossing them into the laundry basket. the sight of the wet patch on the soft cotton sending your mind spiralling. the same thoughts from earlier returning and undulating through your brain, interrupting your train of thought and causing a paralysing lump to form in your throat. everything about what you're feeling towards her is so wrong and you try your hardest to push your emotions away and repress them into the back of your mind.

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© 2023 whore4abby all rights reserved

[bunny-1111]

Just thinking about James Potter x Slytherin Reader.

trying to outwit each other,

trying to desperately hate each other.

trying to restrain their eyes from finding each other in every room.

outdoing each other at parties, alcohol fueling them both, to attempt to distract themselves from the fact that they both fought a feeling in their chest for each other.

they spent an alarming amount of time pissing each other off, they would never accept that they spent so much time with each other, they dismissed it as standing up for the house spirit.

James, not being able to face her, across the great hall worried his face might reveal he had dreamed of her face just 2 two hours prior

Her avoiding Regulus' observations, he had caught on before her and James were willing to admit anything.

Regulus Black convinces her that James and all of those wicked Gryifindors just want a rise out of her; to let it go, he would humiliate her, just as Gryffindors do.

Sirius Black convinces James that she and her friend snakes only want to get him close and eventually stab him in the back. To let go of her, she would eat him alive, just as Slytherins do.

All glances, little comments, and attempts of communication halted, with both of them finally facing the facts. They were in love, although their foundation wasn't built of good, peaceful nature; it was built of passion, hunger, and tension, which made them both crave relief all the more. They knew they could only get it from the other, both too proud to admit.

Finally, when Remus and Sirus planned the biggest prank of the year, James usually jumped with joy at the thought. But with you and him not talking, he was in a foul mood, overheard the plans, and declined participation.

Watching the boys set up, James, arms crossed, was putting everything together in his head, eyes flickering from the giggling boys in front of him, then to the entrance of the Slytherin common room. "Remind me what it is exactly you're doing." James questioned

"well Jamsie, we're turning these tiny little crickets" explain Sirus, holding up a small cricket to James's face

"And we've enchanted them, to turn into lions, they'll chase good old snape through the corridor" laughed wormtail

"No kidding?" said James, eyes wide

"But... you're not doing it right now, right?" he continued

"We certainly are" laughed Remus

"No, but, she's with snape right now I can see them through the window" said James pointing to his 'enemy' worry now painting his face

"yeah that's the point" scoffed Sirus

"and you're going to help us, get the rope," said peter, shoving the heavy rope into James hands, he unwillingly went along

"How about you distract her! She won't suspect a thing, neither will Snape" gleemed Sirus, "I hope Regulus is with them too," Padfoot laughed

James stayed silent.

Eventually walking towards her, "hey" he said quietly

"Hi" she replied, eyes doe at him, almost looking nervous?

"I haven't seen you lately," he said, gently

She didn't know how to respond, usually ripping into each other spitefully by this point of conversation.

Snape and Regulas walking away from her, when they passed the rest of the marauders, tucked away in the gap of the corridor. Hearing Peter mutter that James was taking too long, they turned around and walked right back to you,

"He's distracting you" Snape spat

"The rest of them are waiting with crickets" Reg followed

"Oh" she almost whispered

"No I-" James begins

Storming off, she had no time to listen to his excuse; maybe he had grown up, she thought. Wrong.

The rest of his friends creeping out, Sirus throwing questioning hands in the air "I couldn't do it" James sighed "I just couldn't do it"

Ditching his friends, chasing after her, catching her, kissing her, surprising her, surprising himself.

[marlsswrites]

Summer camp AU, part 13!!

July 13th <3

Owl - @jegulus-microfic - words: 914

First part Previous part

Letting his eyes glide over the skies, he looked behind him to check the kids were still following along. It was late, the once clear sky started to turn a dark blue. The activity was to go for a night walk, find a nice place in the woods that wasn’t too far from the main camp, and teach the teens how to start a fire.

Much to Regulus’ disappointment, James stood at the back while he stood forward, guiding everyone to the spot that he and James walked to yesterday to check it out. They’d set up some fairy lights, lay down some blankets and packed tools in their bag to start fires.

The distant sound of an owl hooting echoed through his ears, getting louder and softer until it stopped.

He weaved the silver chain strung his dark coloured jean shorts through his hands, feeling the cold metal brush against his hot skin, narrowing his eyes to see the distant glow of fairy lights through the towering trees.

Suddenly, he heard a weight drop into the grass next to him, the heat of a body and a wide smile looking up at him. “Hi!” June grinned ear to ear.

“Hi June.” He spoke in a softer voice than normal. He wasn’t one to play favourites, but June reminded him so much of himself when he was younger, struggling with gender identity in a household like the one he grew up in was definitely a challenge. He would always be so thankful to his friends for helping him transition after he left, leaving was by far the best decision he’s ever made. “How are you?”

They hummed. “Alright…” They trailed off.

“What?” Regulus asked sceptically.

“Oh nothing.” June waved their hands in the air dismissively, leaving a few moments of silence before looking behind at where all the other students walked, and then back at Regulus. “You just kept looking behind yourself, looking really fucking depressed might I add, then sulked off again.” They shrugged.

Regulus felt his eyes widen, a noise of offends escaping his mouth. “Hey! Don’t analyse me.” He retorted. “And I’m not sulking, don’t be nosy.”

“Okay!” They raised their hands in surrender, a smirk still lingering on their lips. “If it helps, James is wearing the exact same expression.”

“What-“

“Bye!” They jogged off with a wave.

“-The fuck.” He finished after they left. “I hate kids.” He grumbled.

-

The lights were glistening, the fire hissing, the owls hooting and James Potters eyes shining. It was beautiful out, and in Regulus’ opinion, James’ face only added to that.

They sat together, legs entangled together far more than they actually needed, ignoring the fact that they had a whole blanket to themselves.

Gladly, the kids had managed to start some small fires, then James gave in and lit a bigger one so everyone could roast their marshmallows.

“Have you ever roasted skittles on a fire?” James spoke out of the blue.

“Excuse me?”

“Have you ever-“

Regulus coughed out a laugh. “No I heard you the first time, James. But of course not.” He rolled his eyes, emphasising his point with a gag.

“It’s actually very nice, Regulus!”

“Abomination.”

-

They carried on like this all night, bickering, laughing, throwing random bits of food and leaves at each other while they waited for the time to pass.

Now, Regulus sat lay on his back while James made sure he could still see the teens. He looked up at the full moon, it was dotted through the leaves of the trees but still quite visible and as bright as ever before.

He rolled his head to the side slightly, catching sight of James’ veined dark hands spread out on the blanket next to him. Every now and again he’d shift, playing with his rings and fiddling with his hands randomly. All Regulus wanted to do right now was place his hand atop the older boys, but he couldn’t just do that.

So he just waited, he wasn’t sure what for, but he did anyway. Maybe for James to look at him, all so he could make a snarky comment because he doesn’t know what else to say, but James seems to weirdly like it, so that works in his favour.

It wasn’t until James turned his head to look directly at Regulus, catching his eye and holding it with his hazel doe irises for a few seconds before reaching that same hand out to him.

The coolness of his fingers combed through Regulus’ hair. It was quick, but soon James grabbed a leaf and held it up with an amused expression on his face.

His tan skin was engulfed with the light of the flames before them, highlighting even the tiniest of details and turning his eyes a whole new colour which Regulus decided was so utterly gorgeous.

James reached another finger out, brushing the loose curl of Regulus’ raven hair behind and tucked into his overly pierced ears. He gave a proud smile, nodding and tossing the leaf on the floor.

“There, that’s better.” He spoke softly, clearly not aware to the awe struck wonder on Regulus face, and the red flush that was certainly not from the heat of the flames. Even the way Regulus froze and watched him smile and hum along to a random song, and James just chuckled.

God, this man was oblivious, because Regulus was sure he was doing a pretty shit job at hiding this.

Next part

[deezee112]

The child Doll

Chapter 2

Yandere!Twisted Wonderland x GN!Reader

A/N : I got inspired by @kansetsu001 on Twitter while I was reading the pictures he used to draw. I got this idea. But this is just something I thought of for fun. I hope you like my little idea.

Warning : This story contains themes of psychological tension , unease , an unsettling relationship dynamic between a protagonist and a mysterious humanoid object , y/n is a hot-tempered and tall person.

English is not my first language.

you sighed, pinching the bridge of you nose as the clock ticked past 6:00 PM. The office, dimly lit and mostly deserted, hummed faintly with the sound of ancient computers and the distant clicking of a few remaining coworkers' keyboards. You leaned back in you chair, you frown deepening.

Four years working under Dire Crowley had conditioned you to expect little in the way of fairness and less in the way of sanity. He was a man who thrived on chaos, throwing his subordinates into bizarre, ill-defined projects while swooping in at the last minute to claim the credit—or shift the blame.

" Y/N, can you come to my office? " his voice crackled over the intercom, interrupting you train of thought.

you rolled you eyes, muttering, "What now?" before dragging youself to you feet. you tall, imposing figure and perpetually frowning face had earned you a reputation as someone you didn’t mess with. Yet, despite you intimidating demeanor, you prided herself on efficiency and pragmatism—qualities Crowley never seemed to value.

The walk to his office felt unnecessarily long. you wasn’t in the mood for whatever nonsense he’d concocted this time, but you curiosity was piqued when you noticed the odd stillness in the air. Normally, Crowley’s office was a hub of noise—papers rustling, phones ringing, his voice booming with unwarranted confidence. Today, it was eerily quiet.

Pushing open the door, you found Crowley seated at his desk, a smug smile plastered across his face. Beside him stood a large, ornate box.

“ Ah, Y/N! My most reliable employee! ” he exclaimed, clapping his hands together.

You raised an eyebrow. “ What’s this about? ”

Crowley gestured theatrically toward the box. “ I have a very special task for you. One that requires someone of your… unique disposition. ”

You crossed her arms. “ Get to the point, Crowley. ”

His smile widened as he lifted the lid of the box, revealing what appeared to be a doll. But it wasn’t like any doll you had ever seen. It was life-sized, with eerily realistic features—soft skin, glassy eyes that seemed to follow you every movement, and hair that looked and felt disturbingly real.

“ What the hell is that? ” you asked, you with suspicion.

“ This, my dear Y/N, is a revolutionary creation! A child doll unlike any other. It’s capable of eating, sleeping, and reacting just like a real human child. And you, lucky you, have been chosen to take care of it! ”

You stared at him, incredulous. “ You’ve got to be kidding me. ”

“ I assure you, this is no joke. It’s an important project! Top secret! And who better to handle it than my most dedicated employee? ”

“ Dedicated or expendable? ” you shot back.

Crowley chuckled nervously. “ Oh, don’t be so dramatic. This is a marvelous opportunity! Think of it as…..fostering innovation! ”

You narrowed her eyes at him. “ What’s the catch? ”

“ No catch! Well, apart from the fact that you’ll need to keep this little one with you at all times. It’s crucial for the experiment, you see. ”

You pinched the bridge of you nose again, you patience wearing thin. “ Let me get this straight. You want me to take care of this creepy, overly realistic doll— ”

“ child doll ” he corrected.

“ Whatever. You want me to play house with this thing, and you think that’s a normal, reasonable request? ”

Crowley waved dismissively. “ Oh, Y/N, don’t be so cold-hearted. Think of it as a new challenge! You’re always saying you want to expand your skill set. ”

“ I’ve never said that ” you deadpanned.

But Crowley wasn’t listening. He was already bustling around, preparing to hand over the doll. “ Now, its name is—well, it doesn’t have one yet! You can name it whatever you like. It’s designed to adapt to its caretaker’s habits and preferences. Isn’t that fascinating? ”

You stared at the doll. Its eyes seemed to glimmer with an unsettling awareness. you didn’t trust it or Crowley but you knew arguing was pointless. He’d either guilt you into accepting or find a way to dump the task on you regardless.

“ And if I refuse? ” you asked, crossing arms.

Crowley’s smile faltered for a moment, but he quickly recovered. “ Oh, Y/N you wouldn’t leave poor little me in a bind, would you? This is a once-in-a-lifetime project! Think of the company’s reputation! and Think of your reputation! ”

You sighed heavily. “ Fine. I’ll do it. But only because I don’t want to hear you whining about it later. ”

“ Splendid! ” Crowley beamed, practically shoving the doll into you arms. “ Now, take good care of it. I’ll check in periodically to see how things are going. ”

You scowled but didn’t bother arguing further. You glanced down at the doll cradled awkwardly in you arms. It was heavier than you expected, and its skin felt disturbingly warm to the touch.

“ This is going to be a nightmare ” you muttered under you breath as you left Crowley’s office.

Back at your apartment, you set the doll down on you couch, glaring at it as if it were responsible for your predicament. You barely had time to process the absurdity of you new task before you phone buzzed with a message from Crowley.

Don’t forget! It needs to be fed, bathed, and put to bed on a strict schedule. Oh, and don’t let anyone else see it! Confidentiality is key!

You're groaned, tossing you phone onto the coffee table. “ Great. Just what I needed parenting advice from a man who can’t even manage an office. ”

The doll sat eerily still, its glassy eyes fixed on you. Despite you frustration, You couldn’t shake the feeling that it was watching you.

Shaking you head, you grabbed a blanket and threw it over the doll. “ Out of sight, out of mind. ”

But as the night wore on, you found youself glancing at the covered figure more often than you cared to admit. Something about it unnerved you, though you couldn’t quite put you finger on why. ( She's just a little tsundere🥺 )

When you finally crawled into bed, exhaustion tugging at you, you muttered to youself, “ It’s just a doll. No big deal. Tomorrow, I’ll figure out how to deal with this mess. ”

But deep down, you knew this wasn’t going to be as simple as Crowley had made it sound.

You woke to the faint sound of something rustling in the living room. You froze, Had you left a window open? Was it a burglar?

You Grabbing a heavy book from you nightstand, you crept toward the noise, you heart pounding.

When you entered the living room, you stopped dead in you tracks. The blanket Your thrown over the doll was on the floor, and the doll itself was sitting upright, its head tilted slightly as if observing You.

You grip tightened on the book. “ Okay, that’s creepy. Did Crowley install some kind of remote control in you? ”

The doll didn’t respond, of course, but its lifelike appearance made you unease grow.

You approached cautiously, picking up the blanket and draping it over the doll again. “ You stay put. I don’t have time for your nonsense. ”

As you turned to make coffee, you phone buzzed again. Another message from Crowley.

Don’t forget to check its morning routine! It’s designed to respond to kindness and care.

You scoffed, pouring youself a mug of coffee. “ Kindness and care, my ass. He just wants me to babysit his creepy science experiment. ”

But as the minutes passed, you couldn’t ignore the nagging feeling that you should at least check on the doll. Begrudgingly, you set your mug down and returned to the living room.

“ All right, let’s get this over with. ”

You lifted the blanket again, half expecting the doll to have moved. To you relief and mild disappointment it was exactly where you left it.

Still, as you looked into its unnervingly realistic eyes, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this was only the beginning of something far stranger than Your signed up for.

[nocturne-pisces]

Hurricane

Jason Todd x Reader

Mostly like PG-13.

Allusions to heavy abuse.

You think you must have been starved as a child.

It’s the only way that he could leave you this hungry, this hollow. You tell yourself that it isn’t normal to want someone like this. You tell yourself that it isn’t healthy to want someone so much that it twists your ribs around themselves, makes you fold in on yourself because if you don’t the wind will catch and carry you off. 

You’re so empty you hear the breeze whistle in your throat, half drunk with a beer bottle in your fist blowing across the opening like a whistle and your whole body is warm. You don’t know if that’s the alcohol or the fact that he’s sitting across from you. 

“What’s up with you?” 

Jason levels you with a stare, clacks his beer bottle against yours in some mockery of playfulness even though you’ve barely said a word to him all night. 

You try to shove it off now, try to swallow down your feelings as the sensation of the bile crawling up the back of your throat burns at your resolve. 

“Huh? I’m fine–”

“You’re a shit liar, kid.” 

You hate that he calls you that. Kids are innocent, pure; the first time Jason met you he’d had to pry you off of some man while you were trying to cut his fingers off for feeling you up. Jason told that man if he ever caught him doing some shit like that again he’d take a whole hand. Fucking greaseball nodded because Jason was more than a full head taller than him and held him off the ground by his stupid fucking stained shirt. 

