#i crawled into too many character's heads the past few days

[dandelions-143]

Secrets 4

All parts of Secrets here Hyunjin Masterlist

All Members found here Masterlist

Pairing: Non-Idol Hyunjin x Plus size/mid size fem!reader

Word count: 2,690k

Warnings: no smut but still 18+ Only! MDNI, Domestic violence/abuse, While not explicit, there are romantic and potentially sexual undertones in the interactions between characters, Strong language.

Summary: For six months, the pain of Hyunjin's betrayal left you numb. You went through the motions—pleasing your parents and seeking solace in a possessive lover you no longer desired. Each day was a struggle, until one fateful night when Hyunjin unexpectedly re-entered your life.

AN: no smut but it’s coming! I felt like I needed to give them more substance than just physical attraction. Also I want the tension to grow a bit more! Enjoy! Only one more part after this one!

You sat with your chin resting lazily in the palm of your hand, observing your parents' friends and business partners as they mingled in their expensive attire. Each of them concealed their unsavory nature behind costly, polished facades. "How pathetic," you scoffed under your breath.

Your black cocktail dress clung uncomfortably to your skin, its fabric itching with each shift in your seat. A weary sigh escaped your lips as you sought a more bearable position. The evening crawled by, minutes stretching into eternity. Your eyes flitted restlessly around the room, desperately seeking escape from your ill-fitting attire and the stifling atmosphere.

A waiter glided past, bearing a tray of champagne flutes. You eyed them wistfully, tempted to snatch one—if only to give your restless hands a purpose. The effervescent liquid shimmered beneath the chandelier's glow, its cheerful sparkle a mocking counterpoint to your somber mood.

"Darling," a voice called from across the room. You recognized your mother's tone—a blend of saccharine sweetness and veiled warning. She beckoned you over, her face fixed in a plastic smile as she stood beside some important-looking guests.

Stifling a groan, you rose from your seat, tugging at your dress's hem. Time to play your part in this elaborate charade. You painted on a synthetic smile and strode towards the group, each step a stark reminder of your current predicament's constraints.

After enduring your mother's endless prattle about trivial matters, Joo Won sauntered up to you. Tall, dark, and handsome, he was successful in his father's business—every woman's dream. Every woman's, that is, except yours.

He took your hand, kissing the back of it. You fought hard not to physically cringe as his lips touched your skin. Forcing a soft smile—hoping it didn't look too strained—you met his gaze. "Hello, Y/n. I was hoping you would be here tonight," he said. You simply nodded and gently slipped your hand from his grasp. "Oh, yeah... um, Mother would have my head if I missed too many of these things," you replied, tucking a few stray strands of hair behind your ear.

His eyes were cold, a stark contrast to his generically handsome features. "Would you like to dance?" he asked, taking a step towards you. Before you could answer, someone across the room caught your eye.

A man in a striking crimson suit. He was tall and lean, with shaggy raven-black hair. As he turned slowly, your breath hitched in your throat. When his piercing gaze met yours, you nearly fainted. It was Hyunjin, staring back at you with those familiar deep brown eyes, plump lips, and gorgeous features.

The noise of the party faded into muffled sounds around you. All you could hear now was the pounding of your heart in your ears. Joo Won was saying something to you, but your attention was solely fixed on Hyunjin.

He nodded slowly to you, a soft smirk playing on his perfect lips. Your eyes began to water. Why did you feel like crying? Why was he here? How was he here? The questions raced through your mind.

Your feet began to move, drawn inexorably towards Hyunjin. The sounds of the party faded as you approached him, your heart racing with each step. His eyes remained locked on yours, that enigmatic smirk still playing on his lips.

As you drew closer, you could see the rich texture of his crimson suit accentuating his lean frame. The air between you crackled with tension and unspoken words.

"Y/n," he said softly as you reached him, his voice a low, melodious sound that sent shivers down your spine. "I was wondering when you'd notice me."

You opened your mouth to speak but found yourself at a loss for words. How could you possibly articulate the storm of emotions swirling within you? Instead, you simply stared at him, drinking in his presence, still half-convinced he might vanish at any moment.

Hyunjin's smirk softened into a genuine smile. He extended his hand to you, palm up. "Care to dance?" he was clearly mocking Joo Won, his eyes twinkling with mischief and warmth.

Instead of answering, you responded with an incredulous, "What are you doing here, Hyunjin?" His pretty smile faltered, his face turning neutral. "I'm here on business actually."

You furrowed your brows in confusion. "Business? With whom? This is my parents' private event." Your eyes scanned the room as if Hyunjin's business associate would somehow stand out. Your gaze returned to the man you still loved, even after a broken heart and six months of separation.

Hyunjin parted his plump lips to reply when Joo Won suddenly appeared. His hand rested on your shoulder as he stood slightly behind you, his touch too possessive for your liking. You watched as Hyunjin's eyes flicked from Joo Won's face to his hand on you and back up.

"Y/n, you walked off so abruptly. Are you going to introduce me to your friend?" Joo Won said, a hint of stern possessiveness in his voice.

There was a moment of hesitation before Hyunjin's neutral features pulled into a dazzling smile as he held out his hand. "I'm Hyunjin, one of Y/n's friends from college." You watched as Joo Won took hold of Hyunjin's hand, shaking it firmly. "I'm Joo Won, Y/n's..." he glanced down at you then back to Hyunjin. "Boyfriend."

Your face flushed hot as your eyes widened at his false claim. Hyunjin's eyes flashed with sadness as he glanced at you, but then he focused back on Joo Won. The two men stood there, almost staring each other down, but Hyunjin was the first to pull away.

"Ah well," he ran a hand through his long hair. "I have to get back to business. It was nice meeting you, Joo Won." Hyunjin looked at you, a mixture of longing and pain in his dark eyes. "It was good to see you again, Y/n."

He nodded and turned, walking away from you. Your mouth was sealed shut, stunned and unable to move or speak.

As you stood there, frozen in place, a mix of emotions coursed through you. The shock of seeing Hyunjin again, the confusion about his presence at the event, and the frustration at Joo Won's false claim all swirled together, leaving you momentarily paralyzed.

Slowly, you began to regain your composure. Your eyes followed Hyunjin's retreating figure, a part of you yearning to call out to him, to clear up the misunderstanding. But the words caught in your throat, trapped behind the facade you were expected to maintain at these events.

Joo Won's hand was still on your shoulder, its weight now feeling more oppressive than ever. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself to address the situation. Turning to face him, you prepared to confront him about his false claim and assert your independence.

"Joo Won," you began, your voice low but firm, "why the fuck did you say that?" Your eyes bore holes into his smug face. If you weren't in a room full of self-centered socialites, you would have slugged him in that stupid face of his. Joo Won just shrugged. "We may not be official, Y/n, but you're mine, and I thought he should know that."

You scoffed and rolled your eyes at his words—the dumbest you had ever heard in your life. Just as you were about to shove your finger in his face and tell him exactly where you were going to shove your foot, you heard your mother's shrill, nasally voice calling for you. "Y/n! Y/n, come here, darling. Your father wants to introduce you to someone." You kept your eyes on Joo Won for a second longer before turning your attention to where your mother was standing in a group of people.

You huffed in annoyance but fixed your expression as much as you could before walking over to her. "Y/n darling, your father wants you to meet his new business partner," she stated, but a familiar voice interjected, "I am just the middle man, Ma'am. My boss is your husband's business partner." Your eyes met Hyunjin's burning stare once again.

"Oh, that's right. Well, you're too handsome not to introduce to my beautiful daughter." Your mother gripped your hand, pulling you closer to them both.

"Y/n, meet Mr. Hwang." Your mouth fell open at the fact that your mother didn't remember meeting him months ago. You opened your mouth to speak, but Hyunjin took your hand in his and kissed your knuckles softly. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Y/n." Your eyes stayed locked on his, conveying a hint of secrecy. You closed your red-painted lips.

You felt a spark of electricity run through your body as Hyunjin's lips brushed against your skin. You definitely didn’t feel like cringing when he kissed your hand. The moment seemed to stretch on forever, his touch lingering just a second too long to be purely professional. As he released your hand, you caught a flicker of something in his eyes—a mix of longing, mischief, and determination that made your heart race.

"Lovely," your mother spoke, her eyes darting between the two of you. Your foggy mind slowly came back to reality when Hyunjin let go of your hand and your father's booming voice sounded around you. "Mr. Hwang, let's go into my office. Talk politics and let the women gossip as they do." He clapped Hyunjin on his broad shoulder, causing his smile to turn into a little wince before he bowed to you and your mother. "See you beauties later," he said, his eyes lingering seductively on you. Your chest felt tight as you watched him turn and walk away with your father.

Hours had passed since you'd last seen Hyunjin. Your father had reappeared in the crowd, but there was no sign of the handsome man who'd once stolen—and shattered—your heart. It infuriated you that, even after all this time, he still consumed your every thought and sense. You couldn't escape him.

You sighed heavily, running a hand through your hair as you scanned the room once more. The party had become suffocating—a claustrophobic maze of fake smiles and hollow conversations. Your mind kept drifting back to Hyunjin, to the enigmatic glances and unspoken words that hung between you. Despite your best efforts to push him from your thoughts, his presence lingered like a persistent shadow, refusing to be ignored.

You'd had enough of this stuffy party and these fake people. Before you could truly think about it, your heeled feet were moving, carrying you across the marble floor towards the front door. Just as you were about to reach the exit, a strong hand caught your arm. Your head snapped up to see Joo Won glaring down at you. "Where are you going?" he demanded, as if he had any right to know.

You jerked your arm away without reply, your feet still moving you to the door. You just wanted to be in your room, cuddled up with a movie or a book—anything to distract you from your parents and thoughts of Hyunjin.

As you pushed through the door, the cool night air hit your face, providing a welcome respite from the stifling atmosphere inside. You took a deep breath, feeling the tension in your shoulders begin to ease. Your heels clicked against the pavement as you made your way down the path, eager to put some distance between yourself and the party.

The quiet of the night enveloped you, broken only by the distant sounds of the city and the fading murmur of the party behind you. You wrapped your arms around yourself, suddenly aware of the chill in the air against your skin.

As you walked, your mind continued to race with thoughts of the evening's events—Hyunjin's unexpected appearance, Joo Won's possessive behavior, and your parents' expectations. You longed for the sanctuary of your room, where you could finally let your guard down and process everything that had happened.

"Y/n!" Joo Won's voice rang out behind you, making you quicken your pace as you tried to reach your car. You wanted nothing more to do with him. Your head was spinning from the whirlwind of events tonight, especially seeing Hyunjin again. Just as you approached your car, Joo Won wrapped his hand around your arm, jerking you forcefully towards him.

You let out a frustrated cry, "Let go of me! I want to go home!" You tried to shake his hand off, but his grip was too tight, painfully so. You knew you'd have bruises—the bastard.

Joo Won's grip tightened further, his eyes flashing with anger. "You're not going anywhere," he growled, his voice low and threatening. Fear and adrenaline surged through your body, your heart pounding as you realized the danger you were in.

"I told you to never walk away from me again. Remember what happened last time?!" he snarled, his black eyes flashing with unjustifiable rage. Just as he began to drag you in the opposite direction, someone came up behind Joo Won, yanking him down by his shirt collar. He hit the ground with a hard thud.

Two warm hands cupped your cheeks, and your eyes rose to meet Hyunjin's concerned gaze. "Are you alright?" You nodded, still in shock from what had just transpired. Your voice trembled as you replied, "I... I think so." Hyunjin's hands remained on your cheeks, his touch gentle and comforting. You could see the concern etched on his face, mixed with a flash of anger as he glanced back at Joo Won.

Joo Won stood up, fixing his disheveled clothes. "I don't know who you think you are, but this has nothing to do with you. So kindly leave us be." Hyunjin fully turned his body towards Joo Won, shielding you from him.

Hyunjin's voice was low and dangerous as he addressed Joo Won, "I think I'm someone who doesn't stand by while a woman is being harassed. Now, I suggest you leave before this escalates further." His stance was protective, his body a barrier between you and Joo Won. You felt a mix of relief and anxiety as the tension between the two men grew palpable in the night air.

Joo Won's face contorted with rage, his fists clenching at his sides. "This isn't over," he spat, his eyes darting between you and Hyunjin. With a final glare, he turned on his heel and stormed back towards the party, leaving you and Hyunjin alone in the dimly lit parking lot. The silence that followed was heavy, filled with unspoken words and lingering tension.

You bit your bottom lip, "Thank you, Hyunjin." You spoke to his broad back. Before turning towards you, he closed his eyes momentarily, savoring the way you said his name—something he had missed so much. He finally turned to look at you, his eyes searching your face. "Are you sure you're alright?" he asked once more.

"Mhm... yeah. Joo Won could never take rejection," you muttered, rubbing a hand over the now tender skin of your arm. "I'll kill him if he ever touches you again," Hyunjin said, his face and tone leaving no doubt about his seriousness.

Your breath caught in your throat at his words, a mix of emotions swirling within you. The intensity in Hyunjin's eyes made your heart race, reminding you of the connection you once shared. Despite everything that had happened between you, his protective nature still stirred something deep inside you. You found yourself torn between the comfort of his presence and the painful memories of your past.

You picked up your small purse from the wet ground. "Well, um... I guess I should be going." You took your keys out of your bag and unlocked your car. Just as you were getting in, Hyunjin put his hand on the frame, stopping you from closing the door.

"I have to meet your father for brunch tomorrow at his house. After, would you like to meet up? Maybe talk? I know it's way overdue."

You hesitated for a moment, your eyes searching Hyunjin's face. The weight of your shared history hung heavy in the air between you. After a deep breath, you nodded slowly. "Okay," you said softly, "I suppose we do have a lot to talk about. I'll be at the house as well. I'll see you then." With that, you gently closed the car door, leaving Hyunjin standing in the parking lot as you drove away, your mind already racing with thoughts of tomorrow's meeting.

Sleep eluded you that night. Your mind raced with thoughts of Hyunjin's sudden appearance and his unexpected business dealings with your father. Could it truly be mere coincidence? These questions plagued you until you finally drifted off around 3 AM, only to spend the rest of the night tossing and turning restlessly.

When sunlight finally streamed through your window, you were already awake. You groaned softly, rubbing your tired eyes as you swung your legs over the side of the bed. Last night's events replayed in your mind—Hyunjin's unexpected appearance, the confrontation with Joo Won, and the promise of a long-overdue conversation. As you stood up, stretching your stiff muscles, a mix of anxiety and anticipation for the day ahead washed over you.

You took your time showering and getting ready. Catching yourself wondering if Hyunjin would like to see you in this outfit or that one, you shook your head. "Stop it," you muttered. "Who cares what he thinks? His opinion no longer matters."

As you slipped on a pair of jeans and a basic white tank, pulling a cream cardigan over it, you paused to examine the finger-shaped bruises on your upper arm. "Stupid Joo Won," you hissed.