You’ve always hated that you didn’t scare people like that, you think maybe if you did you could have avoided some hurt. 

You roll your eyes, because you are a shit liar and Jason knows better than anyone when you’re keeping things from him. Because he’s the only person you’ve let this close in longer than you probably have the functional front lobe to remember. Concussions are a bitch like that.

“I think I’m just gonna go home,” you offer, knocking back the rest of your beer before your ribcage gets so brittle that it collapses and he sneezes on the dust. 

“Alright then, magic man, keep your secrets.” 

“You’re obnoxious.”

“And you’re keeping shit from me. I thought we agreed not to do that with this whole sidekick thing–”

“I’m not a fucking sidekick.” Venom drips from your teeth, a snake backed into a corner with nowhere to go but forward viciously.

“And this is what I’m talking about! Any other day you’d just punch me and tell me to get my shit in check but today you look like you’re ready to slit my throat.” 

“It’s not off the table,” you murmur, more to the ceiling than to him, right before the last of your beer slides down into your echoing gullet. 

“What is going on with you?” 

“Just some personal shit, Jason. Don’t worry about it.” You try to give it finality, but Jason can’t even die on someone else’s terms so he doesn’t let this go either. 

“What, like your period?” 

You don’t even try to stop your hand when your fingers close around the beer bottle and throw it at his head. He ducks and it shatters on the wall behind him, shards of glass raining down around his chair. You know how that feels. 

The bartender’s voice is booming from the other end of the bar. 

“You two. Out.” 

He’s bigger than both of you combined and you don’t feel like arguing anymore so you wave your hand as you dismiss yourself, leaving Jason to pay for the abhorrently cheap beer. 

It’s humid in Gotham, suffocating your every breath with smog and uncertainty. Maybe you should just find a place in Metropolis, start over again, but you’re so fucking tired of running. Everyone you have ever met, everyone that has ever left you has taken their pound of flesh. You feel like nothing but bones, knocking together like chutes on a bamboo wind chime before a hurricane. 

Jason is your hurricane. Your natural disaster of righteous salvation and you didn’t bring your arm floaties. 

You want to drown in him, want to inhale him and choke—

Even if it kills you. He’s never even had a girlfriend that you know of and how fucking idiotic would it be to ask Alfred if Jason’s available, how stupid to ask Dick if Jason’s interested in you.

You peel yourself out of your jeans, your bra, shove your arms through the most comfortable oversized t-shirt you can find and flop onto your back in the middle of your living room. 

The ceiling in your apartment holds no more answers than the ceiling at the bar and again you have to swallow back that hollowed out feeling. At some point your eyes slid closed and you slumbered listening to the breeze in the auditorium of your chest. 

—-

Everything is warm when you wake up, heat radiates from behind you and from the arm slung over your middle. 

But that can’t be right, this isn’t where you fell asleep. 

You don’t wait to ask questions, pivoting your body and swinging at whatever is behind you. Someone yelps in pain, your fist connecting with something face adjacent before it’s caught and held fast. Your knees come up to join the struggle and one heavy leg drapes across your hips to still you. 

“Goddamnit, will you fucking chill out?”

“Jason?” 

Just as you say it your eyes adjust to the light, make out the red bat on his chest, make out the shock of silver that grows in the front. 

“Yeah, me, shithead.” 

“Why are you in my bed?!” You struggle against his hold, it only gets tighter. 

“I came to check on you after patrol and you were like sad girl passed out in the floor.” 

“So you decided I needed a cuddle?!” 

“I mean, that’s probably not such a bad idea given your fucking attitude—“

“Jason!” 

“No! I mean, I didn’t mean to. I tucked you in and just wanted to stay long enough to make sure you were okay and then I fell asleep.” 

He lets go of you, lets you get as far away from him as you can without falling off of the bed. He looks like you shot him with his own gun. 

“I’m sorry. I uh- I crossed a line coming here-“ 

“No, wait,” you stop him, reach for him as he moves to get up. 

“I don’t understand where I lost you-“ 

You don’t let him finish. You rush him,  connect your mouth to his because you don’t know how else to explain it. He doesn’t react immediately, and you wish that the floor would open up and swallow you whole but it doesn’t. 

You pull back, sit up and on your haunches and stare at his dumbfounded face. There’s only a second of silence between you before a hand strikes out lightning fast, thunder clapping against your sternum as you’re jerked forward. 

One hand cradles your head, allowing you no room to escape from the kiss suffocating you like the most beautiful Gotham smog. Wisp of smoke soft, signal of something lit aflame. The other presses into your back, calloused and unforgiving, like he’ll float away if he doesn’t hold on. You want to pull him closer but you can’t, your electrons are already crashing together. 

You tug at the buckles on his chest kevlar, fingers pinch and twist until they come loose and fall into a heap on the floor. His shirt goes too, the silver of sinew in his autopsy scar catching the moonlight. You’re struck dumb like staring into the eye of his hurricane and seeing the beauty in the pattern of his destruction. Like pitching yourself into a volcano for the warmth. 

Because he is beautiful; 

and he is broken. 

And those two things are intertwined and that is something you understand in your marrow. 

You press your lips to the point where the three lines meet right over his heart. His breath catches the same way it does when he’s on the unfortunate end of a knife, but you know there aren’t words you can tell him that will soothe that ache. 

So you show him your own. 

Bodies roll and he lets out a huffed breath when his back hits the mattress. 

A handful of raised tally marks, gnarled and stretched over time, one for every reason your father decided that he hated you that night. You didn’t plan on living after that, you’ve kind of been wingin’ it ever since. Jason’s thumb brushes over the cluster of violence on your stomach, looks from it to your face and understands the exchange. 

Your scars and his, all the things that have happened to you. 

He happened to you too. 

And you can spew adjectives about every natural disaster that has a name and still never aptly describe how much you love his chaos. 

And that's okay too.

[starwarsmum]

Day 18's prompt is singled out!

@maribat-calendar-events

Tim had been working almost nonstop since arriving in Paris and he was pretty sure it was messing with his head. First, he still hadn't tracked down Hawkmoth, which felt like a failure on his part. Damian was being slightly cagey about the details of his investigation, which was hindering Tim's own.

Second, he was having trouble finding Ladybug. She never seemed to hang around after battles and she had started randomising her patrol a lot more. It was a smart move but it was very frustrating for Tim, who had planned to catch up with her during one of them.

The third thing that made Tim feel like his sleep deprivation was hitting a new high was Damian's behaviour towards Marinette Dupain-Cheng, the newly found half sister of their own adoptive sister, Cassandra Cain. Not only was he spending time with her but he had practically declared that he was interested in her romantically. To a roomful of strangers.

“He could be playing into a whole ‘Brucie’ thing while here,” Dick said when Tim voiced his concerns. Tim gave him an incredulous look before going back to typing furiously on his laptop. “Hey, I'm just saying that it's a possibility. The other option is that he's genuinely into her, so tell me which you think is more likely.”

“Whatever, let's focus on what we're covering with B and the gang,” Tim said, dismissing the conversation with a wave of his hand. “Demon Spawn hasn't exactly been forthcoming with the information he's supposedly gathered whilst he's been here.”

“As if you don't keep information back when you're working a case!” Dick argued, giving Tim a look. “He's doing fine, he says he's got it under control. And I'm sure he'll be back in time to cover all of this himself anyway; when has he ever been late?”

But apparently there was a first time for everything, because when the call started, Damian was nowhere to be found. Tim covered as much as he could whilst sending the occasional pointed glare at Dick to let him know he told him so.

It wasn't until twenty-eight minutes later that Damian stalked into the room, making no mention of his tardiness and giving a brief description of the status of his investigation. Before Tim could jump on him, Jason decided he wasn't going to let the kid get away with waltzing in half an hour late without an apology.

“Yo, Demon Spawn, what gives?” Jason demanded, glaring into the screen. “Don't get me wrong, we've all been late before, but since you throw a fit every time it happens to one of us, you could at least explain yourself.”

Damian was silent for a few moments and if Tim didn't know better, he would think that he was coming up with an excuse on the fly. But that couldn't be it because when Damian was on a mission, he lived and breathed for it. So, wherever he had been, it would have been mission related. Why was the kid so dead set against telling them anything.

“I was…speaking with a former temporary hero,” Damian said slowly. His eyes flickered towards Cass's screen in something like an apology. “The girl with whom I was photographed earlier in the week was a temporary hero called in as a last resort. She has not been asked to use the Miraculous since, but she does have vital information for the investigation.”

“And why did Dick and Tim not tell us that?” Bruce probed, showing that he had noticed the lack of information given about his youngest's absence. There was a very telling silence following the question and Bruce sighed. “Damian, you have a team with you to make things easier. You should be telling them what's going on in your investigation.”

“Tt, yes father. I apologise for my tardiness and will make an effort to be more open with the progress of my investigation,” Damian said, although it looked to Tim like he was forcing the words out. “Now, if we are finished focusing on me, perhaps we can return to the problem at hand?”

The rest of the meeting was fairly straightforward, although Tim saw Cass frowning at Damian several times. He didn't want anyone to know that he'd spotted it, so he didn't mention anything amiss and, when the meeting ended with Damian asking to speak with her, Tim made a show of saying he was going to get some sleep.

Dick followed him out of the room, presumably to make sure he did actually go to sleep and not to pick up another cup of coffee. If Tim wasn't so interested in what Damian was going to say to Cass, he would probably be annoyed at the way Dick was hovering over him. 

He made a shushing motion at the older man, who raised an eyebrow at him but complied. They settled next to the vent system in the adjacent room, listening quietly. For the first few moments there was silence but finally he started to pick up Damian's clipped tones.

“...pictures that will be released shortly. Marinette is concerned that you will be upset and I am…apprehensive of the same. I know I have mentioned to you previously that I admired her mental quickness and unwillingness to allow what she perceives to be unfair to continue.”

“You did,” came Cass's tinny reply, and Tim had to strain slightly to hear her. From what he could hear, she sounded amused, and he wished he could see the expressions on both of their faces. “I take it you finally acted upon the attraction you experienced when you first met her.”

Tim blinked at Dick, watching as an elated smile lit Dick's face. He was practically vibrating with joy and Tim had to shush him so they could hear Damian's reply.

“I- yes, I have communicated my desire to pursue a romantic relationship with her,” he admitted, and Tim would put money down that the brat was blushing. “You were aware?”

“Body language,” was the simple reply and Damian released a breath he had apparently been holding. “You mentioned pictures? Has someone else taken photos of you and Marinette out of context?”

“Tt, not quite. Marinette was asked to attend a photoshoot with our lead suspect's son. Whilst there, the photographer offered to take photographs to help set the media straight regarding Marinette's romantic history.”

“And you felt the need to warn me because…” Cass said, trailing off pointedly. Tim snorted involuntarily, remembering the poses Damian had been asked to do with Marinette. He heard Damian freeze in the other room and decided it would be in his best interests not to be found in the act of eavesdropping.

By the time Damian found both of his older brothers, they had relocated to the kitchen in their suite, arguing over whether an extra cup of coffee would send Tim into overdrive. He shot Tim a poisonous look and Tim just grinned broadly back at him. Knowing he had already been caught meant that he could needle his brother.

“A romantic relationship, huh?” Was the only thing he got to say before Damian launched himself over the kitchen counter. Tim cackled as a disapproving - but clearly very happy and proud - Dick pried the younger boy away.

[fandoms-in-law]

QPR Desires

Summary: When Steve encountered the term QPR it became his dream, including his best friends. Some reflection shows him how much of a dream that was as he lets go the people he'd placed into it.

Authors Notes: This started as me saying goodbye to a similar dream, so it's an au with no Upside Down cause it didn't fit to leave that in.

/\/\

Hearing the term had been a dream, begun a dream for Steve. A QPR sounded perfect as well as familiar; an echo of friendships he had or once had all in a phrase.

Then he mentioned it and saw no willingness, slightly tested it and found no joy so he re-examined the friendships.

In memories he saw his dream, small habits and rituals teasing the line of a qpr back from when they were kids and part of him yearned for that time. Except the recent memories painted a different picture, worse, harsher. It showed very different people held together by history and a Tommy and Carol he couldn't include in his dreams. They weren't his: not his friends or his QPR. They were barely likable when he thought over how they acted.

Steve still wanted a QPR, wanted that closeness with someone without the push for sex or kisses but had no idea how to ask for it, if he even managed to find someone that might like him enough to agree. So he didn't try, let the kids he once babysat befriend him and bug him for lifts or trips and focused on surviving alone.

"Steve? Why'd you ghost us man? Last month it was like a message every week planning for our trip home while term is out and then nothing? The hell is going on with you?" Tommy asked, appearing on the other side of the counter as he worked. He must have been stood there a while since Steve had been on break and could see Robin across the shop clearing some tables.

Steve shrugged, saying nothing beyond the script and gesturing towards the ice cream.

"No, I want to know what is with the silence? Don't I get a goodbye, a fuck off, an explanation over why you've decided to just drop us like bad meat?" Tommy pushed, leaning over the counter and staying close even at the dismissive glare that usually shut him up.

"I did some thinking and couldn't find any reason to like you or be your friend that didn't begin with 'well five years ago Tommy was a decent human being' so assumed with all that fun you boast over having at college you wouldn't care. Was right too since it took me being in front of you for anything to be said if you'd even noticed the silence before now. What ice cream can I get you to digest with that explanation?" He gestured at the ice cream selection again, keeping the dismissive expression on his face but stepping twice back from the counter to prepare for Tommy's attempt to manhandle him or start a fight. Over his shoulder Steve could see Robin straighten and start to come over, an expression he'd not seen her wear before on her face.

Tommy scoffed, trying to grab him but unable to reach. "You think you're too good for me? Fuck off. I'm better than you."

"No, your dad is a manager because your brother managed to build a business and you are only learning business because you're too scared to try liking one singular thing daddy doesn't decide for you. I actually got out from that pattern and get to decide things for myself. That includes not wasting time with hot headed arseholes flaunting power they haven't got. Make an order or I'll have to ask you to leave."

At Steve's words Tommy pushed on the counter as if to jump over it to get at him but was held back by Robin's hand darting out to catch his collar. "Security have been called. Assaulting or threatening our staff is a ban-able offence even if charges aren't submitted. Do not return to scoops ahoy. We'll have the formal ban sent out to you soon." She stated, somehow dodging the hands flailing back at her and the kicks that made Tommy look like a toddler throwing a tantrum more than a man restrained by his collar.

"You can't do that!" Tommy yelled at her, but didn't argue more as the security had actually shown up in record time. He did turn back to Steve to continue yelling, "You don't get to abandon us, Harrington! We're we're abandoning you! Why would we want to spend time with a washed up nobody anyway?"

Steve didn't reply and from the glare Robin split between him and Tommy he was pretty sure any attempt to would be interrupted.

They stood silently for a few minutes until the security were out of sight.

“Thanks for that, Robin.” Steve muttered, moving over to the till as he spotted Erica Sinclair coming in.

“No thanks needed. Hagan has always been an ass. I’m just glad to have the power to do that to him now.” Her grin was cruel but Steve didn’t feel threatened by it as he had a few times since getting his job. “What happened to complaining about being stuck here? You’ve done that all summer.”

Steve huffed, barely pausing to get the taster spoon Erica requested. “Still am, but it’s pretty good being stuck.”

As he fetched the tasters Erica requested, definitely taking advantage of the store policy, Robin disappeared. It wasn’t a busy time so he didn’t mind or hurry to look for her once the kid finally actually brought a cone.

“You surprised me, Harrington. Maybe we can become friends properly.” She said, coming back to the counter, nodding her head back to the window to the staff room.

There on her board meant to tease him was a ‘You Rule’ tally and Steve could only grin. “Been trying to befriend you for a while now, Buckley. Glad you’re starting to see what a great friend I could be.”

“Give me the chance to put more assholes in there place and we’ll see how this goes.” She laughed before they both had to focus on serving customers.

Perhaps a QPR with his childhood friends was only ever going to be a fruitless dream; Perhaps he had looked for friends in the wrong places before, but now Steve was sure that however close he might become with his co-worker, he’d at least started trying to befriend someone decent.

[davnittbraes]

The Fourth Step - Chapter Thirty-Three

Part of The World Is Light, Embodied.

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 3100

Warnings, etc.: Grogu being adorable, domestic moments, introspection, a hint of smuttiness, silly silly banter, Greef gets annoyed, Cara gets sassy, probably too much description of tree-dwelling creatures habits but I did a ridiculous amount of research for it so you all have to suffer, a little twist of anxiety at the end I’m sorry

Notes: Look! A wild plot appears!

Mando’a translations at the end of the chapter.

Please check out the Series Masterlist page for more info.

It’s a funny sort of feeling, buzzing low behind your ribcage, an excitement mixed with anticipation that threatens to bubble up and out in a burst of laughter. You haven’t felt it in a long time, but you remember what it is - it’s the same sensation you felt each time you hopped off a transport and took the first step onto the soil of a new planet.

That feeling of shaking off an identity and becoming someone new.

The only difference is this time, that almost-laughter isn’t layered with anxiety, trepidation. Fear of being recognized as who you once were, ripped out of the life you chose and forced back into the one you were born into with no one to fight for you if you found yourself helpless. 

Because this time, you have someone who would care. 

This time, you have someone who would fight. 

As I am yours, tionas. 

You smile as the words float across your thoughts, directing it at the kid so the people around you don’t think you’re grinning to yourself like a madwoman. The Nevarro market is busy at this time of morning, people rushing off to work or running errands before tackling the other tasks of the day. 

The little guy quirks his ears at you, obviously curious as to why you’re in such a great mood. 

Flashes of memory, moments from the night before - hot, slick glide of a tongue, grip of a hand pinning your thigh in place as his cock pressed so deep -

Yeah, not going to explain this one to the kid any time soon. 

You throw him a wink then turn your attention to the line of food vendors. “What do you want for breakfast, kiddo? Something quick, we’ve still got to stock up on some rations and then meet your dad at Greef’s so we can be ready to go when that contact of his checks in.”

The kid coos happily, big eyes turning to the selection of vendors. 

Your nose twitches at the scent of roasted meat, and your gaze follows it instinctively, squinting at the last stall. “I think they’ve even got some poor creatures for you to munch on, my adorable little Sarlaac pit. Come on.”

“Can he actually understand you?”

The voice coming from your left sets your heartbeat racing, your hand automatically pushing the kid’s pod behind you until your thoughts catch up - Cara Dune. 

That warm, dark gaze meets yours with an apologetic smile. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. I figured you saw me coming.”

At one point in your life you would have been embarrassed, maybe even angry, at being caught off guard. But her guilt is so genuine, not a trace of accusation or judgement on her face. 

So you return her smile, waving a hand in dismissal. “No apology necessary. I’m the one walking around with my head in the clouds today.”

“Well, you did sling back quite a bit of that brandy last night.” Cara’s smile turns crooked, teasing. 

“Surprisingly, I’m unaffected.” You nudge the kid’s pod closer to her as he babbles in greeting, lifting a tiny clawed hand that she squeezes lightly. “Must have been sleeping in a real bed, for once.”

“There’s no bed on the Razor Crest?”

“Well, there’s a bunk, but it’s not big enough for the two of us.”

Her gaze sharpens, gleams with delight. “So it’s like that, huh?”

Nervousness twists your stomach, seeing that look in her eyes. “Like what?”

“Like you’re ‘sharing a bed every night’ kinda what.” She teases, her smile reassuring, making sure you know it’s all in good fun. “I knew you and Mando had something going on, that’s obvious to anyone who’s in the same room as the two of you for more than five minutes, what with all the pining glances and sexual tension so thick I could cut it with a knife.”

You almost choke on the sudden rush of embarrassment. “We - kriff, we don’t, do we -“

“Oh come on, you guys are like a couple of hormone-riddled teenagers. You think you’re being sneaky with the under the table touching?”

“Crikking hells.” You run a hand over your face, sighing. 

“Easy, I’m just teasing you.” She laughs, reaching out the grasp your arm consolingly, her voice warming with sincerity. “Honestly, I’m happy that Mando found you. He’s a good man who’s been through more than most people. He deserves someone who cares about him like you do. And you deserve him, too.”

Your embarrassment fades with her words, a sort of profound feeling replacement it. For one of Din’s closest friends to say that… “Thank you. That means a lot to me.”

The kid babbles, standing up in his pod, hands outstretched toward the meat stall and you grab him before he loses his balance and tips over the side. “Ok, ok, calm down, we’ll get you food.”

Cara chuckles, sliding into step beside you as you make your way toward the stall. “So, can he actually understand you? I’ve always thought he knows more than he lets on.”

“Oh, I’m positive he does. I mean, he’s still a child so he doesn’t grasp everything.” You shuffle the kid in your arms as you approach the stall so he can get a look at the display. “But he’s smart. Too smart, sometimes - hard to get things past him.”

The kid reaches for a slab of meat on a stick that’s almost twice his size and you pull him back, directing his gaze to the row of much more reasonably-sized kebabs. “How about something that’s less likely to upset your stomach later? We’re flying out today.”

He grumbles in discontent, but points to the largest kebab. You smile and nod at the vendor, who moves to wrap it up. “A compromise we can both live with.”

*****

The kebab is long gone by the time you get to Greef’s, even though it takes less than half an hour to find the supplies you need and get to the magistrate’s office. Cara keeps you company, asking about what you and Din had been up to since the last time you were on Nevarro - never prying for details, seemingly satisfied with whatever you choose to tell her. 

That feeling of something new grows stronger.

Your steps are light as you walk into the front door of Greef’s office. 

Maybe something new includes close friends, as well as your aliit. 

The reception area is empty as you enter, but a familiar flash of silver coming through the door to Greef’s office sets your heartbeat fluttering. 

Din stops, helmet tilting toward Cara in greeting before the black visor turns to you. There’s a strange little pause then he speaks, voice carrying a hint of strain through the modulator. 

“Tionas. I need to speak with you.” 

Concern tightens your shoulders. What happened? Is it something Greef’s contact said? 

Cara curls her fingers around the edge of the kid’s pod, tugging it behind her as she starts toward Greef’s office. “We’ll be in here when you’re done.”

Din moves to a door on the opposite side of the room, stride eating up the distance and you hurry to join him.

Panic starts to swirl hot in your stomach, your gaze fixed unseeing on his back. “What’s wrong?”

He turns around, reaches over your shoulder and keys the door shut. “Nothing.”

You blink, panic shifting to bewilderment. “Then why - wait, are we in a ‘fresher?”

“Yes.”

The light flicks off and you blink again, this time into utter darkness. “Din, what is going on? Did Greef’s contact check in? Why are we -“

Your words are cut off by the press of soft lips to yours, a gloved hand slipping around the back of your neck, holding you in place as he deepens the kiss, his hum of approval mingling with the whimper that slips past your throat. 

The taste and feel and scent of Din overwhelm your senses and you grasp the edge of his breastplate, pulling him impossibly closer. He obeys your silent plea, one step bringing his body flush with yours, another pressing you back against the ‘fresher door, then a shift and -

Oh kriff -

You break the kiss with a gasp, breath stuttering as his thigh slips between yours and the steel of his armour presses to your core, cold seeping through your leggings and underwear. 

He takes advantage of the break, lips trailing along your jaw, dipping into the curve of your neck, his hand guiding your head back even more to bare your skin to his mouth. 

A spark of arousal shoots through your body as his teeth graze your pulse, the urge to roll your hips, grind your cunt against the hard thigh between your legs almost impossible to ignore. It would be so easy, just a nudge and your clit would find that pressure it’s beginning to ache for -

Pfassk, remember where you are.

His tongue flicks out to trace the line of your collarbone and you have to bite your lip to stop the moan that threatens to burst free, trying to pull your already-hazy thoughts together. “Din. Why are -“

He shifts his thigh, pressing it tighter against your core, and this time you can’t hold back the moan, bouncing off the walls of the small room, drawn out as his fingertips dig into the curve of your waist in response.

You’re burning up, his breath warm on tender skin, heat of arousal spiralling out from between your thighs and your hips rock with need and yes there -

The movement grinds your clit over his thigh plate, the seam of your underwear catching it just right and you do it again, body seeking -

“Mando?”

Greef’s voice floats through the closed door. 

Dank farrik. 

Din nips at your jaw, tip of his tongue laving over the spot immediately, sending shivers over your skin. 

Footsteps, coming closer. 

You thread your fingers into his hair, pulling gently. “Din, wait -“

His lips brush over your ear, voice rasping down your spine. “The door is locked.”

“That’s great, but he can still figure out we’re in here.” You keep your voice low, barely a whisper, ears pricked as the footsteps pass by the door. 

“Mando? Where did you go?” Greef’s voice drifts away as he continues on, sound of his footsteps leading out of the reception area.

Din pulls your lips back to his, tongue a slick caress against your own that has your hips rolling again, your mewl swallowed up by the heat of his mouth. “Problem solved.”

Your head falls back against the door, panting breath filling the room. “Until he sends a search party out.”

“Then we still have a few more minutes.” The smile in his voice says he picked up on the wavering concern in yours. 

Something about his insistent desire for you is thrilling, exhilarating, making laughter bubble up in your chest, shaky with need. “If we keep this up, I’ll leave this refresher looking like we did exactly what we’re doing in here right now. You at least have the helmet.”

His groan buzzes against your lips, hand on the back of your neck moving to grab your hip, pull you tighter to his thigh. “Is that supposed to deter me?”

“Crikking hells.” Your cunt clenches at his words, the pressure of his thigh against your clit, arousal rocketing up so fast you’re dizzy with it. “Cara is definitely going to say something about this.”

He sucks a kiss into the underside of your jaw. “Then I’ll tell her it’s your fault. So beautiful I couldn’t help myself.”

Pfassk. This man is almost too much. 

Never enough. 

You tilt your lips to find his, scraping his scalp with your fingernails as you kiss him deep, share your giddy laughter with him. “Did you steal that line from those HoloNet dramas you love?”

A pause, the sound of his thoughts turning almost audible. “Maybe. Would that make you the tempting seductress who turns my life upside down?”

Your gasp of surprise is muffled by another press of his lips. There’s no way he happened to guess a common plot point in those stories. “You just gave me so much ammunition for future banter, I hope you know that.”

A familiar soft coo drifts through the door, then Cara’s voice, muffled but obviously trying to convince the kid to go back into Greef’s office, fading as they leave the reception area again.

Arousal fades, awareness of the press of time and nearness of others dulling its edges. 

Din sighs, and you comb your fingers through his hair soothingly, letting your own disappointment filter into your voice. “It seems the search party is out.”

“It seems so.” He kisses you a final time before pulling away, a soft shuffle of movement telling you he’s slipping the helmet back into place. 

A quick once-over to pull your clothes back into place, then you’re following him out of the refresher and into the magistrate’s office. 

Cara is holding the kid, chatting with Greef as you enter. Her dark gaze flickers over you, almost immediately glinting with amusement. 

She clicks her tongue. “Hormone-riddled teenagers.”

You clear your throat, pretending not to hear her as the kid reaches for Din, babbling excitedly. 

Greef glances up from his desk, brows drawn in the hint of a scowl. “Where did you two disappear to for so long? I received a transmission from my contact, I’ll pull it up on the holo.”

He keys the command into the holo console and an image pops up - a star system, cluster of planets around a single sun. 

The coordinates flash in the corner of the display, and recognition skips your heartbeat. “The Pax system?”

Greef rests his hands on his hips. “My contact said they would send me the coordinates of the planet they had confirmed Mandalorian sightings on. I suppose a backwater system is the best place if you’re in hiding.”

Din takes a step toward the holo, black visor intent on the image. “An uninhabited planet on a backwater system is even better.”

Your gaze finds the dwarf planet you’d stayed on so long ago. “No, you don’t think… that’s almost too much of a coincidence.”

Cara looks between the two of you. “What’s special about this planet?”

Din shifts the kid into the crook of his arm. “We stayed there some time ago. Temperate climate, forests and canyons that would make excellent cover.”

She shrugs one shoulder. “Sounds ideal for laying low.”

You sigh, crossing your arms over your chest. “Sure, but it’s still an entire planet to search. Where do we start?”

The helmet turns to look at you, flashing in the light of the holo display. “Maybe your friends can help.”

“My friends - the tree-dwellers?” You raise an eyebrow. “They’re just animals. I don’t think I can walk up to them and ask if they’ve seen any excessively armoured two-legged creatures around lately.”

His huff of laughter filters through the modulator, drawing looks of surprise from Cara and Greef. 

It takes you a moment to realize they’ve probably never heard him laugh before. 

Warmth blooms in your chest. 

One of the many marks you’ve made on each other. 

Din reaches into one of the pouches on his belt and pulls out the durasteel splinter. “This might help.”

You hold out your hand as he drops it into your palm, some thought flickering at the edge of your mind. It sputters out, and you frown, reaching for it again, pulling the idea into the forefront, something is there, something about the durasteel splinter… 

Your own voice startles you - so lost in thought you didn’t realize you’d started speaking. “Tree-dwellers like them typically have a home area they don’t like to stray far from. The more solitary breeds tend to have a wider range, but these guys live in packs. I’d say they have a den somewhere, probably a permanent one, and they wouldn’t go far from it, maybe less than ten kilometres. So that means the one I pulled this splinter from picked it up somewhere within a ten kilometre radius from where we were.”

Looking at the holo, you reach over and key in the command to enlarge the dwarf planet, gaze pinpointing the forest where you had stayed, darting over the surrounding area, catching on the canyon you’d come across during your brief solo exploration.

You point to the jagged image of the canyon. “There, only a few kilometres from where we were. It’s fairly deep, with trees and rock outcroppings covering the canyon floor. Hard to infiltrate on foot and good cover from an aerial view.”

Greef claps his hands once, pulling you out of your musings. “Seems like as good a place as any to start.”

You glance at Din, suddenly aware of the weight of his gaze. The helmet is tilted slightly, shoulders relaxed, weight shifted to one foot as he takes you in. 

There’s something confident, proud, about his stance that pulls your chest tight.

Cara rests a hand on your shoulder, smiling. “I’ll help you load up those supplies before you hit the black.”

You return her smile, looking back to the holo one last time. 

That little planet - where you had sat with Din under the stars and shared your childhood dreams of freedom. 

Where he had told you his name, removed his armour in front of you for the first time. 

Where you had pulled away the last barrier of your own clothing and he had touched your naked back with more tenderness than anyone else ever had. 

It had been a beginning of sorts. A step toward where you are now, that ever-present buzz of anxiety quieted, dulled by the gentle pulse of acknowledged love. 

Now, you were returning there, following the trail of someone who might belong to Din’s tribe. His people. 

Something cold hardens in the pit of your stomach. 

A jumble of emotions, twisting and turning and -

Realization rushes through your body, prickles over your skin. 

This is what you’d felt, back on the Razor Crest. When Din had first told you that Greef had news of the whereabouts of some Mandalorians. 

All those emotions you had tried to decipher, failed, put aside to pick through later.

A night of drink and laughter and intimacy had pushed them to the back of your mind, but now, looking at the holo of that dwarf planet, you feel them.

Apprehension. 

Dread. 

Fear. 

His people. 

Not like you. 

You’re not Mandalorian. And you’re not a child, like the kid, accepted by a people who place high priority on children and foundlings. 

Sure, Din says you’re part of his clan. 

But what happens when he’s reunited with the people who saved his life, raised him as one of their own, instilled in him a deep-seated loyalty to their kind? 

What happens if they disagree with him?

*****

Mando’a translations

Tionas - question

Aliit - clan, Mandalorian equivalent of family 

*****

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

[rylanenthusiast]

Could you write a hackateers spin the bottle? With a rylan kiss?? :)

i’m not kidding i have so many prompts that came before this that i need to write but the second i saw this i RAN to write it. party games are one of my fav tropes to read so i was super excited to try writing it myself- hope i did it justice! (pun not intended)

side note: i couldn’t decide what song starts playing on dylan’s phone at that part so some options if you were curious are: ‘dark red’ by steve lacy, ‘black out days’ by phantogram, and ‘lost the game’ by two feet.

TW: a tiny bit of spice at the end i couldn’t help myself

It was one of those nights that Mr. H would leave the camp for the night, supposedly to go on some sort of “supply run”.

The kids were asleep in the main lobby of the lodge, sleeping bags strewn across the floor and fairy lights draped across the walls in a half assed attempt to make it seem more cozy.

The counsellors, however- they were upstairs in one of the spare bedrooms, sat in a circle on the floor. An empty beer bottle sat in the centre.

And Dylan was practically vibrating out his skin.

Was it from excitement or fear? He had no idea. Maybe both. Definitely both.