Your thoughts were interrupted by Hyunjin's loud, open laughter drifting up from downstairs, mingling with your father's deep chuckle.

You hesitated at the top of the stairs, your heart racing as you listened to the easy conversation below. It felt surreal to hear Hyunjin interacting so comfortably with your father, especially given your shared history. Taking a deep breath, you steeled yourself for the encounter ahead and began your descent, each step bringing you closer to the inevitable confrontation.

As soon as Hyunjin came into view, your heart felt like it was going to stop beating. Why did he still have this effect on you after everything? Hyunjin sat comfortably across from your father at the table. His dark hair was a bit messy today, and his clothing much more subdued than last night—a pair of khaki pants, black boots, and a plain black shirt, with a couple of silver necklaces hanging from his neck.

Your eyes met his as you reached the bottom of the stairs, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. Hyunjin's gaze softened, a mix of surprise and something else you couldn't quite decipher flickering across his features. Your father, oblivious to the tension, greeted you cheerfully, "Ah, there you are! Come join us for breakfast, dear."

You hesitated, caught between the desire to flee back upstairs and the need to face this situation head-on. Taking a deep breath, you forced a smile and made your way to the table. "Good morning," you managed, your voice steadier than you felt. As you took your seat, you couldn't help but notice how Hyunjin's eyes followed your every move, his expression unreadable.

"I won't be intruding on very important business talk?" you asked softly, a hint of playfulness in your tone. Your father shook his head, "We've already finished that up."

Your father's words hung in the air as you settled into your seat, the tension between you and Hyunjin so thick it was almost tangible. You couldn't help but steal glances at him, noticing how he seemed both familiar and foreign at the same time. The silence stretched on, broken only by the clink of cutlery against plates, until your father cleared his throat and began regaling you both with a story from his latest business trip.

After an hour of eating and small talk, your father wiped his mouth and got up from the table. "I have another meeting to get to. Y/n can show you out, Hyunjin. Tell Mr. Lee it was a pleasure doing business with him." Hyunjin stood briefly and shook your father's hand. "Of course, thank you, sir." And with that, your father left.

As your father's footsteps faded away, an awkward silence settled between you and Hyunjin. You both stood there for a moment, unsure how to proceed. Finally, Hyunjin cleared his throat and spoke softly, "Should we go somewhere more private to talk?" You nodded, feeling a mix of nervousness and anticipation as you led him towards the back of the house.

"We can talk in the garden, it's always really quiet out there," you said, biting your bottom lip as you pushed open the glass door that led outside.

The garden was a tranquil oasis, with lush greenery and colorful blooms surrounding a small stone path. As you stepped outside, the gentle breeze carried the sweet scent of flowers, providing a momentary distraction from the tension between you and Hyunjin. You led him to a secluded bench nestled beneath an old oak tree, its branches offering a canopy of shade and privacy.

You watched Hyunjin's tongue dart out to lick his lips before he began to speak. "I—um..." His hand came up to rub the back of his neck in a nervous habit. "I know the words 'I'm sorry' don't really fix anything, but it's a start, and I am truly sorry for everything I did to you." He paused and looked over at you, his cinnamon eyes meeting yours. "And everything I didn't do."

You felt a lump form in your throat, emotions swirling inside you as you processed Hyunjin's words. His apology hung in the air between you, heavy with the weight of your shared history. Despite your best efforts to remain composed, you could feel your resolve beginning to crack, torn between the lingering hurt and the undeniable pull you still felt towards him.

"Why? Why did you make that bet to fuck me? Why did you humiliate me like that? You and your friends laughing at me behind my back..." Tears threatened to spill onto your cheeks, your bottom lip quivering as you tore your eyes away from him. You felt him move closer, a sense of urgency in his movements, but he didn't touch you. "Please don't cry... I've made you cry too much." His words hung heavy in the air, a mixture of regret and sincerity lacing his voice. You found yourself caught between the desire to push him away and the longing to understand. As the silence stretched between you, the garden's tranquility seemed to mock the turmoil within your heart.

Hyunjin took a deep breath, his eyes filled with remorse as he continued, "I was immature, stupid, and caught up in a world where I thought impressing my friends mattered more than anything else. I didn't realize the gravity of my actions or how deeply they would hurt you. It was never about you specifically—you were just... there. And that's what makes it even worse. I treated you like an object, not a person with feelings."

He paused, running a hand through his hair, clearly struggling with his words. "As time went on, and I got to know you, I realized how amazing you were. But by then, I was in too deep. I was a coward, afraid to admit the truth, afraid of losing you. I convinced myself that if you never found out, it would be okay. But it wasn't okay. Nothing about what I did was okay."

Hyunjin's voice cracked slightly as he continued, "I can't change the past, but I want you to know that the regret I feel is real. The person I was then... that's not who I am now. I've spent these past few months thinking about what I did, wishing I could take it all back. I know I don't deserve your forgiveness, but I hope that someday, you can find it in your heart to believe that my feelings for you became genuine. Because they did. They still are."

You sat in silence for a moment, absorbing Hyunjin's words. Your heart raced as conflicting emotions washed over you—anger, hurt, and a flicker of something else you couldn't quite name. Finally, you took a deep breath and spoke, your voice barely above a whisper, "I appreciate your honesty, Hyunjin. But it doesn't erase the pain you caused. I spent so long questioning my worth, wondering what I did wrong. To hear that it started as just a game... it hurts all over again."

You paused, gathering your thoughts before continuing, "I want to believe that your feelings became real. Part of me even wants to forgive you. But I'm not sure if I can trust you again. How do I know this isn't just another act?"

Your eyes met his, searching for sincerity. Despite your resolve, you felt a familiar pull towards him—a remnant of the connection you once shared. You shook your head slightly, trying to clear your thoughts.

"I need time, Hyunjin. Time to process all of this. To figure out if I can move past what happened. I can't give you an answer right now about forgiveness or... anything else."

You stood up, wrapping your arms around yourself as if for protection. "Thank you for being honest. But please... give me space to think about all of this."

Hyunjin stood up and took a tentative step towards you. Your eyes never left his as he leaned in closer. You could see all the familiar imperfections that you loved now that he was closer to you. The way one side of his plump lips was just a bit bigger than the other side. How the stubble on his chin grew in small patches. He always hated that.

His brown eyes flickered down to your lips, and for a moment, you thought he was going to kiss you. And... you probably would have let him. But Hyunjin lifted a hand and tenderly wiped away the tears that had fallen onto your cheeks. He let the warm pads of his fingers stay on your skin just a bit longer. His thumb swiping slowly over your bottom lip. "I will wait as long as it takes, Y/n."

That's when Hyunjin reached into his pocket and handed you a piece of paper. "I wrote this out last night but chickened out at the last minute to give it to you." You glanced down at the paper that had his handwriting scrawled messily on it. "It's my cell number and my current address while I'm here."

You took the paper from him, your fingers brushing against his for a brief moment. The contact sent a familiar jolt through you, stirring up memories and emotions you thought you had buried. You tucked the paper into your pocket, nodding silently as you tried to process the weight of this gesture. Hyunjin was giving you control, allowing you to decide when—or if—you'd reach out to him.

As you watched Hyunjin walk away, his figure becoming smaller in the distance, a mix of emotions swirled within you. The weight of his words, his apology, and the piece of paper in your pocket felt simultaneously overwhelming and strangely comforting. You took a deep breath, the scent of the garden flowers filling your lungs, as you contemplated the crossroads you now found yourself at.

Taglist:

@cashtonsbetch @katsukis1wife @hyunjinhoexxx @ihrtlino @breezy-simp @vixensss @yaorzu-blog @tirena1 @whatdoyouwanttocallmefor @chuuyaobsessed @doohnut @babigriin @iovecb97 @kpflyn @rylea08 @sheerfreesia007 @tsunderelino @cookiesandcreammy @rockstarkkami @moonchild9350 @syedazarintasnim @myflowercloud @143hyunes @luvyblossom @shecheatedwithme @antisocialties @akaligogrrr @thisaintredwine @rose-w-00-d @jisuperboard @velvetmoonlight @kayleefriedchicken

[mera-k1]

Hiii! I would like to request Ryoga, Allen, and Shogo waking up to a blowjob from gn!reader! If you simply don't want to write this, that is perfectly fine! I love your writings, have a wonderful day, and thank you for reading!

hi, nonnie! thank you for enjoying my writings~ hope you enjoy this one too!

Waking Up To A Blowjob

Allen, Shogo, Ryoga x gn!reader

-smut, oral (character receiving), i did short scenario for allen & ryoga but i'm still learning shogo so only did hcs.. (his is last for anyone interested), shenanigan's with allen bc it's allen., FEEDBACK IS APPRECIATED!!

waking up was hard for anyone. allen especially. even pulling his blanket cocoon apart wasn't enough to wake him up when he stayed up late working on his lyrics. even with your gentle voice urging him to wake up, he wouldn't budge much. continuing to grumble that it was far too early to wake up yet.

"too earlyyy, babe..." you could hear him mumble as he smushed his face back into the pillow. when you briefly left the room to check if hajun and anne were home. it felt like today was your lucky day when you saw that both were out. the only plate of breakfast that was left was undoubtedly for allen. and both of their doors were open? a quick check confirmed that neither were home, confirming your assumption.

walking back into his room, you found in his sleepiness, he had grabbed his blanket you left on the floor and laid on his back like a starfish. and yet this was the man you still loved with your whole heart. his drool and all. maybe. carefully, you crawled onto the bed, sitting between his legs and slowly pushing the blanket up past his waist.

"mmmgh.." a tired grumble from allen made you freeze and look up as he rubbed his eyes and pulled the blanket up to his chin now. a sigh of relief left you. hesitantly, you pulled his sweats down to his upper thigh, careful not to brush your cool hands against his warm skin and shock him awake, which you had done accidentally many times before... today was not another time you were willing to repeat the action.

fishing his dick out of his boxers, you ran your thumb over the tip a few times. allen wasn't particularly hard to turn on so it didn't take much effort from you at all. as you leaned down and hollowed your cheeks to take his dick in your warm mouth, you felt him twitch in his sleep, hips bucking briefly into your mouth. a hand on his thigh beside you and the other on the rest of his dick you couldn't accommodate in your mouth, you began to bop your head up and down.

seeing as he was still not.. super experienced, you expected him to cum in your mouth before he even woke up. to your surprise though, he woke up, a loud gasp left his mouth as he shot up from his sleeping position, the blanket that was pushed up on his chest falling down onto you.

"allen.." you hissed, albeit you weren't necessarily mad, just annoyed at the blanket toppling onto you as you sucked him off. your hand kept stroking him as you sat up to push the blanket off. "you awake now, handsome?" you teased, your thumb running over his tip as it made it's way to the top again.

"y-yeah... fuck. keep doing that, please..." a whine left his lips as he threw his head back. a teasing smile danced onto your lips.

"will do~"

ryoga being on parole has got to be one of the best things that's ever happened to you both. now you could give him all sorts of things! like actual hugs and kisses! and blowjobs! of course, cuddling as well! it was a good thing he wasn't opposed to any of it. after all, he had agreed to move in with you when he told you they were letting him out on parole. not like he had elsewhere to go though...

to be fair though, he really enjoyed it! so you weren't worried that he was going to up and leave you just like that. not when you could give him so much now! blowjobs specifically.

you weren't sure if he'd ever had a blowjob before seeing as he mentioned when you both had sex for the first time that he'd never had an interest in dating anyone before you. not that you were complaining, of course. you'd love to be his first everything. that's what makes it more special right? and who doesn't love a good, thoughtful surprise in the mornings? like breakfast in bed! although... he wasn't going to be the one getting any breakfast...

it had taken you a good ten minutes to escape his arms. his cuddling seemed to consist more of him keeping you pressed as close to his muscular chest as he could... possibly to protect you but it was a pain to get out of in the mornings.

as you moved down to sit between his legs, the sheets made it feel impossible to stay quiet about your 'surprise'. unfortunately, you didn't think you could get his shorts down when he was laying down so instead, you opted for forcing them down as much as you could manage before you pulled out his thick cock.

thankfully, ryoga was a heavier sleeper than most so he didn't wake at your struggle. you felt your face get hot when you pulled out his dick and stared for a moment. it wasn't as if you'd never seen it before but... sometimes you forgot how big it was when it was flaccid... nonetheless, you got yourself to work. and hoped he wouldn't sleep through it...

you flattened your tongue on the underside of him, licking a long stripe up to the tip, your lips engulfing the tip while flicking your tongue the head of him. a low groan sounded from the man in front of you, a large hand finding it's place on the back of your head, fingers tangling themselves in your hair.

"shit.. what the hell're you doin'?" ryogas voice was heavy with sleep. you were sure he knew what you were doing when he almost hesitantly pushed your head down to take as much of his cock into your mouth. "that's- fuck- how you oughta do it, right?"

-shogo is a whining mess when you wake him up with a blowjob. he can't help it! he wasn't expecting such pleasure so early in the morning so how can you blame him?

-please do ask him before you just suddenly surprise him with it. i think he'd want to mentally prepare himself knowing that he could wake up one day to it... so just ask him if it's okay first!

-he's a very light sleeper though, the moment he feels you sucking him off, he can't help but wake right up, an almost shocked look on his face when he looks down and sees your lips wrapped around him.

-and! he want's to return the favor by giving you oral as well! if you're okay with that, of course. he's okay with returning the favor in other ways if that's what you wanted but he insists on returning the favor and helping you get off too!

[rhiaarrow]

Today's Ramble comes to you in the form of hundreds of hypothetical question trains that have been going through my head since Fit's lore stream.

There's no real structure to this shit since it's just been compiled in a draft over the past few days so it's a real ramble of nonsense!

TWs for; canon typical cannibalism, slightly graphic mentions of injuries (broken bones), corpses, vague suicidal thoughts, brief mentions of dissociation

Y'know the normal shit when discussing qFitMC of 2B2T! (if I missed any relevant TWs let me know 🫠)

This ramble is a longer one just because it's been compiled together but it's all qFit characterisation lore relevant so yeah! Don't worry if you get lost reading it or give up on reading it all. I did that and it's my own ramble!

Reposted because I originally published this at the fucking ass crack of dawn when no one is awake and it got drowned in the tags xD

I am a big fan of the character lore implications of Madagio's first words to qFit;

so all of these question trains lead back to this line here! I love it so much!

(God bless the bald man's storytelling ability. This single line and his cinematic scenes have had me bouncing off the walls for days so without further ado, enjoy the needlessly long ramble.)

When Madagio knocked him into the Cavern of Corpses it took over half his health and with no food to eat he has no way to quickly regen his hearts, to heal.

In the wasteland, in early days, he ate rotten flesh to survive, would he do it again?

Would he be willing to return to the necessary savagery in order to stay alive?

Would he crawl over to the nearest corpse when the hunger got to be too much to deal with without satiation?