The reason for his nerves being that a certain hotter than hell camp counsellor sat across from him had miraculously agreed to join in their game of spin the bottle.

Dylan wasn’t a religious guy- but fuck did he thank whatever deity had his back when Ryan hadn’t immediately dismissed the idea of spin the bottle.

Chewing his lip anxiously, Dylan snuck a glance at the pretty boy sat in front of him, only to be hit with the realisation that he had already been looking at him with a…curious gaze.

Dylan immediately flicks his head to the girl that had suggested the game who was sat next to him, Emma. Having second thoughts, he leans over to her and whispers-

“Hey- Em?”

“Mhm?”

“Are you…100% sure this is a good idea?”

“Course’ I am.”

“Okay because I personally feel like I’m gonna throw up and-“

“Shh,” she hushes, placing a slender finger over his lips, “I told you I’d help you out. This is me helping you out.”

Dylan looks back at her with pained eyes, whining before running his hands down his face in defeat.

Emma suddenly claps her hands, the chatter in the room going silent, before she proudly announces,

“Okay losers! It’s game time.”

-

It had been…three or so rounds? Jacob had kissed Nick on the cheek (who had gone far too red at the “No homo” that Jacob had blurted immediately after), a very shy Abi had given Emma a chaste kiss on the lips before scurrying back to her seat, and Kaitlyn had outright refused to kiss Jacob because she had “childhood best friend rights”- whatever that meant.

Ryan was bored as hell.

It’s not like he’d expected anything all too interesting to happen anyway. He wasn’t even sure why he’d agreed in the first place, but something deep down in his gut had convinced him to do so.

And it definitely was not because of the way Dylan had been looking at him all night.

He wasn’t sure if the other boy was aware, but every so often he’d catch his eyes staring at him, filled to the brim with what Ryan could only describe as…want.

Suddenly, Ryan feels an elbow in his side, Kaitlyn nodding her head towards the bottle in the centre.

Guess it was his turn.

Wordlessly, he leans forwards and spins the bottle, his eyes glued to it the entire time.

Then it stops.

On the other end of the green bottle in from of him, was the boy that had been on his mind the entire night.

Dragging his gaze upwards, Ryan found himself looking at a very shocked Dylan. His cheeks had flushed pink all the way to the tips of his ears, doe brown eyes wide, and jaw slack in awe.

It was cute.

“Well?”

Dylan is snapped out of his thoughts, looking up at the boy ahead of him.

“Are you sure…?”

“Pretty sure it’s the rules of the game, man,” Ryan replies with an almost-smile and furrowed brows.

The entire room is silent, save for the music softly playing from Dylan’s phone on the wooden floor. Everyone else in the room is just as eager as the boys themselves for this month long tension to finally break.

It was about damn time.

Dylan nods his head and crawls towards Ryan before sitting with his legs tucked under himself in front of him.

He was overwhelmed to say the least, eyes darting frantically to examine the arcs and arches of the beautiful boys face sat in front of him.

“So do you want me to-“

Dylan’s abruptly cut off by the sensation of Ryan’s hands on his hips, pulling him forwards until he’s sat on his lap.

Holy fucking shit.

A yelp slips out of Dylan at the sudden movement, and then he’s looking down at Ryan’s face. His hands don’t move, their position on his hips seemingly permanent.

“Is that okay?” Ryan whispers, cocking his head slightly to the side.

“Yeah- Yeah definitely-“

“Cool.”

“…Cool.”

For a moment they’re just staring at eachother, Ryan focusing on the way he can feel Dylan’s body move with his cautious breaths- Dylan focusing on the way Ryan’s hands tighten slightly on his hips.

“Can I kiss you?” Ryan whispers.

“Please.”

Dylan leans down slowly to capture Ryan’s lips, one hand raising to cup his jaw and the other resting on the curve of his neck.

They both exhale into the kiss, minds fogging as they begin to allow their lips to move whilst a simulation is hum of satisfaction escapes the both of them.

Ryan’s thumb slips under the hem of Dylan’s shirt, lightly grazing the soft skin above his waistband. Dylan gasps, allowing Ryan to slip his tongue into his mouth, deepening the kiss.

His hand tightens on the back of Ryan’s neck, a feeble attempt to ground himself. He unintentionally presses down onto Ryan’s lap, to which Ryan responds to with a deep groan and-

Oh.

They abruptly pull apart, eyes wide and faces flushed.

“You guys done?” Kaitlyn quips, a smirk etched onto her face.

“Y-Yeah we’re- we’re good. Fantastic, actually,” Dylan manages to stutter out.

Ryan chuckles at the flustered state of the boy, and Dylan is enamored. He grins back at him, before suddenly becoming very aware of their suggestive position and almost leaping off his lap in sudden embarassment.

As he retreats back to his position, the game resumes- although the two boys couldn’t be less involved in their surroundings, sneaking shy glances at each other for the rest of the game.

Dylan really hoped they’d be doing more of that for the rest of the summer.

[virtualcarrot]

[KKIR] Modern AU - Teaching Pains Pt 6

Part 5

Prompt 6: Secret

.

Kakashi watches Iruka be swallowed by the crowd with a mild feeling of disquiet that he’s quick to dismiss. Whatever tension he might have sensed in their interaction can easily be attributed to the throngs of strangers wandering the halls.

When the teachers first told him about the open day event, Kakashi will admit he didn’t think much of it. If pushed, he might even go as far as to say he thought they were all going way overboard with their preparations. After all, just how many people could be interested in an open day at a medium-sized secondary school? A place of sweaty teens and faded wall paint? 

Well, Kakashi’s secure enough in himself to admit he might have been wrong.

And also that he’s quite looking forward to the show. Sasuke and he have had occasions to talk about martial arts together, and he’s curious to see if the kid’s as good as his boasts. He may not be as loud and overstating about it as Naruto’s ‘they should just give me my black belt already, believe it!’ but that only makes his understated haughtiness all the more terribly familiar to Kakashi.

And sure, Kakashi was an absolute pest at that age, but he was also already breathtakingly skilled. 

In short: watching Sasuke in action could make for a nice performance.

He gives Anko a loose wave of greeting from afar, only to get a perplexing predatory smile in response. He decides to make himself scarce, lest she decides to put him to contribution with the public.

His retreat drives him to roam a few more corridors, catching sight of the signs they’ve gone through such pains to hang. A few people stop to study them, eyes quickly glazing over the history lesson of the creation of the school.

Kakashi can’t fully blame them. It’s very ‘a healthy mind in a healthy body’ stuff, only repackaged under Hiruzen’s favored slogan about the Will of Fire.

Still, can’t argue with the results, for all that it makes for a dreary read.

He comes across a few students and trades a few words with them. He does the same with the coworkers he walks past, out of politeness, but there’s clearly something going on backstage because every single one of these interactions leaves him with a feeling that he’s missing something.

He doesn’t like it.

In the end, Mizuki’s the one who gives him his first lead as to what might be going on.

“Hey,” the teacher says, approaching him in the corner of the hall where Kakashi had settled in to wait for the performance.

He’s tentative in his approach but isn’t treating Kakashi much differently than usual, so Kakashi greets him back.

Mizuki settles by his side with a mild wince. “Did you… Did you piss off Iruka? Or something?” he adds hastily.

Kakashi doesn’t even have to pass their last interactions in review to answer that. One of the best things about Iruka is, if there’s something wrong, he’ll be told. Loudly.

“Nope.”

His answer doesn’t appear to comfort Mizuki, who gives him an entirely skeptical look. “Are you sure? Because--” He cuts off, bumps his forehead with the heel of his hand. “Ah shit, you sparred with him, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Kakashi answers simply.

“And you beat him? Because that’d explain everything.”

Kakashi neither confirms nor denies, leaving Mizuki free to take it in the affirmative.

The teacher throws his head back with a sigh.

“I thought he’d grown out of it,” he confesses in exasperation, rubbing a hand over his face before looking askance. “Listen, it’s not his fault, but... Iruka’s a terribly sore loser." He chuckles humorlessly. "I know it doesn’t look like it. Trust me, the first time it happened to me, I did not see it coming either.”

This doesn’t fit anything Kakashi’s learned about Iruka since they’ve met, but Mizuki’s known him longest. He might be lying, though for what reason Kakashi can’t figure.

He tilts his head to signify he’s still listening but remains otherwise neutral.

Far from discouraged by his lack of reaction, Mizuki continues.

“Look, I know it's none of my business, but he's been spreading a rumor about you, and I thought you'd like a heads up. I won’t say any more because that’s between you and him but… give him a day to cool off, and maybe talk to him? Just not today. I really wouldn’t do it today if I were you, he's too wired. Trust me,” he says, briefly making eye contact to stress the importance of his advice.

Done speaking, he takes a short break, pushing his bangs out of his face with a tired look. Then he shakes himself up, dropping his hand with a little smile full of sympathy.

“I’d also avoid interacting with students too much before this is sorted out. It’s not too bad, what Iruka’s been saying, but it could still get ugly quickly.”

Kakashi gives a noncommittal hum. For a moment, a flash of annoyance ignites Mizuki’s eyes before his eyelids lower meekly again.

“Just… go easy on him, okay? Iruka’s always liked being in the spotlight, since he was a kid. As an orphan and all. So it’s difficult for him when he realizes he’s not as special as he wishes he was.”

And Mizuki is not nearly as cunning as he believes himself to be either.

But Kakashi lets him pretend. He thanks Mizuki for the information and, using as pretext Izumo’s announcement of the imminent start of the performance, excuses himself.

His mind’s a bit too full with the awareness of the workplace drama--workplace drama he is involved in, somehow--to fully appreciate the show, but he still stays for it. Naruto is, as expected, all over the place, but he also displays even more tenacity and courage than Kakashi expected from him. Neji and Sasuke’s skills are a quick evidence, and Lee shows the sort of showmanship that instantly reminds him of Gai.

He also has the energy, as is proven by the fact he then joins the following performance of acrobatic gymnastics with Tenten.

Kakashi catches a few members of the audience cringing at the antics and shrugs. He remembers what it was to feel ashamed to be associated with Gai, and how much better of a man he is since he learned to appreciate it instead.

After a while he checks the time and slips out of the gymnasium. He’d have liked to talk to Iruka before leaving, but there are only so many office hours he can skip at the university before Tsunade has his head.

“We should talk,” he texts Iruka once he’s back in his office, his secluded private office that, nowadays, doesn’t feel as nearly cozy as it used to before Tsunade and Hiruzen respectively strong-armed and guilt-tripped him into giving specialized lessons at Konoha Middle-High.

He doesn’t get an answer to his text.

Past six in the evening and with the end of his shift, Gai makes a dramatic entrance and they go out for drinks. There’s nothing Gai can do about Mizuki and Iruka but he’s both a good listener and of good advice, and regardless he’ll get a kick about learning about Lee.

Kakashi’s not wrong. Gai decides right then and there that he needs to meet the kid.

Gai’s in the middle of a tirade about the Power of Youth when Kakashi’s phone rings.

It’s Naruto.

When Kakashi first started at Konoha Middle-High, there was a period of introductions. He wrote his name on the board, added his phone number underneath, and made very sure they knew never to use it because if they had something to ask him while he was on school grounds, they could come to him directly, and if he wasn’t on school grounds, then he was off the clock and intended to stay off the clock.

Naruto’s never called him before.

Mizuki’s warning not to interact with students rings in his mind.

This is how he notices an unread text from Iruka, short enough that the preview displays it in full.

“nedhlp at schl,” it reads.

Kakashi takes the call.

-

@kakairu-rocks

[josephquinnswhore]

Eternal Destiny

Chapter 2 - Bound by Destiny

Pairing: Prince Oberyn Martell x fem!Reader

Summary: You know better than to defy your destiny, but when you're threatened not to pursue the man further, you're stuck on what to do.

Word Count: 2.4k

From the moment you woke up your attention was drawn to an irritable itch on your arm, the tingling sensation had been replaced with an irritable ache as you had dismissed the tingling feeling, having your head stuck in this menu for the wedding, which was a mere 9 days away.

Your eyes scanned the small half-circle, small black lettering on your forearm just shy of the crease near your inner elbow, 118.0006 * W. Co-ordinates? You couldn't figure it out without the other half, having a suspicion the man from the markets could have the other half. You sigh in exhaustion, thoughts of anxiety kept you awake most of the night, wondering how you could ever pull all of this off. You unplug your phone from its charger and pull up your best friends contact, she picks up after two rings, "hey Jaide, wanna grab a bite?" She laughs over the phone, the noise welcome to your ears, "you know I'm always down to catch up, I'll meet you at yours give me 30." "Kay see you shortly." You end the call and get dressed, a yellow sunflower dress that hugged your figure perfectly, you decide to braid your hair and tie it in a bun, sliding a pair of black wedges on your feet before brushing your teeth. You hope this would give you a peace of mind, a blank state to help you concentrate.

A knock on the door finally indicates that Jaide is here, you stand swiftly with your handbag and throw it over your shoulder, you swing the door open, and your eyebrows pinch together when the doorway is empty. "Jaide?" You poke your head out and walk outside a few steps, "hey." You jump, startled at Jaide's voice as you see her walking 10 feet from you, she's smiling until she sees the frown on your face. "Is everything okay?" You bite your lip in uncertainty, "yeah everything's fine. Probably some kids playing a prank knocking on my door." You lie to her, an uneasy feeling settled within you, and you decide to bury the feeling as you lock your front door.

"Hey, maybe it's that handsome guy from the markets you've been texting me about. Maybe he chickened out last second." She grins, her shoulder knocking yours playfully. You scoff, "I doubt I'll ever see him again, and he gave me this weird marking." Jade looks at the black mark on your arm. "Maybe it'll lead you to him." You snicker, "how can I find him with half the co-ordinates, Jaide?" Realization sets in her face and you both burst out laughing as you walk up to Ed's restaurant, "Eddie's House." I know, not super creative, but it didn't need it be. It was authentically Ed and the food spoke for itself.

"Hey Tab, Jaide. What can we start you off with drinks this morning?" The waitress asked. "Spare the formalities Eb, I'll just grab a lemon lime bitters yeah, make sure to put in the lemon slices for me." She smiles taking down your drink, "I'll just get a glass of cola, thanks Eb." She smiles and closes her notebook. "Be right back with that for you guys." You turn to Jaide, "what're you thinking for food?" Jaide eyes you, you both order the same thing off the menu every time you come to eat. "You didn't just invite me to lunch to eat, did you? Somethings wrong." You sigh putting the menu down on the table and stacking them for Eb to pick up when she comes back. "I dunno." She puts a hand on your own and you look up to meet her eyes and kind face, "you can talk to me, or not. I'm here for you Tab." You sink into your chair further, feeling more guilt creeping under your skin. "It's just this wedding and the man from the market, it's a lot of pressure to uphold you know? I don't know what my destiny is, I'm going in so many different directions I can't keep up."

"Oh hun, we'll work through it okay? We will work this out." You offer a small smile, some weight lifted off your shoulders as you vented to Jaide. "Here you are, lemon lime bitters with lemon slices, glass of cola for you. What are we thinking for our meal ladies?" She looks between you and the three of you laugh, "right so the usual then. Steak medium rare with mash and veg for Jaide, slow cooked duck ragu pasta for Tab. Expect to wait anywhere from 15-20 minutes."

"Thanks Eb." You praise, your stomach rumbling, creating a harsh ache at the thought of that slow cooked duck ragu.

You sip on your drink; the acidity tickles your throat with bubbles as you swallow. "Tell me more about him, I need to know more about this mystery man!" You huff out a chuckle and sigh at the mere thought of him. "He was so handsome, he has these dark brown eyes that were just staring into my soul, you know? Like he really saw me. He was so kind, offered to buy me a drink, but i had to decline. I know, I know." Jaide's face was scrunched up, not impressed by you turning down the man destiny had offered you. "I had to get to work, and plus, he bought me another one exactly how I like it, right here."

"Sounds like he's into you." Your heart leapt at the thought, would he like you? He's all you could think about, was it the same for him? You kicked yourself for at least; not getting his number.

He did think of you, since he met you, he was distant, unreachable and not reciprocating to his girlfriend, Elliara. She didn't notice it at first, the small half circle mark that had appeared on his forearm. She was furious, after bearing him 8 children, he would still consider abandoning them for someone he had just met.

"My love." Her fingers dig into his tense shoulders, trying to relieve some tension and get him to relax, "you're so tense." She begins kissing his neck and down his shoulders, "let me help you relax." Her hands begin to wonder down his chest, and he pulls away, standing to stare down at the town below through his diamond shaped window. "Not now. I've got a lot on my mind." Ellaria scoffed and he turned to face her, "are you too busy thinking about a girl you've met once for five minutes Oberyn? I'm your wife, I've given you 8 children." Oberyn sighs, running a hand down his face, frustration peeling the layers of his patience back, his gut bellowing at him to defend you. "She's a woman Ellaria, not a girl. If we're being precise about things, you're my girlfriend, the King never approved of us being wed." Ellaria's face ensembled unfiltered rage, she was furious. "Okay Oberyn." She takes a deep breath, forging her calmness. "I'll return soon." Walking out infuriated as she was met with silence.

She ended up walking through town, her elegant gown catching eyes of the public and dares to catch her reflection in the glass mirror of a building when she sees it-you. The reason her partner wants to leave her, she knows she has to take her opportunity now or she faces losing everything. You're pointing to the mark on your skin, identical to Oberyn's but different writing and numbers, showing it off to your companion with a smile.

She decides to walk in through the door, your head unflinching as she the bell chimes, signifying a customer. A young girl walks up to her with a smile and leads her to a small table with two seats, "I'll be right back with a menu." She grips the young girls wrist and it halts her, "I'm not here for the food sweetheart, I'm here on business. That woman over there, could you mind notifying her I've asked her to join me for a moment?" The waitress hesitates before looking over at the table, "Uhhh sure. I'll be one moment." She walks to the table only a few feet away and you turn around to look at the waitress before muttering a few words to your company before strutting over to where she sat. "We need to talk." She states firmly and you raise an eyebrow, "we do?" She only hums and nods her head, gripping your wrist and digging her fingernails in. "Stop looking for that man, understand? He's married with children. His destiny is with me, his wife." You frown, your heart falling past your ribcage and settling in your stomach, disappointment and heart aching over someone you never had, ignoring the crescent shaped indents in your skin this lady had left in your arm. "I-I didn't know." She sneers, "now you do. Come looking for him and I guarantee you'll regret it." She swiftly leaves, exiting before anyone can ask what happened.

"Hey, you okay?" Jaide places a hand on your shoulder, standing next to you. You simply shake your head, and she looks at you, pitying you. "Let's get you back home okay? Get this off your mind." You sigh in defeat, Jaide places a hand on your back and it stays there until you get back to your house. She looks through your notes on what the options are for the menu, "let's start narrowing down the entrees to begin with, okay mu-" "He's married." Jaide stares at you in shock, you're rubbing the mark with your fingers, tracing it back and forth. "With children." Her mouth drops and sits beside you, rubbing your back hoping to offer some comfort. "Oh, Tab. I'm sorry hun." You shrug sadly, "it is what is it I guess, let's get to finalizing the menu." She hands you the notepad that was littered with your scribbles, "so, I know they didn't specifically ask for Vegetarian option, but I'm seriously considering the mushroom risotto for 1st Entree." Jaide groans in agreement, "good god I still remember the first time you cooked that for me, it was heaven." You scoff at her, "it was the first time I ever cooked mushroom risotto, I've perfected it since." She hums, thinking about it has her stomach rumbling, making spare room for the delicacy. "Say, how about you cook it, you know, just so we can sample it before you offer it to them." Jaide shrugs nonchalantly, as if the thought of your food didn't have her mouth salivating. "Right," you say skeptically with a smirk, "let's get to it then." You swore you heard a moan leave Jaide's lips.

You set the mushroom risotto on the table before Jaide's seat and your own, shaving some fresh parmesan on top. "Go ahead and taste it, miss connoisseur." You offer, holding your hand out. She doesn't need to be told twice as she digs her spoon into the dish and stuffs her face with it, eyes closing and licking her lips after swallowing. "God that has to be on the menu." You sit and begin to eat, Jesus, it's fucking incredible you truly surprise yourself sometimes. "I'm glad you think so," you reply earnestly. “You know.. maybe you’ll run into him.” You drop your spoon, the metal clinking onto the porcelain loudly. “Jaide..” “Tab, you’re my best friend I have to have hope that guy is out there thinking about you too, I can’t stand to see you so miserable.” She’s right, you’re moping and she’s trying to help, you were grateful to have such a thoughtful friend. “Yeah, maybe I’ll see him around, thanks Jaide.” She offers a smirk and looks at your half-empty or as Jaide sees, half full dish of risotto. “Take it, I won’t finish it.” She cheers loudly and you both laugh, “I could always make up a few batches you know, put them in takeaway containers.” Jaide a eyes light up as she’s scooping the risotto into her mouth, with her mouth full of food she gasps, “you would?” Her voice muffled at the fullness of food, “for you, yeah, course.” “God you’re a saint anybody ever tell you that?” You roll your eyes, admittedly loving the compliment, “hmm, a few. Just waiting for the one that matters.” Jade stills for a moment before laughing, “fuck you’re so cheesy Tab. Here, I’ll wash up. Go pick a movie, no romance.” You plop on your couch, pillows digging into your back as you click the remote buttons, flipping through Netflix. “Ah, found one.” Jaide wipes her hands on her jeans, discarding the dishwater that lingered. “Oh, Tripple Frontier, you know me so well, Oscar Isaac is such a babe.” You laugh and pull a blanket over your laps, “nah. I’m more of a Pedro Pascal kinda gal,” She bursts out laughing as she turns to you, “we have got some serious daddy issues man.” You giggle with her and nod your head, “yeah, we sure do.”

Ellaria finally gets back to Oberyn's quarters and he's pacing at the tingling sensation where his mark is. What does this mean? His head turned as Ellaria knocks on the door, "come in." He mused quietly. Her hand rests on his shoulder and squeezes firmly, "things will go upward from here, my love. Any obstacle that stands in our way, we can overcome." He turns to face her, a mischievous glint twinkled in her eyes, and it weakened him, physically. He stumbles to sit on the bed with his hand outstretched, keeping a barrier between them. "What have you done?" She scoffs, "I haven't done anything to your pet, Oberyn, regardless of your betrayal. I simply put her in her place and told her to stay away." His body was heating up, fury and anxieties push him upward and he grabs her by the neckline of her dress, "are you out of your mind? Get out of my quarters. We're over, I cannot trust you." His hands release her dress with a small shove, and she watches him as she walks out, hands pounding on the door as she forces it open.

As he watches her leave, he feels nothing, no sorrow, no regret. Only you, you're all he can think about. wondering how-if this could be fixed. For the first time in his life that night, he prays.

[sanguine-arena]

scrap; misc drabbles #2

desc: during a game against the Alekov Valiant, young hotheaded Neon Knights defenseman Antonio Agnello decides he has to stand up for his goalie. despite swearing that he saw the Valiant’s player run their goalie over, Antonio’s defense partner, Bjarki, separates him from the opposing player in an attempt to calm him down from what seems to be one of his common overreactions.

cw: very mild violence mention, lots of swearing

wc: 1,266

tags: @thetruearchmagos , @hottubraccoon , @elijahrichardwrites , @jezifster , @isherwoodj (dm me if you want to be added/removed)

---

“Hey, hey, hey, hey-!” 

Antonio ignored the sound of Bjarki’s calls for him or didn’t hear them at all as he took off full speed towards one of the opposing Valiant skaters. He was honed in on the much larger forward, dead set on persecuting him for the crime of taking a run at their goalie after the whistle. His strides were short but powerful nonetheless, ice easily spraying up behind him with every crank he made into it. 

He didn’t take much longer to finally catch up with him, and wasted no time throwing a crosscheck into the number eight plastered on the back of his jersey. The much taller blond stumbled from the shock, not expecting the attack even a little bit- he regained his footing and turned around, his green eyes expressing confusion more than anger.

“Hey man, what the fuck? What’s your fuckin’ problem-?” “You know what you did!” Antonio snapped at him, his voice cracking towards the end. He looked up at the other, who was easily a foot taller than him, though that wasn’t a situation Antonio could say he’d never been in before. “You don’t run our fucking goalie like that! Got it?”

Antonio’s blood boiled when he laughed in his face instead of being angry back at him. 

“Yeah, okay,” the other said, dismissing him altogether. “Whatever you say, kid.” “Hey! Ant, get over here-” Antonio ignored Bjarki’s calls for him once more, two handing his opponent once more before throwing his stick aside entirely. He threw it and his gloves off in one fluid motion that could only signify this wasn’t the first time he’d done this. He snagged the blond’s jersey in one fist as the taller of the two faltered again, and he pulled down on it with a certain ferocity the other couldn’t say he’d ever seen before. He stumbled over himself once more, and Antonio finally took the opportunity to pounce on him like a cat to a mouse.

The two slammed down to the ice moments later, and Antonio started slamming a flurry of punches into the other’s face. He kept going, even as the other squirmed and tried to fight back without much luck. He managed to crack Antonio in the jaw once in what seemed like pure luck, though it didn’t seem to phase the smaller of the two for too long as he continued wailing on him immediately after he’d popped it back into place enough to relieve the pain for now. He kept going even as bruises began to set in on the other’s face, and the bones in his nose started to crack and shift by themselves. 

Whistles from the referees were starting to blare throughout the rink, the sound of them skating over becoming more obvious. Bjarki soon caught up to the fight, as well, and Antonio felt him tugging on the back of his jersey. The first and more gentle of the attempts didn’t get the message to stop through to him, and as such Bjarki was forced to use all of the strength that came with standing at a massive six foot eight to forcefully pull him off of the Valiant skater by his jersey’s collar. He effectively scruffed Antonio off of the other, skating away from the scene with him while the much smaller of the pair furiously squirmed and tried to kick himself away from him.

“What the fuck? I was teaching that guy a fucking lesson-” Antonio said, his tone almost an exasperated shriek as he did. “I was kicking his ass-” The officials helped the Valiant skater up and away from where he’d been attacked, escorting him to his team’s bench while Bjarki tried to reign his defense partner in a bit more. Antonio soon kicked himself free, though Bjarki would never tell him that he’d partly let him go anyway. He put himself between Antonio and any open ice that could’ve led to the Valiant bench, who were all certainly looking on to the scene that Antonio was making right about now. 

“What the fuck did you do that for?” Antonio shouted up at him, even giving Bjarki as hard of a shove as he could manage in hopes of riling him up, as well.

Bjarki, eternally unfazeable, sighed softly and looked down at him with what could only be explained as half disappointment and half pity.

“He didn’t even do that on purpose.” “You don’t fucking know that-” Antonio continued his tirade, shoving him again and even teetering on the edge of angry tears. “Didn’t you see what he did? Do you even fucking pay attention?”

“Ant.” Bjarki’s tone was stern, but quiet, and he let himself skate back a couple more inches to give himself more of a buffer. “Calm down. Now. He didn’t run him on purpose.” “I- You’re so fucking stupid! You don’t ever pay attention-” Antonio stumbled over his words, shaking his head frantically to get the tears to stay in his eyes. His thoughts ran at a thousand miles an hour now, and getting anything out coherently seemed impossible. “You don’t ever want to fucking stand up for anyone! You never want to be there for us!” Bjarki couldn’t help but flinch at the accusation, but tightened his jaw and took a deep breath before he responded.

“Ant. Listen to me.” he kept the stern tone, and Antonio could feel how hard he was being stared down right now. “You need to learn to control yourself. You’re a solid defenseman, but you get so riled up and so in your head, and-” “Don’t talk down to me like that!” Antonio’s anger started to falter a bit now, and his hands shook under his gloves. His breaths grew uneven, and he could only hope that Bjarki couldn’t tell. “At least I give a shit about this team! At least one of us is going to stand up for our guys! What are you going to do?”

Antonio’s rage had completely fallen off by his last question, and soon the tears started to pour out of him. He instantly turned his gaze down to his skates, and his shaky breathing was more obvious than he’d ever wanted it to be. Bjarki soon skated closer to him, hesitating before going to wrap an arm around him in an attempt to comfort him now.

“Hey, Ant- let’s go sit, okay? It’s alright, you’re al-” 

“Don’t- don’t fucking touch me.” Antonio pushed him away, and soon skated away from him entirely, only to skate towards the Neon Knights’ bench instead of towards the other bench to restart the fight. He didn’t go to restart the fight, like Bjarki had seen him do easily a thousand times before tonight and had expected him to do once more. Antonio hated how quiet he’d sounded, though the lump in his throat from how hard he was trying to hold back crying wouldn’t let him be any louder. 

He reached over the bench’s door, fidgeting with the handle for a moment before it finally popped open to let him in. Antonio slammed it behind him and made his way down the tunnel and towards their locker room. Though, if Bjarki were honest, the lack of his usual effort in slamming the door concerned him and made his chest tighten up with worry more than the act of slamming the door itself. 

He looked up, and saw the thousands of eyes staring directly at him, and he could’ve sworn he’d be able to hear a pin drop in the arena in that moment.

[evecolourshock]

Fic time, following on from this! This one got long, oops. Story under the cut!

Beck's not going to lie, he's a little disappointed. Not that Flynn doesn't remember him - it was a stupid question, Beck doesn't remember the names of everyone in Argon, how would even a User remember each and every one of the thousands of Programs on the Grid?

But this... defeated, hopeless, shell of a man? Not even willing to try to help? Sure, maybe he tried in the past and it didn't end well, but... damn it all, Beck did not get his back end kicked clear across the Grid with an uncooperative ISO telling him to give up and go home every step of the way just to be told "sorry kid, you're outta luck" with a consolatory clap on the shoulder that mostly just feels condescending and dismissive.

He stubborned his way into Tron taking him on as a Renegade, he's going to make sure this trip isn't wasted or so help him he's going to find out what the best way to blow up the Admin Tower is.

He started his illicit career with a bomb, and if he has to go back to that then so be it.

"Never mind, silly question." Beck waves a hand, laughs even though it doesn't make his brown eyes look any less black. "Not here to talk about me, anyway." He smiles, though it feels wrong. Unfriendly. Sharp. "But you remember Tron, right?"

Flynn's eyes clear. Of course he does. Tron's Tron.

"I'm his-" friend. Beta. Moral compass. Voice of reason even if he doesn't pay attention all the time. "-student."

"Were." Quorra corrects him.

"Is. Am." Beck retorts. Because Tron lives. Still lives. Isn't gone yet. "No matter how much you want that to be past tense because according to you Tron's dangerous. Need I remind you-" his teeth bare, and he snarls. "-so am I." And recently, he's had to prove it, throwing his own morals aside for survival.

"He's alive?" Flynn breathes, and Beck wrenches himself back on track.

"Yes. Injured, but... yes. But he won't be for long if something's not done. Clu has him." Beck closes his eyes for a moment, takes a shaky breath. He will not cry. Not right now. "He wants a... public spectacle. Of his triumph."

Flynn's eyes dim again. "I can't-"

"I'm not asking you to." Beck tells him, trying not to roll his eyes at the twin looks of shock he gets. He didn't come here to drag someone to war. "I need your help, not for you to fight."

"Not sure what help I can give."

"A decoy beacon of you that I can remote-activate, and advanced Security permissions. Nothing else, I can do the rest myself. Or with some... friends of mine." Beck has a plan, he swears. He's just too limited right now to do it, so he needs those limits gone. The decoy is a spur-of-the-moment addition to said plan - Clu will want Flynn to watch him break Tron, will hunt Flynn down if he thinks he can do so. Beck intends to send him chasing Bits instead, buy himself some time.

"You'll be killed." Quorra huffs. "Or rectified." She folds her arms, not wanting any more involvement in Beck's kind of crazy ideas.

Beck just grins at her. "For a Renegade? Occupational hazard."

Flynn looks at him long and hard for that. Beck shrugs off the scrutiny - Tron's gaze is far more searching, and he only has one working eye even with the last-resort restoration via interrupted Rectifier.

"You in? Just for those?" Beck asks. "I have other options, but... less likely to succeed."

"Sure, man, what the hell." Flynn runs a hand down his face. He sounds defeated still, like he thinks Beck's for sure going to fail, but at least he's willing to give this one last shot. For Tron.

"Thanks." Beck chirps. He knows from bitter experience he is, at least, extremely difficult to catch and derez.

**********

Cyrus is very put out about being Plan B, whining at Beck about it in that grating false-nice tone he excels at, until Beck shoves him into a wall with an aggrieved hiss.