Would he give into his survivalist instincts just to avoid death by starvation when it got too close? Would he eat only what he had to in order to survive?

Would eat just enough for the saturation to regen, to heal his injuries from the fall?

OR would he go further, eating until he was full?

Did he miss the taste?

OR would he stop himself entirely and not touch them, remembering his boyfriend's own trauma?

Would he wonder if Pac would be reminded of Cell if Fit did what he felt he had to do?

Would he drive himself to starvation, not touching the corpses, just to prevent his boyfriend from seeing him with that same fear?

Would his newfound emotional attachments overpower his survivalist instincts?

Is he no longer able to commit such an act without thinking of the moral implications?

Did he consider the moral implications back in the early days of the wasteland when it was the only food he had to stay alive?

Is he no longer willing to go to any lengths in order to survive?

Has he truly changed that much over the past year?

Has he lost his edge?

A fall from such a height, that took so many of his hearts, could've easily broken bones.

Did he land on feet first, shattering one or both of his ankles?

Is that why he was holding his legs as he's sat in the Cavern?

Is he unable to move from the spot he landed in?

Can he only crawl across the floor towards the nearest corpse in order to regen and heal the breaks?

OR did he hit his leg on the way down, breaking his lower leg clean in half?

Did he have to set the break himself, biting down on his neckerchief to stop himself from screaming out?

Did he use his only torch as a splint?

Did he rip off strips of his cape in order to hold it in place as it slowly healed while he sat immobilised in the Cavern of Corpses?

OR did he land on his side, breaking his arm?

Was it his good arm or his prosthetic?

Did he break his good arm and have to rely only on his non-dominant (off)hand?

Would he let his arm hang limp at his side while he sat in the Cavern of Corpses?

Or would he fashion his cape into a sling, tearing off strips and using them to stabilize the break?

Did it remind him of back in the wasteland, when he carried his left arm in a similar way before he had to amputate it?

OR did his prosthetic break?

Did it occasionally shock him with its broken wiring since he had no tools to fix it?

Would he remove it entirely to stop the intermittent pain?

Or would that leave him too vulnerable?

Did he fight without his limb in the past?

Did he even use a prosthetic in the wasteland?

Is he too used to wearing it now after his time on the island?

Is he no longer able to adapt as easily to life without the ability to use one of his limbs?

Has he lost his edge?

Fit removed his hearing aids before falling asleep in the radio tower. (those were not noise cancelling headphones. Sorry streamer man your cubito is hard of hearing, I don't make the rules)

Did they get left behind in the radio tower like the rest of his belongings?

Was that why there were static sounds in the background with minimal game sounds, because his own hearing was limited without them?

Could he even hear the logs he came across or did he have to read the transcripts as they played?

Was that why Madagio was able to get the drop on him so easily?

Was he too overwhelmed with his new surroundings and all the information to listen out for the faint sound of cat paws?

He only turned around at the meow, was that all that he was able to hear clearly?

Did he sit in the Cavern where Madagio threw him, cursing himself for becoming too reliant on his mobility aids?

Did he even use hearing aids before Quesadilla Island?

Did he just adapt while in the wasteland, surviving with one of his senses dulled by years of close quarter explosions and head traumas?

Did he even know his hearing was affected?

Or was it so gradual over his years in the wasteland that he had no idea anything was wrong?

Did he have no idea that he was hard of hearing before the age of 30?

Was the world completely deafening when he was first introduced to hearing aids?

Did he adapt to the noise, relearning how to fight, to survive in his day to day when he could hear so much more?

Can he adapt to his disability now that he's without his mobility aids again on Vaccus or is he too out of practice?

He's been wearing them for a whole year on the island, is the world too silent now?

Is he unable to adjust to the sudden lack of detailed audio?

Has he lost his edge?

Fit is gonna be stuck in that Cavern of Corpses for TWO WHOLE WEEKS.

What would he do for 2 weeks alone in a cave with nothing but corpses to keep him company?

Would he just sit there, staring dissociated into the Cavern of Corpses with his arms wrapped around his knees?

Would he notice how low his health and food bars got?

Would he even notice that two weeks passed?

OR would he explore further into the Cavern, his historians curiosity getting the better of him as he analyzes the structures and corpses?

Would he spend his days cataloguing every detail, taking screenshots and storing them in his arm to document them later?

OR would he sit there, lucid and in pain, unable to move with how low his health is?

Would he consider dropping down further into the Cavern, taking fall damage in order to force himself to respawn?

Would he lie on the Cavern floor waiting for the respawn counter to count down as no one came to Res him?

But where would he respawn?

Would it be worse than where he fell?

Does he really want to know?

Would Madagio know where he went if he did respawn?

What if Madagio came back for him and Fit wasn't there?

What if he couldn't go back home to his baby boy and his Brazilian boyfriend?

OR would the solitary start to get to him?

He's been constantly around people for a year now, so much so that when he doesn't see anyone for a single day he suffers from separation anxiety. How would 2 weeks affect him?

Would he start to crack, his separation anxiety manifesting as he can't reach anyone?

Would he try to reach people on his communicator?

Would he send out message after message every single day, desperately praying to anyone that could hear him that at least one reached Quesadilla Island?

He survived for two decades as a nomad in the anarchy wasteland, why can't he survive two weeks in a Cavern?

Has he lost his edge?

I'm completely normal about my cubitos as you can clearly tell 🙃

There's obviously more shit to analyze in that stream but personal characterization lore is MY SHIT! They're just all such great complex characters with such a plethora of traumas I just wanna squish them!

[penvisions]

of beskar and kyber {chapter 17}

Pairing: Din Djarin x Force Sensitive! Reader (the Mandalorian x Force Sensitive! Reader)

Summary: Din Djarin is not a remorseful man. Everything he's done, he's done for a reason. But he finds himself in an internal struggle as he tears through the galaxy for traces of you.

Word Count: 10.3k

Warnings: canon typical violence, canon typical fighting, use of narcotics, use of drugs, reader gets drugged, reader gets kidnapped, reader gets tied up, kidnapping, controlling parent, toxic parent / child relationship, toxic parent / child dynamic, din has a lot of feelings, din reflects on his time spent with reader, death, minor character death, infectious thoughts, negative feelings, feelings of inadequacy, issues with intimacy, religious guilt, feelings of religious obligation, religious contemplation, so much guilt for our tin man, violence, derogative language, insinuations of sexual favors, a few instances of shouting, din loses his hold on reality (1) time, references to past instances of self-harm, references to past instances of suicidal ideations, let me know if i missed anything please!

A/N: an all din pov chapter, baby! who's ready for ten thousand words on how this man feels? this was a fun different way to approach the story and i rather liked it even if i am afraid to post it. there are so many different interpretations of din that are all so great, and while this is my personal one for the character in my fic, i'm still worried about how it'll be received

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist || ko-fi

“Mother, please.” You begged, voice absolutely wrecked. Desperation settled in your gut, making you dizzy and nauseous. The illness of it was debilitating even through the hum of drugs waning in your system. Sobs were wracking your body, exploding from your ribcage in painful bursts. You struggled against the cuffs on your wrists, the cuffs around your ankles, rotating them in hopes of finding weakness but they were strong. But they were made of beskar, strong and programmed to shock you should you jostle them too much. Using the culture of the very people who had meant salvation now for damnation. She had made sure they would hold you this time.

She just sat there, watching you from the chair by the door. Long hair pulled up into a knot atop her head, blue tunic and black trousers flowing and clean. Her hands clasped in front of her, resting her chin against them as her eyes took in the slump of your form across the small room. You were on the ground, legs numb from the hard, unforgiving stone underneath you. Boots removed and down to nothing but your simple clothing. She had taken the pendant from you, the one Din had gifted you in the wake of your confession to losing the one from Akiz. It glinted over her own chest, visible where she allowed it to drape over the front of her collar.

“Please. I don’t want to be here. I want to go back to the ship. I want to go home.”

“Oh no, my darling, you won’t be going anywhere near that disgusting ship again. That Mandalorian has caused enough damage, stealing you away after taking your fob. I still had to pay the Guild fee for your bounty. Credits you know we didn’t have in the first place.” She paused, her hands clasped together, elbows on her knees, and she leaned forward to rest her hand atop them. A wicked smile overtook her as she eyed you across the room.

“Luckily, I found someone who was willing to cover the cost and offer to take you as their wife. They’ve put a lot of energy and credits into helping locate you. They will be here in two days’ time to collect you.”

She looked almost mournful at the idea of you leaving so soon after reuniting. Of sharing you with another after claiming to do everything she had ever done to you out of protection.

“But he swore to protect you from any threats, from the Mandalorians that seem to be obsessed with owning you, harnessing your power to help them crawl from the cracks of the universe they ran to hide in when their planet was destroyed. This man, he’s from a very important royal line that is deeply rooted in the New Republic.”

“The New Republic is a joke, they can’t even keep their own soldiers happy, let alone protect anyone.”

“Hush now, darling.” She got up and the black tin she kept in her pocket flashed in her hand. You began thrashing even more so, tears cascading down your cheeks as she approached you. The click of the tin opening sent you back to every other time you had heard that sound in your life, eyes going wide and your breath left you as if you had been hit square in the chest. “The time will fly by with this dose and then we’ll be off to our new home.”

He’d been searching the city for days.

Despite the thrumming of pain through his head, his vision blurring, and the helmet resting too heavy on the now soft, new skin that was his injury. Tender fingers carefully spraying bacta and skin itching as the tissue tried to heal with its aid. He wished for your smaller hands to be the one caring for him, but he was alone. Alone with a fussing child that was beginning to use his powers to get his feelings across since he was still learning how to talk and use his little voice.

Not taking any time to rest, instincts telling him something was wrong, that something had happened. You wouldn’t just run off, even with what had occurred. At least…not for this long. He hoped. He…hoped.

Stalking through the various casinos and cantina’s, searching for any traces of you to be found. Even in the hectic atmospheres of the racetracks and brothels, of seedier bars and establishments you may have ducked into or been taken to by the force of whoever had stolen you away. Snatched you from whatever you had sought out to calm yourself.

He sat in front of the tracking fob given to him when he first took the job to return you to your mother for hours. Set it atop the control panels in the cockpit, helmet removed and head in his hands as he contemplated turning the device back on. He had scoured the hotels and seedier hostels with it in his grip, to no avail.

It was as if you had simply vanished.

Your smiles and laughter, soft sighs and teasing quips a figment of his imagination.

Made up in the loneliness that accompanied the type of life he led. Missions, jobs, hunting, tracking, trading in criminals and runaways for next to nothing, refueling the ship and hitting the ground running again, taking to the air and space again. And again, and again. He didn’t realize how tired and monotonous it had all become, despite the thrill of his skills proofing to be elite time and time again. He didn’t realize how much he had been missing out on until you threw it all off track. Deliver the goods and credits to the covert, ensure they were safe and protected, collect another job, hunt, track, kill, injure, collect. Broke the routine he had been so accustomed to with an utterance of his dying language.  Rolling off your tongue with precision.

It had been striking. You had been striking and he had torn you down in a way he never wanted to, unintentionally with a fumbling lack of words. It was maddening, to search for days to find no trace of you anywhere.

There was no indication you ever existed aside from those left behind on his ship. The mug of caf sweetened with sugar and powdered milk at the table, the pack of your cigarras you always insisted on smoking outside while it was docked, the crate with your tools and materials used to make armor, the neat and organized labels you had applied to everything within the panels. The room he had set up for you….though you often split your time between his own and the hammock still hung up in the hold space.

He had left it all untouched, too afraid to erase the pieces of evidence that you were real. That you had been aboard his ship. That you had been trying to connect with him and he stumbled over his words so badly he made you feel unwanted on such a level that made you run.

Like the acts between you two had just been him seeking out pleasure with no real intent other than that behind them. The thought that you must’ve felt like he was just like every other person who had ever used you made his stomach turn and bile burn in his throat. Only his ploys had been steeped in honey and saccharine promises. He had frozen, the words he wanted to whisper to you lost in the panic of the moment, of wanting exactly what you were asking for. It had all been so overwhelming. It had been so real, felt so real, and it had been a jarring realization.

That he had wanted to remove his helmet and give into your request.

Despite the Creed he swore his life to. Despite the commitment he had made to you that would allow for him to do so in time.

But now it was too little too late.

After the third day, he was beginning to think you weren’t merely taking some time to yourself…

Maybe he was foolish to think he hadn’t messed up so monumentally that you had found a way off world and run even further from him. But he knew you weren’t the type of person to do that. To him, to ad’ika.

Burc’ya. Friend.

Ner kar’ta. My heart.

Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum. I love you.

Vencuyot riduur. Future husband.

You wouldn’t have run from him to that degree, loyal and devoted. Loving and caring, kind hearted at the very core of who you were. Even despite the tragedies and ill-natured things you had been subjected to in your life. Good. Too good, for someone like him.

He was beginning to think something had happened.

But without the aid of your communication, vambraces still set atop the makeshift table along with your main bag and armor, he had no way of knowing for sure. Just the niggling feeling in his gut that was burrowing deeper by the second.

He sent a transmission to Karga, asking if there was any news of your arrest before deeming the planet a lost cause and raising the ramp. He took the Crest up up up and into the air, helmet scouring the shrinking planet all the while, feeling an ache in his heart that he didn’t think he would ever get used to.

He had to push through, he had to focus. You needed someone to help you, wherever you had gone or been taken. You needed him to find you. He needed to find you.

Ad’ika had been in a constant flux from eerily silent to wailing as loud as his little lungs would allow, wide eyes brimming with tears the longer you were gone. Din had taken to wrapping the child up in the cloak he had bought you, securing it with the metallic flower latches and laying him down in the cot alongside him. Never sleeping, only laying down intermittently to pass the time. Rest evading him as his mind began to think of the things that could’ve happened to you.

Tatooine was his first stop, no response from Karga when he docked and secured the ship in Pelli’s hangar. Much to his disappointment, the travel through hyperspace hadn’t been too long, so a response was wishful thinking on his part. Spurred on by the endless possibilities of what happened consuming him.

He was silent as he handed her the credits from your bag, loathing that he needed to use them as he lacked his own. Even now, gone from him and hurt, you were still offering him help. Providing for him the way he should be for you, the way that he wanted to. The reality of having asked you to travel with him weighing heavily on his mind. Once ad’ika is settled with those who could train him, Din would need to take up working with the Guild full time again to provide for the covert. A life steeped in danger and endless threats, a life you already had far too much experience with. Perhaps…perhaps he could secure a tract of land somewhere, a place to return to after jobs. A nice cabin surrounded by trees and an endless supply of anything you may need. Or perhaps a shop front on Nevarro, for you to sell you wares. He would take extra jobs to provide that for you, work his hands to the bone and until he could barely move for how exhausted he was.

Because you deserved it. You deserved to be happy and he was beginning to think that may not be with him. Not if he was constantly away or you were left on the ship for days, weeks, months at a time while he tracked down his quarries. Constantly traveling through space and left to handle the ship alone.