"I am counting on you to do whatever it takes to get me and Tron out, with as few civilian casualties as you can, if this all goes wrong." Beck growls in Cyrus' face. "You're plan B because against my better judgement I'm trusting you to succeed if I don't."

Cyrus' jaw snaps shut, eyes bulging in shock and the lack of breath as Beck's arm pushes into his neck.

"Plan B is for blow it all to pieces. Plan B is for big bombs get results." Beck lets up after a moment, dropping Cyrus. "Plan B is for better than me. Understand?"

Cyrus nods, rubbing his throat, awe and respect in his eyes. "You got yourself a spine." He croaks out, amused.

Beck grins wryly. "Between my enemies' lives and my friends, I chose to keep my friends." He doesn't tell Cyrus about the upgrades, about the way Security programming takes the steel around his core and makes blades and shields of it.

Cyrus probably already knows. Misses nothing, that one.

"Do I count?" Cyrus asks, bouncing back now Beck's proven they're a lot more alike than they used to be.

"Depends if you stab me in the back again." Beck calls over his shoulder, the white of the Renegade suit wrapping around him and generating the armour he now moves in with ease. "Figure it out, Ram."

He can hear Cyrus' gasp and grin at the pseudonym, both of them knowing it was the name of Tron's first friend - optimistic and bubbly and gregarious, but scarily analytical and dangerous if he needed to be. "Don't make me have to rescue you, Tron." Cyrus shoots back, and Beck laughs brightly. He could get used to having a friend like Cyrus, as unlikely as it is given how they met.

Beck leaves Cyrus to his bomb-making, and ducks into a different room in this makeshift base he's carved out for himself, deep in Argon's underbelly. As he'd hoped, there's over a dozen wary Programs in grinning sharptooth helmets.

Jolly Tricksters. His last attempt with them didn't go so well, but... he's changed since then, and so have the stakes. "Hello everyone." He rumbles out in an imitation of Tron's voice that's off just enough to give away he's someone else in a mask - just like them.

"Renegade." One greets - Mara, he knows, though he can't give that away. Too many questions he doesn't want to answer. "Who are you?" She snaps out. "You're not Tron, he's-"

"Captured, I know." Beck runs a hand down his mask, lets them see the slump of his shoulders. "I'm... someone he knows well. Better than my own friends do. He taught me." He fixes his gaze where he knows her eyes are, wills himself into channeling at least some of the authority Tron comes by naturally. "Which is why I need your help."

"Help how?" Someone else pipes up, still cautious but less hostile and a lot more interested.

"There's a lot of information the Occupation would like to keep hidden." Beck muses, measured in the way only a handful of people know means he's trying not to sound too gleeful. "It'd be... such a shame if it got displayed all over the Grid for anyone to see, wouldn't it?"

"A right shame, indeed." The speaker chuckles. "It wouldn't happen to be of the, ah. Distressing kind, would it?"

"Perhaps." Beck nods at them. "I got my hands on a sizeable chunk of it already. All you need to do is display it." He addresses the group at large. "Then sit back and enjoy the chaos."

The room thaws, relief spreading through the group as they realise the only danger is what they put themselves in anyway. Beck - well, the Renegade - has already done the hard work for them.

Not long now.

**********

Cutler's resistance network has only grown, the loss of its leader making a martyr for others to rally behind.

Beck's visited the group already, telling an only slightly edited tale of a Program who fought what had been done to him right until the bitter end, and knows the Renegade is welcome here.

He hopes that's still true when he asks them to fight for the Program Cutler died trying to heal.

Zuse meets him at his bar, tucked under a hooded cloak and yet not too much out of place. Zuse is a cunning sort, and Beck doesn't trust him not to sell them out if it benefits the nightclub owner, but right now Zuse is an ally and gets treated with all the politeness that entails.

"They're a bit... out of sorts. The news, and all." Zuse informs him with the usual flippancy that hides whatever he's actually feeling. "You know the one." He sweeps open a door for Beck, the showmanship so commonplace it makes people stop paying attention. Just Zuse being Zuse.

"We can change that." Beck flicks his hood down once he's safe - does not miss the faint disappointment when Zuse realises he still can't see his face - and addresses the room. "It's not over yet. Shall we finish what Cutler started?" There's a few new faces - he recognizes Bartik and Hopper from Argon's more radicalized subdistricts, yellow armbands ripped off and contrite yet fierce - but blunt and forthright works best with this group.

Quorra is there, to his surprise. In the back, trying not to be seen by him. He ignores her - as long as she doesn't try to undermine him, she can do as she pleases. She clearly doesn't know what to make of his indifference.

It takes longer than Beck thought it would for her to corner him, and she's considerate enough not to do so publicly. "What are you doing here?" She hisses.

"I knew Cutler." Beck growls at her, sees her flinch at just how close to Tron's voice his becomes. "And I'm saving my friend. With, or without your help." He looks her up and down, considering. "Not that you'll have to offend your delicate sensibilities even if you deign to help us Basics."

She reels back, stung. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means I'm aware you hate me because of who I am, what I am, the company I keep, or a combination. Good for you, join the group." Beck can barely believe how vicious the words coming out of his own mouth are, but he's channeling Tron right now and Tron's always been... cutting. Pares right down to core in a matter of sentences, if he puts his mind to it. A skill Beck's picked up via exposure. "But I'm putting that aside because we don't have time to waste squabbling. You're one of the best when it comes to handling a Lightrunner, so if you decide you want to help you'll be on evacuation duty. Getting your injured out of the fight before it kills them. It won't be easy. You may be the last line of defence between an injured Program and the soldiers intent on slaughtering them. But it is a vital part of keeping as many of ours alive as we can. Of making sure the Grid has hope, so long as there are Programs willing to fight for it, of there being a millicycle where all of us are free."

**********

Beck creeps through a vent, still slender and tall enough to fit without much difficulty. His new Security overrides make him invisible in the system checking for anyone daring to enter this way, and it's a fun kind of irony about beating Security with Security.

Tron is this way.

And he's still Tron.

Beck can feel him now, a warm weight in the back of his mind. His Squad Leader, information from his new coding tells him. Injured again, though he can't tell how badly.

Beck hopes his new field medic abilities will help at least lessen the injuries. It's going to suck if he has to carry Tron out.

He finds Tron, chained to a vertical slab in the middle of the room. His friend's head is bowed with exhaustion, heavy in the way that means his energy levels are critically low.

Dyson steps into Beck's field of vision through the grating. He whispers something in Tron's ear, and a horrible whining sound starts up. Tron grunts in pain, teeth gritted to hold in a scream, and Beck-

Beck.

Sees.

Red.

The grate doesn't come off fast enough, so Beck draws himself up a little and rams it clean off. He dimly remembers to press the button that alerts the beginning of the distraction - Resistance members dragging guards away, breaking into the Arena to free anyone they can, generally causing chaos.

In thirty ticks, the Jolly Tricksters will set off their parcels detailing every sordid thing the Occupation has done in the shadows they've created away from the public. All the lies, the torture, the carefully targeted massacres and rectifications and experiments. Every single little and not-so-little thing, blasted out there for the Grid to see.

Beck lunges for Dyson with a furious roar. He's done being kind.

Being hit with a circular saw to the face really hurts, Beck finds, but he just uses that pain to fuel the punch that snaps Dyson's head back and rattles voxels loose from that fragile chasm a disc once opened. He doesn't let up until he puts that annoying saw through Dyson's chest, wrecking the General's disc in the process, and scrambles to get Tron down.

"I'm here." He murmurs, feeling Tron's head loll onto his shoulder and clumsily pushing energy in Tron's direction. "I'm here. You'll be okay."

The decoy flares on - doubling as a warning from Cyrus, too much longer and there will be explosions as he comes to fetch them - but Beck does his best to ignore it as he patches Tron up. Dyson- Dyson nearly tore him apart. And there's the reinstated energy-sapping virus to contend with.

Rectification takes too long, and Beck doesn't trust himself to be able to intercept in time again. So he braces himself for pain, and syncs his disc to Tron's.

The antiviral defences in his code burn, scorching through him and making him curl around his mentor with a choked-off cry. But they do their job, and by the time Beck can think clearly enough to move the virus is nullified again and disappearing.

Tron will never recover from everything he's been through. There are too many wounds that run too deep. But Beck just wants Tron to live, so he does what he can.

The first explosion shakes the ground - a little early, but Cyrus isn't exactly known for patience - and Beck scoops Tron up to limp towards their ticket home. Tron mumbles pleas for Beck to leave him and run, and Beck pretends he can't hear them.

Their route would be suspiciously clear of guards, but Beck cheats by using his Security clearance to divert them and close doors on them and generally inconvenience them as much as he can. He's in no state to fight right now - not when it'll put Tron in even more danger. So, time to win the beta way, with pranks and misdirection.

More explosions sound, coming closer. Beck lets the rumble wash through him, purring with it to soothe Tron. Cyrus waits in the shadow of a blown-out wall, resting against the body of a commandeered tank, and Beck traipses his way through the rubble to his friend.

"You found him." Cyrus whispers in relief, arms outstretched to help get Tron somewhere with dense armour plating between him and Clu.

"I did." Beck collapses into the gunner seat, aching all over but determined to finish what he started. He swings the barrel round until he spots a flash of distinctive gold, aiming carefully. "Now let's make sure we can go home."

Blue streaks across the battlefield, blinding in its intensity. It connects with its target, scattering gold voxels and dust, and scorching a crater where a throne once stood. Beck grins through gritted teeth, feeling the tank rattle to life and the smaller cannon bolted to the side of it spew fire and grenades with little regard for accuracy to clear a path.

The Uprising had well and truly begun.

Love the idea that Flynn doesn’t even remember half of the programs he’s created.

After all this time, Beck finally gets to meet Kevin Flynn, his creator, through means of Quorra saving him.

And he’s nervous. He’s meeting someone almighty, all-knowing, the one program responsible for the life he’s got, the friends he’s found, and the city he lives in.

He’s in his creator’s hideout, ascending to meet him with the last ISO at his side, who promptly leaves it to alert this god of his arrival.

And as Flynn meets him, and they lock eyes, he can’t help but ask: does his god recognize him? Remember his creation, his function?

He waits for a spark to fire in his creator’s eyes, snapping him into a memory of his creation point. He anticipates a warm greeting, an exclamation of surprise as memories flood through this almighty guardian, swelling him with pride at seeing the program he made making such a difference in the world.

None of it forms. Instead, he looks at him with a pained glance and an awkward frown.

God doesn’t remember you.

Did he ever know you at all?

[hxltic]

𝐈 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊. 𝑻𝑶𝑱𝑰 𝑭𝑼𝑺𝑯𝑰𝑮𝑼𝑹𝑶

• Genre: smut (and fluff!)

• Warning: daddy kink, Toji has money lol, hair pulling, degradation, shower sex, creampie, a lot of words

Yeah you know the story. Ex-husband! Toji comes over unprompted, except the kids aren’t upstairs where they’re supposed to be; they’re sent over their aunt’s house for the weekend. With plans to burst into their rooms and gift bags from Daddy (who frequently visits any time he isn’t working, provides money for the kids, and sends some extra for yourself whenever he gets paid), it would crush their little hearts if they knew they weren’t there to catch him come by.

🎶 LOVE DROUGHT—BEYONCÉ when they fall asleep

So here you are, whatever show you were in the middle of binging still running in the background, guarding the door and face to face (chest) with Toji in the cool air of November. He towers over you, presence still overwhelming as ever. His eyes are low and he boasts a soft smile that’s almost imperceptible.

There are small pink bags he’s carrying stuffed with white wrapping paper.

“You can leave them here if that’s better for you,” you suggest, sliding to the side and opening the door for him. He was used to the bitter cold and didn’t bat an eye, but the breeze was blowing through the crevices of the warm sweater you slid on earlier, completely dismissing why you bought it. His puff jacket was casually over his tee.

He shuffles past you and to the kitchen island. “I can wait for ‘em to come back.”

Following behind him after shutting the door, you gravitate towards the stove and remind him “It’s Saturday night,” but when you turn back around, Toji is shrugging off his jacket and throwing it over the shoulders of the bar high chair. You deadpan him and cross your arms, “Meaning they won’t be back until sometime tomorrow.”

The kids were not biologically yours but you are listed as their mother by marital status. They have grown up with you so they don’t know you as anything else. They vaguely know about the situation regarding their actual mother, and the things you have told them aren’t lies, but they’re still young and further details will come forth as they grow. You and Toji agreed to sit them down when it was right; therefore, all they recognize is that she was not a good woman. By the looks of it though, they don’t care to know her.

A secret, guilty part of you hopes that carries into the future, but there are only a few things stronger than curiosity. Little do you know, Toji wishes that as well. You’ve seen him countless times because he comes over whenever he can and he sends you every portion of his pay for the kids, but nothing has hit you like this. It feels like he was dragging you down a memory lane purely by existing in the natural vicinity.

He crosses his arms, that scar on his lip lifting every time he teases. “You don’t want me to stay?”

“Your stay is only excused in emergency,” you rebut. The smile inching on your face only matches his. “So go ahead and put that jacket back on, I’ll see you another time.”

With that you waltz past him, patting him on the shoulder, raising your eyebrows, and bringing your lips into a thin line. Before you can get too far, his hand catches your wrist.

“Hey now, come back. I can’t even stay ‘til tomorrow? Ya can’t stand to look at me for a day?”

“No.”

He wishes your sharp answer would have stunned him, but he didn’t fall in love with you because you were timid.

“So then I’ll sleep in the guest room. Ya won’t even know ’m here.”

His grip was loose on your wrist, allowing it to slowly fall out on its own. Toji stills as he awaits an answer.

Your immediate response is no. There is no possible way for you to “not know he’s here,” especially with his late night eating tendencies. But the kids will be back tomorrow, and if they found out you took a chance away for them to see him, it would be a shit show. You also just don’t want to do that.

“Fine, but just for tonight. Don’t make it a habit.”

He nods approvingly. To make sure it’s fine and easy, you end the interaction as quickly as possible by walking away. Up the stairs you go, your arms crossed in attempts to shield yourself from the cold and your hips moving back and forth as if they were taunting him.

•—————•

Toji waits downstairs a while, sending messages and eating dinner leftovers. Your home-cooked meals were one of the hardest things to give up, he admits.

Then he’s stepping up to the guest bedroom, still the same as he’d left it, and winding down by removing the random items from work that piled in his pocket, kicking off his shoes to the corner of the room just as you’d taught him, and brushing his teeth.

It’s been a while since he’s spoiled himself. It was much easier when you reminded him to, or prompted him to get up while you were clearing your face with skincare you bought so you could do it together. He looks in the mirror at his reflection.

There was a stubble where it’s usually shaved clean. He’s not wearing earrings, except the side he got pierced when his little girl went to get hers. She was a baby, so he wanted to match, and it’s been a while since he’s taken it out. His eyes were lower with fatigue too.

He pulls any necessities out of a small bag in his car that he keeps around for work.

Pinching the edge of his shirt and tugging it up and over himself, he throws it to the bathroom floor. He splashes water on his face before putting an amount of shaving cream to acutely drag the straight razor down the skin of his jaw. He wishes he could say carefully, but by the umpteenth time, he didn’t care.

Scanning his body, already being so close to the mirror, the amount of scars painting his skin have multiplied since you two split. There was nobody to take care of them like you did, and he sure as hell didn’t.

You kept a medical kit under the bed if he remembers correctly.

So that’s how he found himself trekking to the bedroom, despite how he said he would be unseen. It was for good reason, he justifies.

The door was closed, but unlocked, so with just the turn of the knob he’s hit with a living memory.

He puts one foot in front of the other, eventually getting what he came for. You were nowhere to be seen so he assumed you were in the connected master bathroom.

He was right because the shower was running.

On the other hand, he was also wrong because the slim double doors burst open, revealing you in nothing but a towel wrapped around your chest, still completely dry with a determined expression. He recognizes it. It’s when you’re looking for something.

You yelp once you notice him: “You scared the shit out of me!”

The box feels heavy in his hand, and for the first time, he’s frozen in his spot. Your eyes dart around and your eyebrows dig in the middle at his lack of response. “Hello?”

The silence pauses the world around you. Toji’s dark eyes trail down the towel. He still has every curve memorized, and whatever he couldn’t see, he’s sure he could draw perfectly with pencil and paper.