Would…would you even want that type of life?

Wouldn’t it be another type of imprisonment, no reward but a tired and aching man in the bed beside you only a handful of nights? Half of him given to you, half devoted to his Creed.

I’d rather be dead than be someone’s captive again. Even if it’s as one to you, jatne vod.

Thoughts consuming him, there was no argument from him as he left ad’ika with her to look through the city.

The lack of your figure emerging from the ship didn’t prompt any questions from her, though he could sense them on the tip of her tongue and the front of her mind.

He set out, looking for the woman who you made friends with the last time he had landed the Crest on the sandy planet.

He found her, in the middle of a scuffle in the marketplace over a stolen loaf of bread. A child whose stomach was caved in and bruises over their arms visible when the sleeves of their tunic rose up. The vendor wanted the child to be taken in, punished for the attempted theft. But he could see how conflicted Sioban was with following that heated demand.

Diffusing the situation, seeing the form he had first encountered you in mirrored in the small child, he stepped forward and offered a handful of credits to the vendor.

“To cover the bread for the child, two loaves and that chunk of cured meat.”

“Sir, this has nothing to do with you. You don’t need to put yourself out for that ungrateful litte-“

“Take it.” Din’s head throbbed, exhausted and anxious, just trying to do something good. Something you would do. They were your credits, and he wanted to do this. At the fixed stare of his visor, the vendor released the child from her tight grip, nearly throwing the small frame to the ground as she did. Roughly, she gathered the loaf that had started the whole ordeal, a second one, and the wrapped meat. Holding it out for him to take.

Sioban ushered everyone who had stopped in their tracks to go about their business. Once the small crowd cleared and attention was diverted, Din turned to the child and crouched down.

“Here, for you.” He kept his voice a hush, not wanting the modulator to manipulate his voice into a threatening or menacing tone it tended to do, taking the emotion from his words more often than not.

“T-thank you, sir.”

“Now go and stay out of trouble.”

An enthusiastic nod and they were running off, disappearing down the street.

“Well, well, well. Mando is a softie afterall.” Sioban’s voice lightly teased. “Where’s Sarad and the baby? Or is this a solo trip this time around?”

“I would like to speak with you, if you have the time.”

“Something happened.” The woman’s features hardened, a slant to her brow as her eyes looked him over before settling on the visor. She didn’t look or feel like a threat, something proven further by your willingness to share a table with the woman. But Din was fighting his instincts, the ones telling him to chase chase chase, even with no actual leads as to where you had gone. And this woman might hold some clues or at least be able to offer Din a higher chance if he had someone on the ground of the planet you had run to once already.

“Yes.”

The conversation with Sioban hadn’t yielded any answers. If anything, it solidified that Din had absolutely no idea what to do. With no other leads, he fell back on his tracking tactics, searching for your last place of known residence.

Once back to the ship, he silently takes ad’ika from Pelli. Not responding to the looks or faint questioning he knew was on the woman’s mind. A nod, a formal shaking of the woman’s hand and he was guiding the Crest back into the air to comb over the planet as best he could. You had said you thought you were here when he took you from that compound, a home you had hidden away on this world after running from your mother years ago.

It took him nearly a week’s worth of days of flying low to the land before he caught sight of a structure.

Mind working overdrive as he strained his eyes through the visor with aided mechanics for any sign of life amid the vast stretch of the desert landscape. Sectors outlined and crossed out when they didn’t yield anything. Errant skeletons of a bantha, the Jawa’s traveling across the land, and Tusken settlements the only markers of time passing and the ship moving moderately along.

And then, suddenly.

There were two tall spires beside a moderate looking abode. Moisture farming equipment, the same you had told him about replacing shortly before your capture. Was all he had to go off of, a small conversation that you hadn’t expanded on in your time with him.

The structure was like most far out into the desert, mostly underground with a rounded and smooth stone roof, a door with a protected entrance to prevent sand from building up right up against it. It was modest, big enough for one person to have plenty of room. Abandoned, by his guess, the stone of the building chipped in places from sand and the spare storm weathering it down.

It had to be yours, it had to be, please let it be yours were his thoughts as he broke the lock still activated, ensuring the structure was protected even out in the middle of nowhere. Mos Eisley was an entire day’s travel away. Even more so in any other direction to another of the planets handful of moderate settlements. A good place to hide. Visibility on your side. A lonely place to hide.

I’ve always loved the forest.

The memory how your tired and injured features had lit up at the sight of Sorgan visible through the glass of the cockpit, the breathy gasp that had fallen from your lips sprung to his mind. You had been so calm, despite the precarious circumstances, stealing away moments to brush your bare fingers along the leaves reaching out from low branches.

You must’ve been miserable here. The land so dry and empty, the closest mountain ridges barely visible on the horizon. Even those were spotty with tangled roots that held little to no greenery. Sentencing yourself to the wasteland to live out your life in fear and comfortability, hoping the environment you weren’t fond of would throw those searching for you off your trail.

Glancing behind him, Din watched as ad’ika slowly made his way down the ramp. Little sounds falling from his lips as he took in the sight of his guardian in front of a new place he didn’t recognize. Raising his hands as he got to the bottom of it, Din retreated to it and lifted up the small child, holding him tight in the crook of his elbow as he descended down the few steps and through the open door.

It was dark inside, no lights on or power source even charged, no doubt. But definitely abandoned. Sparingly decorated, though he could feel that it was once your space. The kitchen equipped with a fancy caf maker, ample kitchen wares, potted plants and herbs that had long died and dried in the sunlight coming in through the windows. There was an impressively organized wall of shelving right above a desk in the large main room, presumably where you would work on crafting armor. The only way to support yourself in such an environment. Most likely making trips into town in order to sell or trade.

There were three interior doors at the back of the structure. A heavy duty one off to the side of the kitchen. That one contained a greenhouse set up, or as close to one as you could imitate underground and on so hot a planet. There was a large panel of controls beside the door on the inside, telling Din of the way you controlled the pressure and moisture of the room One to a storage room, more evidence of your time spent here. Full of large bins and crates, evidence of grains and dried food. Of the pieces of armor you lovingly and intricately crafted.

One to a fresher, the last to what was once your bedroom.

Underneath the bed is where he found it, with the aid of his helmet. The massive rug that took up most of the bedroom floor hiding it in plain sight. The trap door exposed when he moved the bed and folded the rug up.

It wasn’t secured with anything that he could see, even with the aid of his helmet. It looked just like score marks dug into the stone ground. And he recalled the way you could effortlessly wield the Force, the power you shared with the child. Perhaps you hadn’t wanted a way for anyone else to access what lay hidden beneath, using it to manipulate the hideaway you felt you needed even this deep in the desert alone. Forever paranoid and fearful of being tracked down and found out.

Sighing, Din tried to think of a way to break the barrier, knowing he needed to search the entire home.

“Ad’ika,” He called, turning to see the child had situated himself on the couch in the main room. Eyes wide as he toyed with a broken collar. He wondered if it had belonged to a creature you had cared for, run away or long since passed now. “Ad’ika, can you help me?”

Leaning down to pick up the occupied child, Din pointed a gloved finger to the marks in the stone ground.

“Ad’ika, see these lines?” A gurgle of acknowledgement, the tilting of his head. “There’s a door here, that leads underground. Mesh’la put it there, do you think you can open it?”

Din set him down in front of it, crouching down to hold his hand out in front of them both and mimic the way you would twist your hand in concentration to harness your powers.

“Just like Mesh’la, like how you take the handle from the lever in the control room?”

Wide eyes looked up at him, curiosity in them at the man’s words.

If this didn’t work…he could always resort to using the charges fastened to his belt. Force a way through the entrance, but he didn’t want to damage the space or the room below.

But the crackling of stone was sharp as it sounded in the air. The child’s small face scrunched up in concentration, his eyes clenched shut as he harnessed his powers. Quiet grunts falling from his mouth as he struggled to move the stone.

But it was working. It was opening, the telltale sounds of stone grinding on stone as the thick slab that acted as an entrance was pried open.

“Good job, ad’ika! It’s working!” He couldn’t contain the pride in his voice nor the rapid beating of his heart. Positive that any answers he was in search of would dwell below. He moved forward to help lift the heavy slab, shoving it along the floor and revealing a dark space into the lower level of the house.

Turning on the flashlight of his helmet, Din descended into the bowels of your hideaway. Dust enveloped him as he waved at ad’ika to stay put on the higher level until he cleared the space.

It was a large room, the same size as the whole top floor of the structure. Though it was only two rooms, a living room and a bedroom with a second fresher. The living room held floor to ceiling bookcases, filled to the brim with physical books. A holo net in front of the couch, signs that you spent just as much time down here as you did in the rest of the structure if not more.  He hated the realization that you felt the need to hide away even this far out in the desert, this far out in the galaxy. Forever paranoid and holding the fear that you would be tracked down. And he had been a part of that fear, he had been one of the many who had sought you out.

The crate in the bedroom caught his eye, beckoning him forward. Not only because of the hefty locks sealing it shut but because there was energy around it that made the tips of his fingers tingle. Much like his blood when he felt your body pressed up to his own, the sacrament of your trust in him personified.

Walking toward it, the small baby curls of his recently trimmed hair prickled on the back of his neck.

Snapping the thick locks, he kneeled on the ground in front of it and slowly lifted the lid.

His breath left him as the visor set into a midnight blue, almost black Mandalorian helmet peered back up at him. It was in pristine condition, as if it had merely been taken off for the man who he suspected wore it to partake in a quick meal and not the reality that it had been stored here for who knows how many years untouched. He hadn’t asked if you had kept it, after the man’s death, but he was felt the question bubble on his tongue more than once. But the answer was sitting obvious and blaring right in front of him.

Lifting it revealed the very same pendant he had gifted to you, attached to a thinly crafted beskar chain.

The one you had said you intended to show him in order to garner his help, to let him know of your connection to his way of life. Lost in the scuffle of being taken off guard and whisked away, but it was here, awaiting your return. He wondered why you hadn’t worn it that day, the day that set your paths up to cross. With slow movements, he began to remove the cowl about his neck, laying it down beside him.

With a held breath, he reached for the pendant and fastened it around his neck, tucking it beneath his shirt and layers of protective ware fronted by his cuirass. The cowl going back in place.

Beside the helmet…beside it was a neatly arranged line of metal hilts similar to the one you carried with you at all times. Similar to the one you had tried to buy your freedom from him with when first meeting.

Similar but not identical.

There were four of them. Lightsabers, you had told him they were called. That he now knew were an integral part of the creed you had been trained in. But the fact remained that he didn’t know the why of how many you had in your possession.

You had said each person similar in skill and training crafted their own, each unique and personal to an individual much like the helmets and armor Mandalorian’s adorned. Carefully picking one up, tingling traveling further up his arms and settling down his back, he tilted it to see that it did indeed house a crystal like your own. Each one had a different hue.

He decided to stay in the place that you once called home that night, locking up the ship after checking to see if he had received word from Karga. But when there were transmissions waiting to be heard, he secured the ship. His head hurting and his mind overwhelmed at finding pieces of you, proof that you existed outside of his memories.

Settling into the bed, he knew it was a lost cause as he tried to feel close to you. Reality reminding him you hadn’t slept in either of the cots aboard the ship in nearly two weeks now, years for the bed he now lay atop, cover bunched underneath his arms as he curled on his side and regarded the journal you left behind in your haste to run. Ad’ika resting atop the pillow beside his own, wrapped in your cloak as if it was the softest blanket in the universe. The child trying to feel close to you as well, missing you and growing more concerned each day.

Sleep evaded him, your voice loud in his head, the way you had sounded so devoid of emotion when he had failed to communicate with you. Tipping into different memories, the most prominent of the events back on Nevarro.

It rang in his ears, over and over, layering itself until it was a buzz he couldn’t rid himself of.

Ner kar’ta.

The desperation in your voice, the tears in your eyes, the way your hands shook as they reached out for him, how gentle they were when they cradled his helmet. The soft press of your forehead to his chest, to his helmet, to his hands grasped in your own as he lay bloodied and injured, barely conscious and so tired. So ready for death after a life that had only allowed him a glimpse of you. To ensure you could escape and continue to live, to be safe.

You had told him, as well as you could, what you meant to him.

Had shown him, with trusting him to press his skin to yours, body tangled with his own. Nervous giggles sounding into the air and seizing his heart as he wanted for more of them. Of the breathy sighs and sounds that fell from your lips as you let him caress your skin, the soft give of your chest, the plush give of your thighs, the velvet smooth apex between them.

Trusted him with the most intimate parts of you, parts of human connection. Even in the face of all that you had endured.

And then you has whispered it, half asleep and safe underneath him.

I love you. Future husband.

And he shattered it. With a foolish blunder of words he hadn’t been able to reign in, to explain himself and his own desires in a more coherent way. That he wanted you just as you wanted him.

Jatne vod.

Contradicted with the emotion bleeding from your expressive eyes, the firm line of your lips as you closed your mouth, resigned to a notion that you gathered from his stupid, ill thought-out words. From his lack of words. The way your hands shook for an entirely different reason, the way you shrunk into yourself, away from him.

And then you had been gone.

And it hurt.

He left ad’ika in the room, fast asleep atop the pillows.

Removing his helmet and hanging his head in his hands, he settled on the couch. For the first time in a long time, the Mandalorian known for being so ruthless, for being so focused and emotionless behind his helmet, cried.  

“Mando, I’ve received word. But it is best relayed in person. I will be awaiting your arrival.”

Ad’ika was not having a good day, he didn’t want to leave the house he could feel your presence in. He had already wailed and shook his tiny fists as Din tried to pick up him. Causing the migraine addled man to lose his grip at the sharp pierce of his cries to his head. That had only resulted in the thump of ad’ika’s bottom on the stone floor and more crying.

Din already felt bad enough, but he felt like the worst guardian in the galaxy for dropping his foundling, for not being able to manage his own pain and discomfort to care for another’s. A pang of fear floods him, igniting his instincts in a way it rarely did. And he froze in his crouched position, having been about to scoop ad’ika up.

The child must’ve shared in his foreboding, a shriek sprouting from him and causing Din to cradle his head as best he could with the helmet, knees kissing the floor harshly as he fell to them.

Something was wrong. Low in his gut, unease bubbled and stuck to his insides.

He felt like he was going to be sick, his head throbbing, pain prickling from the healing scar at the back.

And then his body felt numb, like all sense of command was not his to control and his vision blacked out.

Nevarro loomed in the distance, approaching fast. The ship rattled at the harsh landing, Din’s steps hard and fast as he disembarked, the ramp closing behind him as he crossed the new archway that had been erected in the time he had been away. Months had gone by, one with you and one without. Having to spend another week resting in the place you once called home. He had fallen ill, though of what he didn’t have an answer. Only that his head felt like he had been electrocuted and his limbs had been hard to control. Adi’ka too, had been lethargic, crying out long into the night every time the suns had set and darkness took over the planet. The search for you stretching far too long, anxiety thrumming over his skin.

Karga was in the reconstructed city hall, reading over something laid out on the table when the door boomed open, revealing the determined figure of Din, a secretary behind him frantically trying to warn the man in charge of his arrival.

“Where?”

“Sir, please, you need to check in-“

“It’s alright, he’s got clearance.” With a nod the woman was closing the door behind her, knowing it was serious if all protocol was being ignored.

Din repeated his question, forgoing a formal greeting.

“Well, I wish these were better circumstances.” The man stood up, coming around the table and leaned against it, his arms crossed over his chest as he took in the still form of Din across the room. The wide eyes of the child peeking out from the bag at his hip, small hands allowing him to climb from within it and jump from the moderate height. He cooed, walking the distance to Karga and lifting his hands toward the man.

“I’m still trying to get intel on that. But I do know that it was her mother, who struck a deal with someone of the Guild. He…was here still when we took back the city. He had taken the transaction separate from the Guild, not wanting word of it to get back to me. To you.” He relayed the information as he bent down to pick up the small being.

“I’ve got him locked up, but he’s not speaking.”

“He will.”

“Mando-“

He was gone in a blink, stalking out the door and toward the prison cells kept on the lowest floor of the building.

The stone steps opened up to a line of cells on both sides of the long room, Din stopped in front of the only occupied one. Body buzzing with anger that the inhabitant had not only hunted you down and captured you but did so on the orders of someone who’s voice triggered you through a transmission. He couldn’t begin to imagine the visceral reaction you’d have upon seeing her for the first time in years, having entertained the thought of killing yourself in order to not have to deal with her again.

And he feared, heat catching in his throat as he felt the prickle of tears.

I’d rather be dead than be shackled for one more second of my life!

You…you wouldn’t, right? Now that you had him to return to, someone to rescue you from being stolen away from the life you had carved out for yourself. It had been so long since you had been taken, days, weeks, and entire month. And he still had no clue as to where you had been crated off to. It would be more days, more weeks, maybe another month before he could figure it out. Did you already seize an unknown opportunity, try to escape? Or had you given up, too loaded up with whatever drugs your mother and intended pumped into your system to make you compliant? Would you have taken the endless out of harming yourself, seeing it as the only option as he failed to come to your aid thus far?

Would you be able to sense the desperation and endless efforts he was putting forth to find you? That he was trying, despite the way he was still healing, despite the sense of dread that he would be too late?

Would you be able to sense his worry and fear over you having to deal with something you never wished for? A forced reunion with your mother, back in her clutches and control. A forced marriage to a man you didn’t know, the obligations that came along with that notion…the very same acts that had caused you to turn to self-harm in the past, the scars of which were displayed on the skin of your thighs, the same ones that he had run his fingers over not too long ago…

A man bound in cuffs was slumped against the floor, back leaning on the wall behind him. He appeared to be alive, though if his answers didn’t aid Din in his search for you he wouldn’t be for long. Giving into the urge to startle the unaware man, Din banged a fist on the bars of the cell. Jerking awake, the man’s eyes flew open and his chest heaved.

The second he recognized the armor, his eyes narrowed and he frowned.

“It was just a job, nothing personal, Mando.”

“Is that why you went out of your way to hide it from the Guild records?”

“You’re too self-righteous, knew you’d come after me for hunting the girl.”

The snapping of metal was loud, sickening as Din’s shoulders forced the control panel to bend and spark.

The whine of the door swinging open deafening as the man pressed himself back into the wall, trying to get up on his feet. But he was too slow, Din’s hands hauling the man up by the front of his jumpsuit and slamming him into the wall. A crack sounded as the back of the man’s head connected with the stone of the wall. A wail punched from his chest as he lost the air in his lungs.

“It’s too late, her mother married her off to some high lord. She’s probably already knocked up with his heir by now. Living a cush life in some nice palace far away from here.” He spoke unprompted by a direct question. Knowing that it was useless to try and lie to the Mandalorian.

The mere thought of someone touching you had anger swirling in his chest and stomach, igniting him in a dangerous way. You didn’t like people touching you, you didn’t like anyone who wasn’t him touching you in any way let alone intimately. His voice was low when he breathed out his next question, an edge to it that commanded the truth.

“Where?”

“Don’t know, I told her mother you were probably going to find out, track me down and kill me for the information. Don’t know why.” The man flipped the stray hairs flopping over his forehead away, teeth clenching as he recalled the way you had slammed him harshly into the side of the alley.  “The bitch has a pretty face, sure, but she was a handful. Took a lot to take her out, but once I did, she begged so sweet for me to let her go.”

“Drugging someone isn’t something to boast about, it’s a last-ditch effort for those who don’t have the skill for the job.” Din’s words were a guttural sound, echoing across the floor. Blood dripped from the man’s nose, a vambrace knocked into it the longer the man talked. He didn’t know anything, but that wouldn’t stop Din from beating what he could out of the man.

“So what? It took her down and that’s what mattered. I saw her take down those Storm Troopers that overran the city, there was no way I was going to be able to without the hint from her mother. You’ll find another body to warm your bed. No need to fret over-“

Din’s hand was around the man’s throat in a flash, knuckles popping with the force. An ugly gurgle deep in his chest, body desperate for air, but he would never take another breath again. Windpipe crushing under his palm, Din took some comfort in the final, choked sound the man made before his body went limp.

Before it could even crumple to the ground, Din was walking out of the room and going straight toward the stairs.  

“Mando, I sent communication to Cara, she’s-“

“I’ve got what I need.” Din was careful as he lifted the child from atop the desk where Karga had set him with a snack. Exchanging adoring coos with the tired little being. Making sure to offer the rest of the pack of dried fruit to the claws reaching out for it, a whine falling from his mouth at the idea of leaving it behind.

“Not so fast-“

“I don’t have time. I need to find her.” Din snapped, fists clenching and ad’ika ducking down into the bag at the boom of his voice. “She’s been sold like a slave by her mother.”

“I’m going with you,” Cara was firm in her decision, not wanting to take any chances of your distance becoming permanent. Of it leading to the demise of the person who you had begun to develop into that she had glimpsed.

“No, I have to handle this myself. I was the one who failed to protect her.” He moved to continue through the room, toward the door. But Cara was suddenly in front of him, her arms crossed over her chest and her lips a firm line.

“Mando, you’re gonna need help. And she’s important to me too.”

It was a quiet trek back to the entrance of the city, more ships having landed around his own. He was about to engage the ramp when two of the attending guards approached him. But they spoke with Cara at the sharp gaze of the visor on them. Another ship was offered for them to use, curtesy of the city and of Karga. Something a little smaller, a little faster, nondescript and wouldn’t give away the presence of an enraged and desperate Mandalorian searching for his partner.

When the argument for a different ship didn’t take, Karga approached through the archway.

Cara was hesitant to point out that the ship was as obvious as Din’s armor. A sign to tip off those keeping an eye out for threats. She had been quiet, sitting in the office with the magistrate and the child while the body of the now deceased Guild member who had hunted you down was taken care of. Waiting for Din to emerge from the containment level. But now she stood beside him, urging him to see the benefits to changing ships, just for the time being.

“Do we risk docking the ship in a hangar?”

“Yes, we lie about the model.” Din insisted, not wanting to leave the Crest behind.

“What if someone knows?”

“It’s an old ship, pre-Empire, no one will know.”

“They’ll run it through the system.” Karga spoke up, wanting to be a voice of reason for his friend determined to rush, to not take a beat and think things through. “Mando, you owe it to her to be as stealthy as possible. If they know you’re coming, once you track down where, they may hurt her. Take it out on her.”

Din closed his eyes, hand coming to the front of his helmet and over the visor. He didn’t want to part ways with his ship, even temporarily. It would mean he wasn’t surrounded by the things you left behind, the proof that you were real, had been with him, shared in a life with him even for a moment.

With his words more of a grunt than anything, he conceded, knowing the two beside him were just trying to help.

“What did you do Mando?” She asked quietly, the book from your crate in her hands and pages flipping as she looked through it. Hoping to find some light on how to connect with you. Din had gathered supplies from the Crest, things you may want once he managed to find you and rescue you.Your armor and more of your clothing, the first things he packed into your bag. An insistence for you to never leave the ship without the pauldrons again that he would plead with you until you conceded. People would be less likely to confront you with the tell-tale signet of a clan and the Mandalorian armor. But then again, he never planned to stray far from you outside of the ship. He knew you were capable, more than capable, but he…he wouldn’t be able to handle loosing you again if he was able to get you back.

When he got you back, he argued against the self-depreciating and negative thoughts that were attempting to consume him.

The ship was in hyperspace, a three-day trip ahead of them to make it to the mid rim coordinates of your home world. Neither had been there but knew of the inhabitants being an uneven mix of humans and a reptilian race. Oceans and sprawling fields of tall grass making up most of the environment. It was a moderately size planet, had seen bases for both the Resistance and the Empire in it’s time. Though the more recent had been the former. Most likely spurred on by your suspected return to what you knew in the wake of the Temple’s attack. An event in your life that you had yet to open up completely about, allowing him small glimpses before it became to much to talk about. But it was easy to connect the fall of Mandalore and the fall of your Temple being equally devastating, an attempt to take out entire cultures.

“I…I made a mistake.”

“…how big of a mistake?” Cara didn’t look up from the journal in her hands, not wanting to make the armored man feel cornered. Allowing him the privacy and space to turn away from the question should he want to, feel the need to.

“She fled the ship, to get some space. She must’ve been distracted, too worked up to keep her head up and on alert. It…I’m the reason she was taken.”

“Mando, you know that’s not true.” Cara tried to placate him, knowing he carried a lot of guilt over what had happened, whatever it had been to cause all of this. “She didn’t have her saber?”

“She does- did. She.. they drugged her. Like you said, it’s the only way to take her down.”

“Wait, this looks like Basic. They’re the only characters written differently…”

Din was hovering, making out the words on his own.

“Betrothed.”

He recalled the same words falling from your lips, the reason that prompted you to make an escape. You hadn’t wanted to be someone’s wife, someone’s property. The name was in Basic as well, something you didn’t want to forget lest they come after you themselves. A shadow of your past hovering over you and hidden in the back of your mind as you set out on your own, determined to hide yourself away to prevent anyone from having power over you. Of belonging to someone, anyone ever again.

And yet…you had so readily agreed in his commitment to you, knowing that was the only way Din would be able to share in your affections and wants. Mandalorian religion and culture strictly forbade the removal of one’s helmet unless it was with family, with a spouse, with children of the same clan. To do so outside of those conditions would result in the label of an apostate. Striped of their involvement in the lifestyle and Creed. It was a serious thing you should hold reservations about, with your past.

And while he hadn’t pushed the parameters of it….he had wanted to. For you, for himself, to share himself with you in the way that you had felt safe enough to voice. The realization that you had agreed to such an all-encompassing thing, being with him made him reflect. Why were you willing to do so with him, for him? He was just a bounty hunter, one who had actively sought you out and intended to turn you into the very person who had stolen you away. Sold you like an object to someone for their wants and needs, to fill a space in their life whichever way they commanded it. He had been of the same mind when first encountering you, seeking you out for a trade of currency.

Din was not a good man, though he tried to be for his people. But being a good man to his people, being the sole provider for his covert allowed him to be fast and loose with what it meant to be good in order to do so. What did it matter if the person whose puck he had was truly guilty of the accusations calling for their surrender if it allowed him to delivery credits and supplies to his people? What did it matter if the job warranted for the person he was tracking to be delivered dead or alive and he chose to kill them based on the simple notion of them running and it allowed him to bring a ration of meals to his people?

What had he ever done to deserve someone such as yourself willing to let down your walls and allow him entrance? He had been at internal war, whether or not to turn you in the second you spoke Mando’a to him, healed him, saved him from that second raging Mudhorn even when you had to reason to do so. You easily could’ve let the cut on his arm fester, let the rampaging creature take out his already spent form.

But…it wouldn’t have been easy, he knows now. How you cared for those around you: from friendly vendors to women you seemed to see yourself in, to children who are simply hungry and have no choice but to steal, to ad’ika in bounds and waves, to him. The constant swivel of your head while out in crowds and among people, sousing out threats and people who may be on the lookout for you. The swiftness with which you turn into a fighter when threatened and your freedom is at stake.

The thoughts swirled around and around in Din’s mind as the ship traveled toward your home world. The last known location of your mother and potentially holding clues as to who she struck a deal with. The now dead bounty hunter not having gotten a name, only concerned with the exchange of credits for your capture. No questions, no concerns. The quarry’s capture the only thing that mattered. The man had taken the job and completed it. Had died as a result of it.

Din had been like that too, not that long ago.

Could have easily been the one being imprisoned while someone who cared about a quarry sought answers and revenge. But he was the one realizing how fragile things where, had been since taking two fobs from Karga and altering the very meaning of his life.

Something about the wide, beseeching eyes of the child had activated his heart. Opened it up and made room for the small being to fit into. The uncertainty he had sensed from the child once its eyes had looked into his own, spurring a sense of concern from the armored man over its life well beyond the need to deliver it to the client healthy and alive.

“She asked for something, for a…kiss.”

“But…your helmet.” Cara weakly argued, knowing how strongly he adhered to his Creed. Not even removing it in the face of grave injury and offered aid. Not even removing it in the threat of death.

“I know,” His words were carried on a heavy sigh. He sat heavily in the seat beside her, the hull holding a small set up for longer travels. Ad’ika crawled from her lap and over the table, situating himself in Din’s arms, claws reaching for the helmet to try and sooth the man. “She- she called me ‘jatne vod’ before she fled from the ship.”

The cracking of his voice was not lost through the modulator.

“She must’ve felt so rejected, so unwanted. And I- I just stumbled over my words so badly she ran.”

“She knows you care about her, Din.”

The sound of his name from her lips, so different from when you spoke it, whispered it, breathed it, was too much for him.

“I really messed up, Cara.” He admitted with shaky words.

“We’ll fix it, I’ll help you fix it.”

K’ath was a beautiful planet. All endlessly sprawling ocean, sandy beaches, and small clustered villages.

Simple. Life here was simple. Crops being tended to, the oceans being fished in, no signs of the war other than an abandoned base on the edge of the largest cluster.

Din hadn’t ever wanted to enter the planet’s atmosphere, to step foot on the sandy land. It was a place that held painful memories for you, the crumbling of a life you had been hopeful to return to in the wake of losing everything that ever meant anything to you. A hopeful refuge after a life of hardships, but it had only provided you with more. The stripping of your freedom and the control over your own body.

It was simple enough to find your home, your mother’s home. Asking after the armorer, claiming he was in need of repairs. A Kath woman had been kind enough to try and use her broken Basic to tell them where he could find the store front, but that no one had been tended to it for some time now. That the woman who was known to run it could be approached at her personal residence. That she was kind and could be persuaded to help even though she’d long retired from working.