You take this time to do the same thing since your previous emotion had worn off. His muscles look just as good as they did downstairs, but not covered by his trademark black cotton shirt; you find they are littered with more scars than before— which you conclude is why he’s carrying the kit— and the pants still hang dangerously low on his hips. If you squinted, you might be able to see his happy trail.

On the way back up to his face, you catch sight of, of course, the scar on his lip. Although, he does look more like the man you met than the one in your kitchen.

Clean face. His hair is grown out. His skin is glowing like he just washed it, and you’re slightly questioning how he did all this in the 45 minutes that have passed.

It comes to an end as he bravely steps forward, unstopping until he’s right in front of you. Why didn’t you back away?

“Toji?” You call. A beat passes before he responds.

“You haven’t changed a bit.”

You blink up at him, “Glad I can’t say the same for you.”

He drops his head and chuckles deeply at the shot thrown at him. “I deserved that.” He grins, to which you just nod your head up and down in agreement.

“Well, I need to get in the shower.” In a split second you strut off, grabbing your phone from the bed and going through the doors behind you. “Running the bill up.”

“Y’know that’s never been a problem.” Toji follows close behind. “But can you play nurse f’me?”

“No, do it yourself.”

“I tried.” It was a lie, but not really. He had tried once on duty. “Come patch me up and I’ll go.”

“Toji just throw some peroxide on it and put a bandaid over it,” you whip around with a deep sigh, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“Not as easy as you make it sound.”

“It is.”

You two, again, stare blankly at each other, but you have been around Toji long enough to know he would not give in. Ever.

“Fine. Jesus.”

He places the kit on the table with a smirk plastered on his face as you walk up to him. You pop open the box, dig through supplies, and do exactly as you said. Find the peroxide, soak it on a pad, and carefully dab any cuts or scratches. Even though you were separated, you never want to see him hurt. You were glad to find only one or two actual open cuts on his chest.

You manually turn the man in front of you into better lighting so he is facing the mirror and your back is to the counter. Trying to focus on cleaning, you don’t dare look up into his green eyes. You know they’re already looking at you.

His rough hands rest naturally on your hips and he has you backed against the countertop with his weight shifted over you as if caging you in. You count over and over to yourself, hoping, praying your heart will slow down to a pace that he won’t hear thumping through your skin. The atmosphere is hot, the fogging mirror pure evidence of such, and the shower running is white noise.

Toji hisses.

“Sorry, did that hurt? Are you okay?”

Ironically, you were in a similar situation with Chi last week, patching her up after she fell on the concrete. She insulted you, saying her big brother does it better. You had to explain that Megumi was away for school and would return for Thanksgiving.

“Nah, ‘m good. Jus’ wanted to see if ya cared or not.”

Of course. Toji had never once made a sound even if you were to pour alcohol on a deep cut. He laughs lowly at your irritation and eye roll when you shove him away. Though somehow, he saw the rise at the corner of your lip.

“You’re the worst. Get out.”

Running off to the shower, he catches your waist and spins you ‘round. “Don’t run from me,” he says.

You stop your flailing to declare, “You can’t stop me!”

“I’ll catch you every time.”

“Like hell you will,” you grunt.

But alas, his hold on you is tight enough to simmer your movements down to a simple twist and turn. You weren’t getting out any time soon, unfortunately. “Damn you.”

Your arms were pressed up against your chest at the close proximity of being squished together, and you’re leaned back while he leans over you.

Before he even realizes it, his hands are hot and traveling the span of the towel like he was feeling you for the first time again. Your own hands are trapped at his collarbone. Eyes filled with curiosity find his, but he looks out of his element, treading around you carefully as if you were a loaded trap.

Water gathers on your skin from the steam, the heat under the towel multiplying with every second. He’s already so close, and maybe it’s the cloudiness of your surroundings that shows him inching closer, but his scar appears bigger and his eyes soften until he’s tugging you in with a firm grip, barely brushing your lips together as if testing the waters.

Ultimately, you let it happen, brushing your noses back and forth until warning sounds blare in your head. That’s all it took? All the resolve you had?

Or maybe it wasn’t your fault, and he knew just how to break them down. Come into the room, ask you to do something you wouldn’t deny, then say things he knew would frazzle you until you’re in a situation like this— he played his cards perfectly.

You whisper, “To-“

He cuts you off with a soft kiss, placed right on your plump lips. Then he pulls away, only to chase back for more, and then it hits you how you’ve longed to be touched like this. Especially by him.

It was all you ever wanted when you were still together. The way he holds you like you’ll slip away any second, or the slow and sultry kiss, or the thought that he was pouring everything he should have done— or said— into this very moment.

When you do finally manage to get his name out, it comes out hushed. He pretends he doesn’t hear it, tilting his head to find more of you.

The kiss becomes more passionate on both ends when he runs his hands around your body; the both of you know it would be torn to shreds if it were up to him, but even with the extra time to think about what you’re doing, nothing seems to be alarming enough to stop. You place your fingers on his face and neck.

His large hand trails up the back of your thigh until it meets the fat of your cheek. It’s instinct when your arm reaches down to push it away, but it only grips him gently as he squeezes your plush between his digits.

He intakes your lip between his teeth just as he used to, then let’s it go to suck on the skin of your neck as you huff beside him. This finally gives you the chance to respond, but he takes it instead.

“Get in.”

“What?”

“Get yer sweet ass in the shower.” He follows the demand with a peck to your jaw.

“…Oh okay?”

When you step in, it gives you a little time to think alone about what just happened. You tuck a strand of fallen hair behind your ear.

This was a bad idea. Entirely. But dismissing the heat between your legs was easier said than done, and denying the man is something you’ve never been good at when he continuously gets you everything you want. You started staying home for the kids when he was working— and despite the morals that accompany being a woman— he did, in fact, pay all the bills and work all day so you gladly did the housework. When he left, you started working again.

Suddenly, the glass door slides back to reveal Toji’s chest first, then the rest of him follows behind. The effort it takes not to look down is so strong that you turn your head back to the water with intentions of never turning around again. Unfortunately, your soap is over there.

He knew exactly which one it was, especially since he— not only bought it when you ran out— but shared the shower with you. The loofas are hanging nearest the shower-head so his bicep has to brush your shoulder to reach it. There’s a pop, then silence, then another pop before the soap is spreading around your body in a trail. He’s quiet, and not exactly pressed up behind you, but close enough to reach what he needs to. He turns you around while squatting to reach your legs, then lifts your knee over his shoulder to get your thigh and calves. The water rinses off you, to him, then the drain.

It’s innocent until it isn’t. He kisses at the unbelievably soft skin of your thighs while you act as a shield for the rain on your back. With one hand hooked around your thigh and the other supporting your weight, his lips get closer, and closer, until they’re face to face with yours. He looks up at you, maybe even expecting a different expression, but you just peer down at him blissfully when his warm tongue leaves his mouth to swirl at your clit.

It’s slow at first. So slow you think it could a different man. But just when he has you fooled, he lets go of your risen thigh, completely holding the weight of your leg on his neck and relocates the hand to your hip to drag you closer to him. Nose-deep, he was thriving underneath you.

Impatient and sloppy. He ate like a starved man.

His Adam’s apple bobbed as the sweet sounds poured from your lips, almost getting faded away by the shower. His touch was nothing compared to the heat flicking in and out of you. Your balance was completely controlled by him, thank god, because you may be somewhere on the floor with a twisted ankle by now. From here, as he’s bent over, you can see the cursive writing tattoo of both his baby girl’s names displayed on the top of his right shoulder blade. You remember asking where Megumi’s tattoo was, and he joked that the fucker came out looking and acting just like him. “That had to be branding enough,” he said.

He sucks and slurps and it’s a complete mess, but there’s a misshapen smile on your face instead of a frown because fuck— it had been a while since you’d been ate like this. His fingers of the hand that wasn’t holding you in place press up between your walls, allowing a mix of your essence and water to flow down his palm, all the way to the middle of his forearm. The pressure builds.

“Mgghmm,” you whine above him, throwing your head back. The bastard mocked you by returning the sound. The vibrations shot up your core.

He wanted to say something, but if he were to talk, he couldn’t taste you. He saved the speech for later. Your palm finds his hair like it always did when you were close, but what he loves best was that it was muscle memory to move his head how you wanted it. He’d flatten the muscle of his tongue, allowing you to pull his hair in the directions you liked it.

And just like that, your eyes shut and your hips stutter as he sucks on your nub (and whatever else he could fit in his mouth) until you’re shaking and dripping all over his tongue, just how he liked it.

As you came down from your high, it was then you realized this had gone too far. No matter how good it felt. The only connection you two were really supposed to have is through the kids.

“Toji we can’t do this anymore. Not here.” Your hand emphasizes “this,” but you can’t bear to look him in the eyes and say it breathlessly, so you continue to stare up at the ceiling.

He removes his fingers from you and comes to his feet.

“So ya wait until yer dripping down my chin to tell me?” Right on cue, he sticks his fingers in his mouth, cleaning off whatever hadn’t washed away by the water with a devilish smile on his face that you couldn’t see. In case you hadn’t caught on, he didn’t believe you one bit. “I assume I can’t touch ya anymore then?”

You were quiet, unable to respond, still regaining oxygen.

“Aright, that’s fine.”

This does make you look at him, confusion clearly on your face because he never gives up that easily. If he did, he wouldn’t be here.

Your suspicions prove to be completely valid because he steps backwards until his back hits the cold tile, tilting his head as he looks dead in your eyes, just to wrap his dominant hand around the length of his cock that couldn’t seem to get any harder. It was an angry red and carried trailing veins that only got that prominent with neglect. Your mouth drops, but you expect nothing less from someone as shameless as him.

His throat rumbles, “Put on a show, will ya?”

Even as you stand there idly in shock, it was enough for his hand to completely enclose the base of the shaft, and begin to slowly slide upwards. It was glistening with wetness, along with the rest of his dips and curves.

“What makes you think I gotta touch? Got off like this plenty of times on duty,” he affirms. “Ten times better in person though.”

His dark eyes dip down to your collarbone, then your breasts, then your hips, and back up. The loofah was somewhere discarded on the shower floor. How the hell do you respond to this?

You don’t. You stand and stare at the scene in front of you. He said he hasn’t been with anyone but you, and you believe him. Is the tip that’s leaking precum like he’s been untouched in front of you helping his case? You definitely think so.

He notices your unwavering gaze, like a cat to a laser. His hand moves up to the beginning of his mushroom head.

He tips his head at you. “Move yer hands around f’me. Like ya do in the mirror when ya think ‘m not watchin.”

Un-ironically, you knew exactly what he was talking about, so you slowly and drag your hands from your hips, past your waist, around your ribcage and stopping at your chest. With fingers wrapped around the fat and your nipples peeking through, you move them around, just as you remember he would. You had forgotten that quick about your previous words but you have already been trained to listen when he speaks.

“Good girl,” he praises. It was a bonus watching him come all the way back down and up again.

You carry on, even twisting around and moving your hair out of the way. His speed and grip increases simultaneously. “Like that?”

The dark-haired man grunts at the words, because damn did he miss when you spoke that way. “Perfect sweetheart— just like that.”

You felt yourself get wet all over again even when already surrounded with water.

“I know yer thinkin’ of me when you touch yourself like I taught you to.” When you nod, he begins twisting his hand at a slower to medium pace. “I already make you come when ’m not there, don’t I?”

Another nod.

“Yeah, I know. Pretty pussy like yours don’t just take anything, does it?”

You think about all the toys you’ve tried. It doesn’t. “No…”

You watch every strong stroke and the curl of his hand. He groans loudly, his eyes shutting, almost covered by the wet, black hair fallen in front of his face. He can’t see you but your presence is just as effective.

“This cock was made for you. Ya think I still fit like a glove? Yeah?”

He continues on, just knowing that you’re cracking.

“But oh, we shouldn’t be doin’ this though, right honey?” He chuckles. One eye is slightly open and his face is flushed. He watches your expression, like you want to give up everything you’ve worked hard for, just teetering on the edge of the conflict. It’s all yours if you want it, his expression says.

You’ll never allow yourself to do what your heart is saying with your brain yelling at you, so he makes the rough decision.

“Come give me a kiss,” he says.

Before you can stop yourself, you practically jump to him, smashing your lips against his and replacing his hand around his cock with both of your own. They were small compared to his, and yet somehow felt so much better on his skin.

His thumbs situate under your jaw. Toji smiles at your desperation, satisfied that you’ll still fall into his arms, but eventually pulling away and turning you around just to drag you back to his stomach by the hand wrapped around your throat. His voice is declarative in your ear as you move swiftly with carnal desire.

“How ‘bout I fuck you the old way, hm? For good times sake.”

“Yes, please,” you beg, nodding frantically as he forms the arch in your back with his palm. He turns you to the glass door, teasing his length at your entrance, and bringing a hard hand to your ass. You hiss. The feeling turns to pleasure after a while.

Without saying anything, he slides his way in, getting caught somewhere in the middle due to his sheer size, and letting you readjust. It was easier than he thought it’d be. He’d bottomed out within a minute of being inside because you were just that slick, but the journey through your tight cunt was agonizing. He concludes he wasn’t the only one holding out.

“Fuckin’ shit, she remembers me.” He teases. “Look at us. Like two pieces of a puzzle.”

“Oh my god, do you ever shut up?” It comes out before you can stop it. This lands a harsh slap on your ass.

“Just because I like yer snappy mouth don’t mean I can’t punish ya for it. Watch yer tone.”

There’s a pause of where you can’t help but smile a little. “Yes, sir.”

He pulls all the way out, then ruts back in, and it’s then you realize how fucked you are. It’s uncomfortable until about the sixth thrust. You’re the air to a suffocating man. The food to a starving lion. Whatever dramatic analogy you wanted to use would suffice with both hands now digging into your hips and your face pressed against the condensation-soaked glass, and he has no plans of stopping anytime soon.

Your body was still adapting to him since your heart seemed to be made up, but your brain was fuzzy and out of order. That’s just what he did to you. Grunts from his thrusts sound from behind to show you weren’t the only one.

“Feels like the first time again,” he utters to himself. You’re so tight he has to slightly pull your legs apart if he doesn’t want to absolutely paint your insides white. “You’ll milk me dry at this rate.”

“What, Daddy ain’t got it in him anymore?” You giggle. You thought it was funny.

Obviously, he didn’t. “Fuck did ya just say to me?”

Whether you were adjusted or not, he tugs both your arms to cross over your lower back, being held in one hand at your wrists, and your neck to be forced into the glass by his other. “Don’t try it, brat. I’ll make you count every fuckin’ thrust and tell me how each one was different tomorrow morning.”

The only reason you didn’t pester on was because he definitely would, and by the end of tonight, there was no way in hell you could remember. To anyone else, this would make no sense, but to you, it comes clear as day. Petty bastard. What number was this again?

His thighs slap against the back of yours. The water makes the sound ten times louder, and when it mixes with your elongated moans, it fills the entire bathroom. There was strength in every stroke that you couldn’t run away from. Each one rocks you into the glass. It was deep in your tummy, repeatedly, just to remind you that even if there was another man, he could never get to your cervix like Toji could because he was all girth with the length to match.

“Mmphh shit- yes, yes,” your voice is altered by your flat cheek. Everything was so much more sensitive after your first orgasm. Toji hunches over you to reach your clit, leaving the hand that binds your wrists.

The second wave gathers in your stomach every time his tip kisses what feels like your belly button. The tremor of your pussy shoots electricity through his blood. Feeling you clench around his shaft is suffocating, but he holds out by quickly retracting himself once you ride out enough of your orgasm.

The emptiness subsides as he drags you around with his hand clasping your throat and kisses you. It’s rough and too short, but he needed a distraction for you so you don’t realize he’s raising you off the ground.

You would lecture him about this position in the shower—it’s asking for somebody to fall, you or him, and the cold glass against the span of your back is uncomfortable. You can’t bring yourself to care right now though, not with his hands under your ass and his hold that feels like he’s never letting go.

Just as quickly, you place your hands on his biceps as he slides back in. There’s a deep groan from both of you. Your head tips back, sticking your wet hair to the door and your skin when it runs back and forth along the glass.

“I-I fuck— missed y-you,” your fingers find position on his cheek, your half lidded eyes and pouty lips staring through him.

He grunts before kissing you passionately, only pulling away slightly to say it back: “Missed you too sweetheart, ya know that.” His breaths were shallow and raw and you didn’t have to think twice to believe him. His actions since you divorced all the way up until now says so.

With his feet planted firmly on the ground, his cock pounds up into your hole and his balls slap your ass. It’s a lewd and loud scene.

“Missed this tight little pussy too. In fact…”

Before your ankles can lock around his waist, he rotates his hold on your ass to just under your knees, using more strength to not only pull you up, but reposition to where he can throw your legs over both his shoulders. You attempt to inspect what he’s doing but instead catch a glimpse of how far off the ground you are. He knows because he feels your arms connect tighter at his nape and your nails trek through his hair. “W-Wait I don’t think—“ you start.

The sheer force of his next thrust rocks the wall, and continues to do so with the ones after that. To prevent from ripping his hair out, your hands relocate to the broad of his back. There, you dip your fingernails as far into his skin as you please because at least you know he likes it. You’ll apologize for adding to his injury later.

“Hh-ah daddy please! right there,” the sounds of his name are louder and right into his ear, over and over again, fueling the blazing fire that has been building up since everything happened. God, how he longed to hear you call for him again on the verge of tears, like he was the only one who could save you. Like you were dependent on him. The voice usually spewing playful insults at him or bickering back is now three octaves higher than usual and screaming his name with more than want. Need.

One of his hands draws up to your breast, somehow allowing him to suck and bite while keeping the brutal pace of his thrusts. The other reaches your reddening nub. The only leverage you have right now is the trust in your legs to keep you up.

The initial plan was to tell him you were getting close at the speed of a freight train since he was hitting a group of nerves that sent you to a spiral. The hard part, was that you, in fact, were getting close at the speed of a freight train. So before you can tell him, it slams into you, rendering you speechless and completely stagnant for a moment as your vision clouds with white.

“Goddamn,” his head drops into your chest during your orgasm (that you didn’t heed a warning to) as it swallows him whole. It’s overwhelming after all this time, but not so much that his thrusts completely stop. He grinds his last touch up into you.

When you come back, your breaths are like thirty pound weights. They’re sporadic and the hot steam from the atmosphere is not helping. Toji inches back and forth, and you finally see it when your senses return: his back rising and lowering, his muscles straining, his brows coming together to a deep crease in the middle of his face, and there somehow being a warmth inside you that wasn’t there before.

Both catching your breath for a few minutes, he has to break the silence because it sure as hell wasn’t going to be you. “Been a while since I’ve done that.”

“You didn’t tell me you were gonna come inside!” You counter. A small smile creeps onto his face. He’s still buried inside you and you’ve already reverted to your old self.

“Hell, you ain’t tell me you were comin’ at all.”

Truth be told, he hadn’t really meant to, but that’s probably what it was going to come to anyway. It all happened so damn fast before he could stop it, and he doesn’t have the best self control, foretold by how he got here in the first place. “What if I wasn’t on birth control Toji?”

He shrugs, looks up at you, then pecks your chin, “We woulda made it work.”

Without thinking, he slowly pulls out and overstimulates you in the process. He doesn’t set you down yet, but instead lets you hold onto him with the strength you have left as he finds a way to clean you.

Sometime through the process he instructs you to push.

“What?”

“You want me to reach ‘n get it myself?”

Your eyes shoot wide. “Toji!”

——

After everything dies down, the heater is blasting throughout the room while you’re tucked under the covers, comfortably waiting for the bed to dip and reveal the large man’s presence.

It does, but not after he did a double take in the mirror, contemplating his werewolf of a lover.

•—————•

11:37 AM

Toji knows when you disassociate. It’s the arms subconsciously tucked protectively around yourself, gazing blankly at nothing in particular, breathing heavy and long while biting your lip.

The ruffle of a plastic bag catches your attention, and when he stalks over to you, his body filling out the shirt he threw on this morning in all the right spots, you only seem to focus on the everlasting warmth in his eyes. He comes to a halt less than a foot away.

“Yer thinking,” he declares.

The observation rips your eyes from his as you proceed to deny it, an immediate response to being caught red-handed. “I’m not. Not about anything important at least.”

His head barely tilts to the side, an incredulous smile lifting the scar on his lip. “Right. It’s the same one Emi makes, jus’ without the sad pout.”

A fleeting image of your little girl clouds your brain. He was 100% correct.

Instead of answering, you turn yourself around, back to the soup, mindlessly stirring and trying to convince yourself it needs a few more minutes.

This was a horrible idea because now your back is turned to him.

Anyone in their right mind knows you don’t turn your back to Toji.

He’s sneaky and quick; quick to bring his large hands over your shoulders, curling his fingers around the muscles of your trap as if he’d known they’d been tight all night, and pressing on upwards closer to your neck. It was like he was treading how far you’d let him go before you regretted it, but there was nothing respectful about how close he was pressed up to you, or about the night before. He has done so much worse but this is where he becomes careful. His chin comes to rest in the open space beside your face, redirecting his hands to gliding down your hips.

“Cmon, what did I say about running from me?” He coos. You don’t respond, so he goes on, his breath chilly on your skin. “Smells good in here. What’cha makin?”

“Soup.” You state. And an afterthought: “Potato.”

“Good, it’ll make sure you stay nice and warm.” On queue, his large hands connect at your stomach delicately.

The descriptors were two perfect words for how he felt hovering behind you. His shadow overtakes yours and he was too quiet so you watch his eyes fall closed in your peripheral.

Toji was sulking in it. Being able to hold you like this. Truthfully, he didn’t think you’d let him; there was just tacit boundaries the two of you held when you split. He was always gone, and despite how much you loved them, him leaving his kids completely to you while he constantly worked was hard; money was never an issue.

Once everything was over, he made sure to find a way to take off more often. He wouldn’t dare lose his girls like he lost you. Thankfully, never were you completely out of his life, just the slightest bit out of reach.

Your sweet smell floated through his nostrils like it had when you met. It was you and him, the faint sound of the TV, no kids to pull you apart, none of your family to question why you still talk to him after he drops his “package” (the kids) off and leaves, no arguments from your responses being “I love them just as much as he does”—

None of that.

There’s a small sound that only registers as a kiss when you feel his soft lips barely press down against your neck. You soothe it to the opposite side, giving him space to do so. It felt so right, you fit in his arms like nobody else, and while you were thinking about it—there were no plans to go back into dating. Toji would kill them. Literally.

He hadn’t meant to do it, but he was so caught in the moment that he didn’t realize. You were so close already, and to him, each one symbolizes another thing he misses about you and another thing he wishes he did differently.

There’s a gentle hum in the air, and at the same time, Toji pulls you closer to him. You willingly follow with all your weight in his hands, your hair now dangling between you. His flat hand leaves your stomach to twist the knob on the stove. Then, it works with his other hand to pull the small bag you remember seeing the night prior that’s hanging on his wrist off and open. The silver of his wedding band still stretches across his finger, while yours was bare.

“What’s this? I thought those were for Emi and Chi?” You ask comfortably. He doesn’t respond immediately, but he searches past the paper and retrieves a medium sized box wrapped with matching pink ribbon, then rests the cute gift bag aside on the counter.

“Hafta spoil all my girls— you know that.”

His voice is rich with clarity and love in your ear, and to make things worse, he nudges his nose delicately around the area.

“Toji, you know I can’t take-”

Before you can finish, he pops the velvet box open with one hand, rubbing and caressing you with the other, and there’s a silver, diamond-studded tennis bracelet. Looking into the box, it’s round-cut and customized to where between every individual diamond, there’s a tiny, pink sapphire jewel to give it some color.

You audibly gasp as it shines and glitters, even resting idly in front of you. Toji weighs out your reaction. He concludes it good when your cheeks redden and your eyes glisten at the sight.

Suddenly, the same eyes dart away from the gift, and a wave of emotions washes over you. Once you process it, you quickly turn in Toji’s arms and look up at him with a painted face of worry and a solid pout.

He knows you know now, and there’s no going back.

As a response to show you how he truly felt about things so you can determine how close you are, you’re proven right when his eyes sink and the most genuine smile overtakes his lips.

Your widened eyes gradually mist up, your brows upturn as you stare at him from below, and all he can think about is how much you really do look like his baby girl.

“…Don’t do this to me,” you plead, voice wavering but barely there, and the tear threatening to fall finally growing heavy. “Please don’t make me…again…” He wipes it away with his thumb as it drops.

You hadn’t realized your hands were gripping his shirt desperately.

Some days you dreamed of this. Other days you prayed it would never happen again. No matter what, you would always love him, but he can’t slither his way in and crush the wall you’ve rebuilt. The one you’ve tried your damndest to protect. And all it took was for him to hold you like he did before to make it all come crumbling down. Who’s to blame for it?

His expression doesn’t change despite your begging, and it reminds you that, to him, you will always be the beautiful girl he declared the love of his life. He can’t see you any other way.

Which is why he grabs a hold of your hand, carefully lowers himself to a knee, and presses a gentle kiss to your fingertips. This propels your tears to fall so much worse, and it’s so overbearing, you don’t know what to do. The nights the kids were running around, not listening, driving you insane after a frustrating day at work and you just wanted to be held— nobody was there. You couldn’t call him; all you had was yourself. And yet, you register what your heart’s decision is when the first thing you do when clueless and buried under hurt is call his name.

“Toji.”

You can barely see him under the tears, but he’s holding the box up to you. Instead of a ring, it was something so much more and personal, passing as a simple generous gift to anyone who wasn’t in the situation you share.

“This bracelet’s more than the ring I proposed with. Not only by price— ‘cause you deserve the best— but as I ask if you’ll take this, I recite the vows I failed to uphold in my head. I made a promise to be with you; to hold ya from that day forward, through all of better and worse, sickness and health—and yet you felt alone. Won’t ever forgive myself for that.”

Tears were streaming down your face as you sob, shaking in his hand. Was this really happening? Or was it a fever dream?

“I’m not a good man, but you’re a “once in a lifetime” woman, and you balance me out. I’ll be damned if someone good does come around, no matter how perfect y’all are for each other, because I’m a selfish fucker, and I’d rather die than see you look at someone else the way you look at me. So, to love and to cherish— if you’ll have me one last time— it’s till death do us part baby.”

You don’t respond. Instead, you stand there and weep.

Take him back? You want to. He has been coming home much more than he used to.

But it was your very first marriage. Your dream wedding: you walked down the isle in the setting sun, you snorkeled and felt free during your honeymoon—you felt like a princess. Then after a while, it all ended with the bedside empty, or other nights, occupied by one of the girls that couldn’t sleep. He waits patiently in front of you, rubbing between your fingers in his hand.

Then, faintly, he hears, “I’m scared,” with a heavy cry at the end. This prompts him back up to his feet, holding his arms out, and he encases you. You immediately stain his shirt an even darker shade of black, holding onto him for dear life.

He brushes your hair past your ears. This opens you back up to him, even if it’s just the side of your puffy cheeks and eyes. He kisses the hair on your head. “I know.”

You were going to say yes, it’s all you’ve ever wanted. But what if he doesn’t uphold? Or something happens between you two? It’s not just you now, it’s the kids as well. Though it will also be better for them if you two are present and married; there’s no more Mommy and Daddy’s house, or “my mom is picking me up from school,” but one, single coordinated family. They’ll grow knowing their parents are comfortable around each other with stability.

You would do anything for them, you realize, even if it does come to suffering by a man they call their father.

“Yes,” you croak out.

Toji looks down at you, blinking, a little confused. He hadn’t expected you to make your mind up. He thought he was going to have to convince you that he would do anything to get you by his side again, not just because you were stubborn, but because it was what he deserved.

What he hadn’t taken account for, was the strength of a mother’s love. His thumbs gingerly glide over your red, puffy cheeks, and nothing he could say can tell you how happy he is, so he sets it upon himself to stuff it all into one kiss and a few words.

“I love you, Sweetheart.”

©️ hxltic

[wolken-himmel]

In which Trein takes care of a sick (Y/n) with the best solution to cure a cold: chicken soup.

The gesture reminds (Y/n) of home.

Request by anon.

"(Y/n)? Are you still alive?"

The sound of footsteps echoing through the high ceilings of the living room of the Ramshackle dorm caused you to begrudgingly rise from the couch, your neck craned so that you could see who was approaching your location. One of the few things your burning eyes could catch wind of was a deep red fabric swishing back and forth, billowing slightly when the mysterious figure knelt down beside you.

After blinking a few times, you finally managed to discern aged eyes staring into your own, worried. A little smile appeared on your lips once your brain finally recognised your visitor as one of your professors: Mozus Trein.

As he put a gloved hand to your forehead, making sure to be as gentle as possible, you let out an exhausted chuckle and attempted to sit up properly. "Professor Trein is making a joke... Am I hallucinating?" you asked playfully, only to be interrupted by a coughing fit that almost sent you tumbling off the couch.

Trein, despite a roll of his eyes, had a slightly amused smile on his usually so stoic and cold face. "Very funny, young one," he murmured while he rose to his feet again, but not without a loud pop of his bones that made you laugh loudly. He didn't take kindly to your amusement and waved you off dismissively. "But well, you missed my class today, and I could not help but worry when your troublemaker friends informed me of your current state."

"It's just a cold," you murmured casually. "But maybe you have a potion for it? Or maybe Professor Crewel has one?"

Trein's eyes lit up at your inquiry. "I know the recipe for the best potion to cure a cold that exists in all of Twisted Wonderland." His words caused you to almost throw your blanket off of you to leap forward and grab him by the shoulders, but you were prevented from doing so when he instead put his hands on your shoulders and carefully pushed you down onto the couch again. He seemed amused by your innocent excitement. "You will be healthy in just a few hours."

"Really? What's it made of?" Your eyes were as wide as that of a young child that had just been presented candy. You almost stumbled over your own words, barely able speak without your tongue getting tied up into a knot. When your professor simply stayed silent and smiled, you wrought your hands together and gulped in awe. "It surely must be hard to make..."

"Well, let me present it to you."

Your eyes followed his every move as he pulled out a container that had some sort of liquid inside. Yet, your excitement vanished into thin air and was replaced by utter confusion when he gracefully popped the lid off and held it out to you.

"Wait, that smells like... chicken soup." You sat there, frozen, unable to take the container out of his hands. Instead, you raised your gaze from the steaming liquid to shoot him a suspicious look. "Explain."

Trein urged you to take the container. "There is nothing better than soup to cure a cold."

"You're kidding..." you muttered in disbelief.

His eyes suddenly became as serious as when he was in class, very much unlike how they were slightly softer whenever he talked to you. "Do I look like I am kidding?"

A little bit thrown off by his sudden change in demeanour, you gulped and quickly took the container of soup without another sign of protest. Still, you looked a little bit disappointed when he handed you a spoon summoned out of thin air. "I was expecting some mighty potion..." you murmured while stirring the soup around with your gaze downcast.

An amused smile appeared on Trein's face. "Young people like you tend to overlook the obvious solution."

Not responding to his little comment, your eyes were instead focused on the soup that you continued stirring with your metal spoon. The simple smell of it caused some memories to return to you — memories of your own world. Your eyes already watering, you kept them trained on the vortex of soup. "You know, my father back at home always used to make me chicken soup when I was sick... and—" You didn't get much farther before you broke down into tears.

"Oh, poor you, do not cry." Trein put his hand on your back, a simple yet effective gesture.

You would have dropped the container if it weren't for how tight your grip on it was — to the point where your hand prints would forever be embedded within the material. Luckily, Trein quickly took it out of your hands, just to be sure that you wouldn't spill boiling hot soup all over yourself.

Once your hands were empty, you buried your face in your palms. Your sobbing increased. "I just miss them so much..."

"I am sure you do, and I am also sure they miss you, too." Trein's eyes were soft in empathy as he ran his hand up and down your back. His lips quirked up into a teasing smile as he muttered, "But if you continue crying, the soup will get cold."

"You're right..." Still sniffling, you wiped away at your puffy eyes with the back of your hands. Once you had removed the majority of your tears, you raised your gaze to shoot your professor a grateful smile. "Thank you, sir."

Trein hummed and handed you the soup, and this time, you dug right in. Your tongue stung with how the hot liquid attacked your tastebuds, but there was no stopping you now with how much relief eating it brought you.

"No problem, young one. You know, you remind me of my own children... I always took care of them when they were sick, too." A solemn smile graced his lips. "But for now, just eat your soup."

"If I'm not better in a few hours, you're a liar." A mocking and playful grin graced your lips.

Trein returned your mockery with a calm yet smug smile. "You will find out that I am not, young one."