It was empty, signs of disuse obvious from the outside. Tall reeds of grass sprouting up at the foundation, the windows thick with grime. It was humble, despite the ways in which Din had seen you return from a shop front, a bag heavy with credits in your possession. A skill that you learned from your mother lending you a way to support yourself and indulge in all the things you had to go without for so long.

There was only one transmission on the communication radio set up in the corner that Cara had rushed to once the door had creaked open. Sand was collected in the corners, another sign that no one had occupied the residence for some time now.

“She’s on Maldovan.” Cara shuffled into the bedroom from the main one, aware that the man was focused on something she couldn’t see. He was as still as a statue, peering into the darkness of the doorway in front of him.

The visor allowing him to take in the room you had been held captive in. There was bedding on the ground, no frame for it to sit upon. A chair on the opposite side, close to the door. No windows, no other entrance or exit. A small room that was bathed in darkness lest someone bring a lantern into the room with them.

“I don’t know that planet.” Din admitted, shifting from where he was standing at the doorway of what had been the locked room hidden behind a large wardrobe to look over his shoulder at her. The shifting of it had popped a drawer open, revealing needles and syringes, vials that had been long emptied. All signs that this was truly the home you had been kept in.

“Is that-?”

“Where San was kept locked up, yeah.” He was surging forward, hands reaching for the chains secured to the walls above the bedding and he pulled. Using all the strength he had to rip them from where they were bolted, the wall cracking and splintering as he did so. The heavy chains fell to the floor with a clang, metal that sounded eerily familiar as it collapsed on itself. Kneeling down, Din reached for one of them, the cuff in his hand heavy and he sucked in a breath as he realized why such a simple contraption had been able to hold you: the chains were made of pure beskar.

Far too heavy for your drug addled body to fight against.

Programmed to shock you should you move too much, the sensors lining the inside of the cuffs telling him as much. With a shout he tore the second, lower set of chains from the wall, throwing them across the room in his rage.

The image of you shackled to the wall of this dark room, consumed with thoughts of ending your life kept him on his knees, forced his arms to support him as he crumpled to the ground completely. His modulator crackling with the heavy breaths.

Surging up, he activated bright flames to flow from his vambrace. Intent on tearing down the entire house to the last stud and beam. Cara was quick to retreat back outside, letting the man do what he felt was necessary. She stood behind him as he made his way outside, the structure entirely lit up and beginning to collapse in on itself.

Dark smoke whipped around in the breeze coming off of the nearby shoreline, doing nothing to quell the licking flames. Cara was doing her best to sooth an equally agitated child in the bad slung across her shoulders. Though she knew it would take time for them both to come back from seeing the evidence of your heavy past.

They watched as it turned from burning wood, the outer stone walls crumbling from the heat that had been trapped inside, to a pile of rubble and ash.

He knew it was against the Creed, that it was a sin to leave behind something of his people. But the beskar that had contained you glowed hot amongst the ash, left behind as he walked away from the plot of land and back to the ship.

“The holonet has little information on Maldovan. Citing that it’s a desert planet with white sands, crystalline oceans that bring in a lot of visitors.” Din announced as he exited the control room, the ship constructed of only that and one other room off the hold space. One level, but enough for them to be comfortable traveling. Cara had tried to get Din to retire to the room once they returned to the ship and left K’ath behind, but he had insisted he was fine. Though the door to the cockpit had been closed and locked for hours now, well into the trip since the ship had been jumped into hyperspace.

“And their walled city.” Cara added, as she brought up a hologram of the planet to life from her cuff. She had reached out to Karga, asking him for any aid he had to provide them on the place they were traveling to.

“Yes… and if her mother knows about you then it will be hard to make a plan. Your armor isn’t exactly common and I’m sure she’s told the royal guard to keep an eye out for you.”

“Haran.” He cursed, knowing Cara’s words were true.

Shit.

It was entirely possible, and he wouldn’t put it past the woman he personally knew nothing about, going off of the words of her that you had shared with him. But surely the only city on the planet wouldn’t go out of their way to screen the many tourists that sought out the picturesque world.

Time seemed to be moving slowly and far too fast all at the same time. Thoughts continued to consume Din, all the possibilities of what could occur, what had already occurred making him feel like he was a child once again who knew nothing of the world or how it worked. The ship’s system beeping before it shifted smoothly from traveling through hyperspace and back to sublight settings.

The planet in view was covered in vast expanses of white sand and bright blue. An ocean planet as much as a desert one. It was small, a moon to a larger planet visible in the sky even within the atmosphere as the ship descended. The only city was surrounded by a large wall, protection from the two outcroppings that looked to be a racetrack and the well-established tourist destination on either side.

Maldovan was known as a resort destination, an entire smaller sector off set from the main city. The sector looked to be abundant with hotels, spas, shopping, anything and everything to keep individuals occupied and a steady supply of credits flowing into the local economy.

Cara had suggested she be the one to guide the ship through the planet’s atmosphere, handle the communication with the intake group, and land the smaller ship into the hangar. She suggested he stay behind on the ship while she registered the ship, paying the station fee for several days. And when she returned, there was a frown on her face and a worried furrow to her brow.

The woman was frustrated, that much was obvious. Din merely watched her as she closed the ramp, turning to him and explaining what information she had gathered during the short interaction.

There were two glaringly obvious problems:

Everyone wore light, flowing coverings and outfits in order to gain access into the main part of the city.

And there were wanted posters depicting Din’s armored form.

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dividers: by the lovely @cafekitsune

taglist: @clevergirl74 @strawberri-blonde @js-favnanadoongi @littlemisspascal @moonknight-s-cumdump @bookloverkat @golden-mando @beskarandblasters @feral-ferrule @bearsbeetsbeskar @76bookworm76 @anoverwhelmingdin @sarap-77 @picassopedro @sawymredfox @jessthebaker @genetics4life @mosssbawls

[aaronhotchswife]

THE WAY YOU MAKE ME FEEL

Drew Starkey x Female Reader

Chapter 3

Warnings : alcohol, smut, loss of virginity This is the last chapter of this serie. I hope you'll enjoy it !

chapter 1

chapter 2

"There are many things in life that will catch your eyes, but only a few will catch your heart. Pursue those. " -Michael Nolan

It’s the first time that we’re all since Christmas. Drew is talking to the boys, telling him about how at his parents. We didn’t talk about what happened that day in his bedroom, I just apologized for acting like that and he told me not to worry. We’re just best friends trying to figure life out.

"If that is not Y/N!"

"Oh my god! Hiiii! How are you?" I asked the guy behind me, rising from my seat to hug him. "Guys, this is Oliver. He was my best friend from elementary to high school."

He smiles at them, his arm around my shoulder. When I ask him what he’s doing here, he tells me that his friends picked this bar to celebrate the New Year.

"Do you want a drink? " Olivier asks, pointing over two stools at the bar. I accept, taking his hand and following him. I see the girls looking at me with smiles and playful looks. I laugh softly, just wanting to have a drink with my childhood best friend. My heart belongs to Drew, but these past few days I just want to think about someone else and clear my mind. I’ve been in love with him for a long time now, always thinking about him and how cute and wonderful he is. From the moment we kissed as our characters for the first time to our fight, I keep loving him. But maybe now it’s time to let myself live at little bit, without him.

Drew’s point of view

I see her at the bar, talking with some guy. She’s sipping her cocktail, admiring him. I think Lacia sees the confusion on my face because she taps on my shoulder and explains to me who he is. He looks handsome and I can’t help but be a little jealous of how she looks at him. Especially when his hand finds its way down her back, murmuring something in her ear. It should be me with her like that, and I can’t help but be mad at myself for how things played out.

***

Y/N’s point of view

I’m outside with Oliver, still talking about what is going on in our lives. My phone rings and when I look at it, I see a text from Madelyn wishing me a happy New Year. I didn’t even realize that it was midnight already.

"Happy New Year Oli! "

"Oh! Happy New Year! I wish you everything you wish for. "

I smile before hugging him. It’s good to see him again after having lost touch after high school. When I break his embrace, his lips find mine, kissing me softly. I smile on his lips, my face finding its way on his chest.

"Don’t get shy on my now, " he laughs.

"I’m sorry, I just didn’t except kissing someone tonight. Listen, I just probably go check on my friends, they must probably wonder where I went. You have my number so text me whenever you want, " I kiss his cheek goodbye before turning around and entering the bar.

Drew’s point of view

I see her coming back to our table, her lipstick a bit smudged. I don’t need more clues to understand what just happened with her and that man. I look at her, my head filled with memories of the feelings never told and at this moment, I realize that I need to be hers. I would crawl home to her if it was what it took for her to want me.

"You had fun with your friend?" I ask.

"I did. Thanks for asking…" she responds.

"Yeah, I can see that. "

She looks at me with an awkward smile, before sitting next to Maddie, who is almost sleeping on the table. She wakes her up, telling her that she’ll drive her home since she just had one drink.

"C’mon Mad. Let’s get you home. Drew, are you coming home too? "

I nod, before saying goodbye to everyone. Y/N drove Maddie home before parking her car at our apartment entrance. When she unlocks the door, she throws her heels away, sighing in relief.

"God, my feet are killing me. " She laughs, making her way to her bedroom, exiting it with her towel and pyjamas. "I’ll go in the shower; do you want to watch an episode of Modern Family after? "

"Of course. But I need to take a shower too before. I feel disgusting, " I chuckle.

***

As we’re sitting on the couch, I look at her, not thinking twice before asking about Oliver. She explains to me that he was her best friend and that they kissed. I can feel the anger and the jealousy inside of me but I try to act as nothing.

"He’s cute but he is not my type. I would not have a relationship with him, if it what you’re asking. "

"Maybe it is, " I say. "Maybe it’s because I want you. "¸

"What? "

"I want you, Y/N. I want everything from you. I want you to be able to see yourself through my eyes and to realize how special you are to me. And tonight, when I saw you with him, I realized that I need you in my life more than a best friend. "  

"Drew…"

I suddenly have a feral urge to crash my lips on hers and I can feel she wants the same.

Y/N’s point of view

Drew’s lips are on mine and I can’t explain how it feels at the exact moment. Even if I kissed him for work, it doesn’t feel the same. It feels real. It is real. I can feel him smile against my lips when my hand grabs his hair, giving me a little push to sit on his thighs. One of his hands is on the end of my back and the other one is on my cheek. I can feel his tongue pushing against mine and I let him.  He lays me on the couch, his hand caressing my hair.

"Do you want to go in the bedroom? " He asks me, murmuring in my ear. He doesn’t have to ask me twice before my hand is in his and I bring him to my bedroom. He kisses me until my legs are on the side of the bed, making me fall on it. He’s on top of me, and his mouth is on my neck, giving me butterflies.

"I want you, Drew. Please. "

"Asked like that, it would be my pleasure, " he says chuckling.

His hands make their way to the hem of my shirt, pushing it further, asking for permission to undress me. I nod, watching Drew undress both of us.  Both of our breathing is shallow when he looks at me. I feel shy, being almost naked in front of me. His hand plays with the hem of my panties, his mouth leaving small kisses on my stomach. When he takes off my underwear, I can se his eyes glistening.

"You are so beautiful. Are you sure you want to do this? "

"Yes, Drew, please. "

He kisses me one last time, his fingers playing with my nipples, making them hard. His hand finds its way to my core, murmuring in your ear how wet I am. His fingers play with my folds, before pushing one finger slowly into me, making my breath stops. The palm of his hand rubs softly against my clit, and it that moment I never felt better.

He parts my thighs and he places my feet on his shoulders before placing himself between my thighs. The tip of his nose brushes delicately on top of my clit and his tongue glides slowly in my folds. The moan I do makes him smile against my core and when he looks at me, his face is all wet from my arousal. But now I want to make him feel good. I sit up, my hand taking his boxer off. My breath gets caught when I see how big he is. I tentatively put my hand around him, making up and down movements and with the way his head falls back, I guess I’m doing good.

"Fuck. " He moaned.

"Can I taste you? "

His eyes sparkled the second I ask him, and he replace himself to be comfortable, while I start leaving some small kisses on his cock. His hands grab my hair in a makeshift ponytail, before guiding my head up and down his cock. He stops me just before he could cum, kissing me softly.

"Are you ready? "

"Put your hands on my shoulders and squeeze if it hurts, and tell me if you need me to stop, okay? " He instructed.

I nod, while Drew slowly pushes the tip of his cock in me. He takes a sharp breath as he pushes into me, feeling my walls clenching around him.

"You’re doing really great baby, want me to move? " He says, his voice hoarse.

I agree and with that, it’s not long before Drew’s sweet sounds in my ear and each stroke of him against that perfect little spot make me grip the headboard.

"You feel so fucking good baby, so tight. "

"Drew. "

Drew’s point of view

"Drew. "

The way she says my name and the breathy moan that spills from her lips are too much, pushing me right to the end. I watch her as her head falls back on the pillow and her back arches, and I swear that I never saw something that perfect in my life. I try to catch my breath, while she does the same. I cuddle her, caressing her hair.

"Hey, I love you. "

She smiles at me, and her smile is literally the cutest thing I have ever seen.

"I love you too Drew. "

taglist : @willowalexissss @maybankslover @prentissesredtanktop @conniebabyy @arinadixin @chenslucy @h34rtsformilli @tiaamberxx

[alexisnotstraight]

My Chemical Romance for Blender, april 2005 by Dorian Lymskey

"We're here to fight evil"

If death rockers My Chemical Romance say they're superheroes, then who is Blender to argue? we just don't remember Spider-Man having so many problems with drink, drugs and swearing in front of kids.

One day last august, Gerard Way boarded a plane to Japan with the grawing conviction that the might not be coming back. Over the past past year, the old singer for the rock group My Chemical Romance had got it into his head that he had to be drunk to perform, and then needed Xanax to switch off his brain afterwards, and the cumbination was making him suicidally depressed. Way didn't like being suicidally depressed, so he'd often add cocaine to the mix. That's when his mood really got black. He spent the days before the flight saying goodbye to friends in New Jersey, just in case

In Japan, Way spent all his time drunk. Before the final Tokyo show, he got so trashed on Heinekens and vodka tonics that he realized, even as he was performing, that he wouldn't be a able to remember anything about it the next day. After he came off stage he spent half an hour throwing up in a garbage can, until there was nothing coming up except bile. Tonight, be thought to himself, his hair caked with womit, I've drunk my last drink.

"It was a vicious circle," he says matter-of-factly. "I needed it to function but it made me want to kill myself. It made me extremely unpredictable and dangerous to myself. I didn't want it to get to the point where it became like a VHi Behind the Music where they show this seally had picture of me 30 pounds overweight, throwing up on the floor in Berlin. I didn't want that to happen to this band".

Way's cold-turkey fight back to the band's home of Belleville. New Jersey, was escruciating-almost 7.000 miles of skin-crawling, sweat-soaked willies. "I got really emotional outside the airport when we landed. I didn't know if I was going to see these guys again." He went straight to his therapist and booked into Alcoholics Anonymous, knowing that in the same week My Chemical Romance had to replace their drummer, fiim a video and start their tour. And you thought you'd had a hard week at work.

"We got through the hard shit," says Way. "This is the easy part".

Any fears last summer that My Chemical Romance were going to implode into obscurity were knocked flat by their swaggering teen-dysfunction anthem "I'm Not Okay (I Promise)."

Inspired by the high school experiences of Way and his friends, it delivers angst-rock verities with a knowing wink, not to mention the kind of melody that ignites careers. The tongue-in-cheek video, filmed in the same L.A. high school as Donnie Darko, depicted MCR as proudly geeky misfits. It was a role that didn't require much rehearsal.

Way calls My Chemical Romance's music "death rock." Others have tagged it goth punk or emo. Some endearing individuals have overcome genre confusion by simply calling MCR faggots. "Our guitarist Frank met somebody who said, 'How do you feel when people stop liking your band because they find out you're gay?" says Way, curling his lip with pointed amusement.

To the more meat-headed members of the Warped tour fraternity, some eyeliner and the occasional ambivalent lyric (in "You Know What They Do to Guys Like Us in Prison, Gerard sings "I'll kiss your lips again" to a male character) are too much to process, but Way hopes MCR can change a few minds.

"We've always tried to switch the way people think about rock bands," he says. "That [lyric] puts a dividing line between people. Are you on our side and you want to be different or are you on that side and you want to throw a football at my head?".

Only a morbid former comic-book artist from blue-collar New Jersey could have hatched a band as toughly unorthodox as My Chemical Romance. Gerard Way writes the songs with his bandmates -his bassist brother Mikey Way, guitarists Ray Toro and Frank lero, and new drummer Bob Bryar-but the vision is all his. He illustrates the record sleeves and defines their image. Recently he chose matching shirts, ties and armbands for the band to wear in the video for "Helena." taking enormous care not to resemble (a) the Hives or (b) the Nazis.

Most important, he's the one who assembled the band back in late 2001. when September 11 jolted him out of his rut as a struggling illustrator. On their 2002 debut album, I Brought You My Bullets, You Brought Me Your Love, and last year's Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge, MCR yoke the thunder of punk to the black humor of Morrissey, Nick Cave and Tom Waits, and blaze with purpose.

"There are bands that are in it for the wrong reason, polluting the airwaves and filling their own pockets," Gerard growls. "Or just saying. Oh I wanna be a rockstar. Right. You've got a lot of kids following you. What are you saying to them?"

So what are MCR saying?

He's ready for this one. "We're saying it's OK to be messed up. There's other people just like you. And if we stick together we'll get through this."

When Gerard was still working in comic books, his favorite creation was The Amazing Goffo Brothers, Piano Movers Extraordinaire. A black comedy set in a creepy, anonymous city, it was a metaphor for the relationship between him and his younger brother, Mikey.

Despite their age difference (Gerard is 27: Mikey is 24), the Way brothers wore matching outfits as children. Today, the Ways arrive at a Midtown Manhattan restaurant wearing identical black jackets, but that's the only visible similarity.

With his blood-red tie, ink-black hair and snow-pale skin, Gerard looks part Jack White, part Edward Scissorhands, and sounds as if he's been hanging out at the Bada Bing! club. His stick-thin sibling, meanwhile, wears oblong-framed glasses and the kind of candy-striped wool hat favored by fourth-graders and fashion stylists. He has the most extraordinary laugh: a shrill, girlish giggle that causes waiters to turn their heads.

They grew up in the predominantly Italian-American town of Belleville, in Sopranos country the Pizzaland restaurant glimpsed in the show's opening credits is a few blocks from the house they still live in with their auto-mechanic dad and hairdresser mom. In Jersey, says Gerard, "There's a 99% chance you're not going to do anything with your life." Mikey yelps with pretend outrage.

"Well, 90%, maybe," his brother concedes in a deadpan drawl. "Every time I come back to Jersey, it's ready to put its tentacles all over me and suck me right back in. If I'm home for more than three weeks. I forget I'm in a band. I start to fill out applications for supermarkets."

Is there anything good about the Garden State?

"I think it gives you a bleak outlook on life, which is awesome," says Mikey, cackling. "It gives you an edge. When you're from Jersey, people act like you're from Rikers.

Gerard nods. "Sometimes all we have to do is get up there, make some feedback and say, 'Yeah we're from Noo Joisey,' and then hit 'em like a bomb. People are like, 'Hey, I don't want to get beat up!"

After high school, Gerard studied art and Mikey drifted his way through college: "I thought college was a place you went to find people to be in a band with." Sometimes they played in bands together, but Gerard was more committed to becoming an artist, which was proving to be a disheartening process. When he eventually quit, his big project was a magic cartoon chimp called Breakfast Monkey. "I was doing bullshit," he shrugs.

After September 11, Gerard wrote his first song. "Skylines and Turnstiles," and played it to an old friend, drummer Matt Pelissier. Pelissier knew a guitarist called Ray Toro. "They played me their one song and I was jumping around the attic and headbanging," says Toro, a genial, frizzy- haired film buff with a caricature of Alfred Hitchcock tattooed on his left arm.

"Gerard sounded really sincere about wanting to start something real. That's what made me excited."

The members of My Chemical Romance aren't especially weird-it's not like any of them collect skulls or serial killer memorabilia-but they all grew up with reasons to feel like outsiders.

Toro was a shy kid with an overprotective mother. Instead of going out with friends, he'd stay at home playing guitar to Jimi Hendrix or Metallica. Guitarist Frank lero suffered from bronchitis and ear infections and was ill almost constantly until the fifth grade. He was raised by his mom after she split from his dad, a musician who worked on records by John Lennon and Kiss. "I'm in the family music industry," he says. "My dad would ask me how school was, but mostly it was, 'When are you going to start playing?".

Jazz-trained drummer Bob Bryar was an Illinois kid "who took apart radios and stuff and then tried to put them back together and realized they didn't work." He has a dark sense of humor that can sometimes come off as surliness. "I get these urges to fuck off sometimes," he says. "I find it hard to entertain myself."

Bryar befriended the rest of the band in 2003, when he was a soundman for the Used, whom My Chemical Romance were supporting. When relations with Pelissier deteriorated, he stepped in. The new lineup had just two days to practice before their next tour.

"I haven't relaxed in a long time," sighs lero. "I look forward to that. I'd like to take a step back and look at some newspaper clippings."

The next morning, the sky is the color of a dirty washbowl and it's being emptied on New Jersey. Brian Schechter, My Chemical Romance's manager, taps at his cellphone as he steers his car through the damp, gray streets to pick up the Ways. We collect Mikey first.

"Did you see that MTV.com headline?" he asks, still wearing his striped hat. "MCR Aim for Smashing Pumpkins Status. It was out of context, but it's OK makes people think it's possible."

The band's destination is Philadelphia's Theatre of Living Arts. A local radio station held a competition between high schools to raise the most food for homeless shelters, the prize being an exclusive My Chemical Romance show. Considering the audience will be as young as 13. some adjustments need to be made. "We should probably have a PG show tonight," says Schechter. "We didn't do a show for charity just for Gerard to call them a bunch of motherfuckers."

It's a forlorn hope. "Put your fucking hands together!" cries Gerard within minutes of stepping onstage. In a black-velvet suit, red tie and black armband, he struts across the stage, wagging his finger to the lyrics or spraying mouthfuls of water over the front rows, while his band compress punk, metal, goth and glam into furiously concise pop songs. When he introduces "Headfirst for Halos" as "a song about suicide," you can almost feel the ripples of concern from the adult chaperones lurking around the edges of the room. However, even they can't resist tapping a toe to "I'm Not Okay (I Promise)." Last night MCR played it on The Late Show With David Letterman. Tonight they're playing it to a couple hundred Philadelphia high school kids. Letterman was a highlight of their career to date, but it's here that the song makes most sense.

"I didn't do my usual thing, where I compare high school to prison," protests Gerard later, sucking on a cigarette in a dimly lit backstage office. He admits he can see how people might get the wrong idea about MCR. "Journalists usually portray us as a fucked-up, dark, vampire. alcoholic rock band. Until they meet us."

Although he's got the charisma and the goth pinup looks to be an angst-rock martyr, Gerard seems too grounded to play the feel-my-pain card. Maybe it's the Jersey in him. Even when he talks about his therapist (a "rad guy" who turned him on to Brian Eno), he's pragmatic.

"If you're in this band, you're in it for the right reasons," Gerard declares. "You're not in it for money or fame. You're in it to do some good. Becoming more popular, it's like people are granting us superpowers and we have to use them to fight evil."

Is that the comic books talking?

"Oh yeah," he says, his grin a pearly sliver in the gloom. "We're like the Doom Patrol."

[petra-creat0r]

Deltarune: Fool's Fate - Feather Forest

Alright! Time for the second area, aka the Feather Forest! A forest of pink, feathery trees decorated with ribbons and streamers. Somewhere in the middle of this area, there are some Ssnekmer and Buttonmitt selling healing items. This area is mostly traversed with Broadway after the party split before right before entering. I think this area also holds a familiar easter egg too... Though that's for the NPC section, before we get to the enemies though, here's a riddle.

31. What crawls on four legs in the morning, two legs at noon, and three legs in the evening?

The enemies. The only unique enemies to this are are Snazzalotl and Buttonmitt, as Ssnekmer can be found in the Dusty Plains as well. Snazzalotl is a snazzy quetzal, and based on a feather boa. Buttonmitt are snowmen comprised of buttons. Also I mentioned earlier that some Ssnekmer and Buttonmitt can sell you healing in a section towards the middle of the forest, similar to the Bakesale in Chapter 1 of Deltarune proper. Ssnekmer sells you Gummy Snakes, which vary healing depending on party member. and Buttonmitt sells you Button Drops, which also vary healing depending on party member.

32. What does greed always make you want, no matter how much you have?

Now the NPCs. DrumRboys are also found in a few puzzles (same with Pirolette) but can also be found just standing around. They're always seen next to Keysee. Chim-Chime are also multiple and found around, while Bulboid and Puzzle Jones are individual characters. Bulboid is found in one room where one of the trees has been decorated with ribbons, bells, and Christmas lights, and will comment on it. Puzzle Jones can be found near some of the puzzles and will either comment on how tricky the puzzle seems, or how impressed he is that you solved it.

33. You mistake want for me, yet it is not. If someone is me, you find them annoying though they require you. What am I?

DrumRboys and Keysees are little wind-up drumming toys and their wind-up keys, Chim-Chimes are little bells, Bulboid is a box of Christmas decorations, and Puzzle Jones is either a, an old puzzle of Papyrus's, or b, an old trenchcoat and fedora, also belonging to Papyrus. Thus why Puzzle Jones bears striking resemblance to Papyrus from what can be seen under his hat and coat. No one has seen the lower part of his face or the top of his head.

34. I'm not from the future and not from the past. Once the moment is gone, I no longer last. What am I?

And finally the minibosses. SsnekKing is fought near the middle of the area, and is a supergraded Ssnekmer. It's based on ribbons, snakes, and a rat king. To spare it, you have to find the right music genre to charm all three heads with the help of Broadway.

35. Add a T and I am not, backwards I turn to on, E and N you have none and you’ll often find me paired with E, S, and Y. What am I?

FashiRat is fought at the end of the area, pretty much before you go into Choral Chapel. They are a ferret who's made out of old socks and stuff. A very dramatic individual, FashiRat fights you to try to prove to Magician that they should be let into the Upper Choir, and you spare them by calling for an encore of their attacks before applauding them. At the end it's revealed that Magician never had any intention of letting them into the Upper Choir, but still encourages their performances to inspire the rest of the attic world citizens.

36. Poor people have it. Rich people need it. If you eat it you die. What is it?

Alrighty! Next up is the Choral Chapel characters! I'll post again once I'm done coloring those but in the meantime, have more riddles, Creative Creators!

37. How many times can you subtract the number 5 from 25?

38. Played both in battle and out, I may be small yet I always protect someone bigger. What am I?

39. What can you do freely as a child, but are for judged for as an adult?

40. I’m done by the sheep near the end of the day, yet change only my vowel and I am what the sheep is to the wolf. What am I?

[sweetly-yours-and-mine]

Far From My Eyes

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader

Word Count: 3.3k

Summary: It’s summer now, and Javier can look forward to a glorious four months with her alone. He gets to have her all for himself for what feels like an infinite amount of months, the long hazy days of the hottest weeks of the year stretching out in front of him like salt water taffy. 

Warnings: childhood best friends to ??, fluff and a tad bit of angst, lots of longing, idiots in love, young!javi deserves more love, a tad bit of body insecurity from both ends

A/N: I took inspiration from the absolute masterpiece that is Fleabag and voila I have an idea for a series. The dialogue I used from Phoebe Waller-Bridge is bolded down below.

I don't own photos, or characters. Divider is from the talented @firefly-graphics.

Her hands are tucked between the side of her face and her pillow and Javier knows that it’s going to smell like her tomorrow morning and he also knows that he’s going to be desperate enough to press his face into it. She looks like those statues of sleeping child angels. The soft glow from his nightstand light only adds to the effect. 

It’s late at night or early morning. She’s half-asleep but fighting it.

His sheets are tucked around her chest, and she’s wearing one of his shirts because she claims that they’re softer than hers. There’s a soft smile hanging around her mouth like early morning dew on a tree’s leaves. It’s a look on her that tugs at something inside him that’s never been tugged at before, but his mind is too muddled to make much sense of it. 

They’ve spent the better part of six hours like this. 

Old habits die hard. 

She was only supposed to stay for dinner, but then he’d taken her to his room claiming that there was a book of hers still in his shelves, which there had been, but then they’d never managed to make it out after. 

They’ve found themselves in much the same position as this for over fifteen years. Her hands tucked between her face and pillow, his underneath the covers and both of them on their sides facing each other. 

She always lies down closest to the wall. This evening had been no different. He hadn’t even asked her to stay the night but she had this way of drawing him into doing the things she wanted for her, and all of a sudden Javier had found himself handing over his t-shirt, crawling into bed and shifting awkwardly as she tried to do the same. 

Some of his best memories as a child come from moments like these. 

The time when she’d confessed her first crush on a boy in their class, the other when he’d done the same for his first crush because it felt easier to tell it to her and not his friends at school. 

The many times she’d snuck in a box of cookies and they’d eaten all of them until their stomachs were fit to burst, and they were giggling with all the sugar gone to their head. 

Those couple of weeks where Javier had found a series of scary story collections in the library and read them to her out loud, and then held her as close as he could to himself so that she could fall asleep. 

Dozens upon dozens of memories stacked on top of each other like printed photos, all bathed in soft yellow light and drowning in that gentle silence the night would take on when everyone in the house had fallen asleep. 

Looking at her now, at the warm glow of her eyes and the way her hair spreads on her pillow, he finds himself craving chocolate chips and walnuts. Finds that he wants to hold her hand and doesn’t know how to ask for it without it seeming weird. 

He’s been desperate for the press of her skin against his, the soft feel of her breaths fanning over his arm and the way her ribs would rise and fall in time. His body has been starved of her in the past few months where she’d been away from him and at college. 

It’s summer now though, and Javier can look forward to a glorious four months with her alone, listening to the melodic tilt of her voice as she tells him about college and Austin and what happened when she was away from him as if trying to justify her absence. There’ll be popsicles that will end up more on the ground than in their stomachs, and his hand will be sticky with sugar. 

He gets to have her all for himself for what feels like an infinite amount of months, the long hazy days of the hottest weeks of the year stretching out in front of him like salt water taffy. 

It’s been two years, two summers and he’s still fooling himself. He’ll blink and they’ll be at the end of August and he’ll be laying on her bed watching her pack her things up again, and biting his tongue so he doesn’t say anything stupid, envy gnawing at his heart. 

Even as a kid he’d known she’d been destined for bigger things than Laredo. Had seen it in her voice and in the images she painted for him in his bed when he asked her to tell him a story. She could do that really well, and didn’t need to rely on books the way Javier had to to have the same effect. 

But even if she is destined for better, bigger, greater, she’s also his friend and Javier loves her in a way he’s not sure he’s able to describe. Which means that he doesn’t like having to see her off twice a year, scared that she’ll never come back and leaving him here all alone, the ghost of her shadow hanging around every corner. 

When he goes to pick her up, at Christmas and in April, there’s a clamp twisted around his ribs and it doesn’t go away until he hears the tears at the edge of her voice and feels the way her hands press into his shoulders. Then he can breathe easy because she’s back and the inevitable has been pushed off for another time. 

Javier’s drawn back to the present by the flutter of her eyelids, keenly aware that they’re slower coming back up than they were going down. He should let her sleep but he’s suddenly terrified of what’s to come in August and the hour has painted it so that he’s scared that maybe he’s dreaming.

So, he shuffles forward, and the sound opens her eyes. She starts to smile at him again.

If it is a dream, he hopes it lasts a while. 

“If you could change anything…in the whole world,” His voice is still gravelly from the way she’d made him laugh this evening until he felt that he couldn’t breathe anymore. “What would it be?” 

Her face is always so open for him, so easy to read. He thinks that if he gets close enough to her eyes, he can see the thoughts arise behind them. There’s a dent between her eyebrows that shows when she’s thinking and Javier presses it away with his thumb. He hides his hands away before he can think too much of it. 

“My thighs.” 

He laughs, “In the whole world?” It’s clear that it’s late and her mind isn’t working the way it should. He was expecting an answer more worldly from her. Eliminate corruption. Free education and healthcare for all. 

Still, he likes her answer much more. Likes that she gave it to him plainly and that she didn’t hide behind words and ideas that were too big for the town, and by association, himself. The people of Laredo say she has her head too far up in the clouds, that her imagination hadn’t been reeled in at the right time and that she’s a lost cause now. 

College. They say it as if it’s shameful, when it’s all Javier wants. 

Sometimes, he’d catch her eye and feel like he’s the only one who ever really knew her. 

He knows that she thinks too much and that she feels too much. She does too much of everything for everyone else that she forgets herself sometimes and Javier has to bring her back with a gentle hand for fear of scaring her away irrevocably. 

“But don’t tell anyone I said that,” the fleshy little anxious part of her is wide awake now, her mind having mulled it over for too long. She lets out a small nervous laugh that she only half-commits to, abandoning it before it’s completely out.

Javier shakes his head, inches forward that much more. With every breath he takes in, he can smell her, and it’s strong enough that he can’t pretend that he’s making it up. 

“You?” 

He follows the same line of reasoning as her answer, “I’ve always been insecure about my face.” He thinks about the time she’d been the only one able to find him during hide-and-seek, and how, instead of ratting him out, she’d squeezed herself next to him and held his hand so hard that his fingers hurt. He thinks in turn about how she didn’t leave until the moment he’d felt ready. “You know that.” 

Her smile widens, she’s grinning at him now. He can’t take it anymore and reaches for her hand. She gives it to him without a qualm or question and lets him thread their fingers together. “You shouldn’t.” 

Looking away from her for a few seconds he wills the red to not rise to his face, “Well, thanks but-” 

“I mean it,” she squeezes his hand, her voice warm. “Seriously, there’s nothing wrong with your nose.” 

That makes him pause, pushes down the insecurity that was rapidly growing inside him like mould. He looks at her and frowns. 

“I mean, there’s nothing wro-” 

“Say that again.” 

“I mean there’s nothin-” 

“What?” 

Javier’s just fucking with her now. 

“I don’t know…” he narrows his eyes at her in the way that always makes her spill something she’d been hiding from him. The soft corners of her voice turn panicked, “I always say the wrong thing!” He wants to contradict her, but she’s already hiding away from him, face pressed into his chest. 

The air gets kicked out of his lungs because of how close she is to him and how she’s staying so close to him. She’d arrived over a week ago but had just come for dinner tonight, at Chucho’s insistence only.

Despite the years they’ve spent together, Javier becomes shy when she first comes back, awkward and fumbling as he tries to pull himself upright long enough so that she doesn’t suspect anything’s changed in their relationship. 

Because really, nothing has. 

It just takes a while for him to get used to her and the idea that she’s once again a four minute drive away from him. 

“You’re an asshole,” she mumbles and he can feel it in his chest. He’s glad she can’t see him now because he’s trying to rapidly blink away his tears. 

He’s missed her. 

“M’know.” 

“I’ve missed you,” pulling away, she looks up at him. The words are offered up like an apology. Javier doesn’t accept it because she can never do wrong to him. For a split second he fears that she’ll go back to her side of his bed and without thinking about it, his free arm curls around her. 

“M’know.” 

The corners of her eyes crinkle, “Smart-ass.” 

He rolls his eyes and his hand seeks out the comforting dips and grooves of her spine. 

In a couple of days, he’ll regain his footing and be brave enough to reach underneath her shirt and feel her skin. Right now, it’ll be too intense for him, he has to build up to it. “You meant it? ‘Bout my nose?” 

“Yeah,” her gaze falls to it. “There’s nothing wrong with it…Really, I mean it, and not just ‘cause you’re my friend either.” Javier’s just a little scared that she’d managed to read his mind even after they’ve spent months apart. 

Javier thinks that the person who first said ‘far from the eye, far from the heart’ had never really loved anyone. 

“I don’t-” 

“You should…the tip, it’s very…kissable.” 

He’s suddenly acutely aware of how close she is to him, and swallows in time with the bob of her throat. She lets go of his hand and he lets her and tries to ignore the caving in of his stomach. 

Her head falls beside his on his pillow. She’s just far away enough so that his eyes can focus on her. He tries not to think of her and how she’s thought that his nose is kissable and fails miserably. 

“Javi?” 

“Hm?” 

“Will you take me to the movies sometime?” 

His forehead wrinkles, “Of course.” There’s a movie theatre just over an hour by car from Laredo that they’ve been going to since he’d learned to drive. Summer was synonymous with cold ice cream and her smile beaming at him in his bed, spending the days fleeing the hot sun and the evenings in the violently AC’d air of the movie theatre. “‘Course I will.” Fear seizes up in his throat, “Why are you askin’?” 

She just shrugs, eyes falling to his shirt and staying there. 

He presses, anxiety drumming in his blood, “When d’ya wanna go?” 

“Oh, I dunno,” she shuffles closer to him on the pillow and Javier has to hold his head just a little further back so he can see her clearly. “Just…sometime.” 

The static of the silent night falls around them. 

“You know,” at the sound of his voice her eyes meet his and he doesn’t know how to describe the feelings that wash over him. He wishes that she would never look away. “Your thighs are great, you shouldn’t change them.” 

Candles light up around her face and she smiles, biting her lip like she always does when she gets shy, “Really?”

“Yeah.” 

“Great?” 

He nods and then teases so she won’t hear how serious he is about this, “And I’m not just saying it as your friend either.” 

Maybe if they were both well-rested, they could have heard what he’d written in between his lines. They’re not and his insinuation flies over both of their heads. 

A giggle bubbles up in her throat and the room grows brighter, even with the sunrise still a few hours away. “You think about my thighs a lot, Javi?” 

He sends it right back, “You think about my nose a lot?” 

Her lips pout down and she starts to frown at him playfully, “No fair.” 

“You think about kissing my nose just as much?” 

The amusement falls from her face, and he becomes scared that he’s forgotten how to read her in just four months. They always knew when to push and when to stop, when to be pulled and when to pull. A delicate tug-of-war balance that could only be achieved over years of spending any possible moment they could together. 

There’s nothing that scares Javier more than forgetting how to pick up on her cues. He thinks that if it ever did happen, he’d stop living. 

Life only had meaning when he knew that she picked at her cuticles when she was anxious, that she leaned onto her right shoulder when she was bored and her left shoulder when she was uncomfortable, and that chamomile tea helps her calm down and that she prefers witty one-liners to elaborate jokes that take years to set up and usually end up being a let-down anyways. 

He murmurs her name, hoping that he hasn’t ruined his summer with her with just one question, “I-” 

Her lips press lightly to the blunt tip of his nose. It’s as soft as the breath of a baby, fleeting as the flap of a butterfly’s wings, and shorter than a heartbeat. For Javier it feels like being born anew. The ever-present noise in his head goes silent. All he can hear now is the rhythmic rise and fall of her breaths. His meaning is only given to him by her face in front of him. 

Awkwardly, like the rusty joints of a car, Javier leans towards her, so close to her that the edges of her face are blurry. 

In the same manner as her, he presses an idea of a kiss onto her mouth and pulls back just as quickly, if not faster. 

His nose and his mouth are tingling. 

She’s looking at him in a way he’s never seen before. The rush of emotions that it triggers inside him leads to him kissing her again, long enough that they can both understand what he did the first time, long enough for him to feel how soft her lips are. 

She lets out a little sound and Javier comes to himself again. His ears pop and his world grows from just her back to his room around him and the gravity of his actions fall down on him like a boulder. 

In a jerky movement he pulls away, his heart hammering against his chest, eyes widening. 

Images start to flash across his mind. 

He sees her frowning and yelling at him, changing back into her clothes and going back to her house. His stomach drops as he thinks of her leaving his bed eternally, and of the way her smell will fade from his sheets in a couple week’s time. He thinks of what he’s going to do with the rest of his summer and what’s going to happen at the end of it when he won’t be the one driving her to the bus stop and then watching her bus drive away until he can’t see it on the horizon. 

He should look away now, so as to make the leaving part easier, but instead he’s selfishly drinking up the last few moments he has with her, before he starts mourning their friendship. 

Instead of moving away like he’d been expecting, she inches forward, presses her palms to the sides of his face and runs her thumbs under the tender skin of his eyes. “Come back to me, Javi.” 

He doesn’t know how. 

“Baby,” her eyes are searching his face and he’s back to her. He’s back in her arms and in his bed. His heart is still pounding but he only knows himself in relation to her so it doesn’t matter. 

This time, when he kisses her, she’s already there halfway. Her hands are in his hair and though they’ve been there a thousand times before, it feels new to him. His body sings for her skin against his but he can’t bring himself to do it. His hands remain on her waist, on top of his shirt. 

“Did you miss me?” she’s out of breath with her forehead pressed against his. Her breaths are fanning out across his face like the waves of the ocean.

It takes a moment for his mind to straighten itself out, for him to realise what she’s asking of him. 

Slowly, he sits up, with her in his arms and his lips against hers. He gives butterflies after hummingbirds of kisses to her and she accepts each one as if they were the first. His stomach twists into itself and untwists. He feels as if his heart has just started to beat after twenty long years. 

She’s leaning against his arms and looking up at him breathlessly, her chest labouring to catch her breath. 

Javier wants to reply but he also wants to kiss her again and he does. Meandering and lazy as he pushes his tongue into her mouth. She makes no move to rush him, thumbs running across his cheeks, one hand reaching under the collar of his shirt and resting at the place his neck meets his shoulder. 

He pulls away and closes his eyes for a brief moment and then opens them again out of fear that she’ll disappear. 

“Yeah, I missed you,” he’s breathing harshly as he says her name. The words tumble out before he has a chance to think about them, “All I did was miss you.” 

Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed it please consider leaving feedback, it means the world to me. Please let me know if you would like to be tagged for the next part.

Masterlist here.

[iamthecomet]

So hear me out!

As a fandom, we LOVE putting Dew through the wringer. Many ppl write his character as emotionally complicated and fucked up. Little guy had a hard past and does not deal well with feelings nor does he always have healthy coping mechanisms.

We have all seen fics where he deals with his shit through self harm/substance abuse, subspace, anger, age regression, animal regression, disassociation, etc.

And maybe this idea has been written before...but maybe not-

What if instead of all of the other mentioned stuff that he used to do...now that he's older he just finds it easier to go a little feral for a while in order to cope? It's natural ghoul behavior anyway. Like, when stuff starts to builds up and he stresses out badly...he starts to show the signs - he gets bitchy, distant... but now, instead of falling into a deep depression or setting shit on fire he reverts to full mindless feral pit beast?

He wanders off naked, into the woods for a few days. He eats deer and birds and bugs and stuff, crawls around in the dirt for a while until it blows over and he feels better.

And at first, everyone's kind of like "Oh shit, Dew's gone feral!" But then they realize that it's actually better than him doing all of that self/property/relationship destructive stuff or actually hurting a sibling, so they just kind of let him go and do his thing? Because they know that it will run its course and he'll come back after a week or two.

Maybe the clergy sends out an abbey-wide email announcing that there's a" feral ghoul in forest B so stay out of there for a while until it leaves the vicinity". And they put up some warning signs so people don't go out on those trails or near where he's been spotted. Kind of like how they do it in Yellowstone park or something when there's a bear or a cougar spotted near a trail so people stay off of the trail.

Anyway, that's my thought!

Gremlin

#goneferal #feralasacopingmechanism

I am so into this! It's so much easier to just walk away sometimes. To just let all the shit he's been bottling up loose in his true form. Just letting go. Slipping free of humanity in order to get his head on straight again.

It happens a few times a year, before and after tours when he's the most stressed out. I like to think sometimes others join him. Mountain will slip into his true form and just sort of hang out with him at a safe distance if Dew will tolerate it. Sometimes Aether too. They check on him, mostly just making sure he hasn't hurt himself, or wandered too close to a town or anything. But mostly he's left alone, to his own devices, to work it out on his own.

Sometimes they'll get caught up in it with him. It feels good to let go. And yeah, Siblings definitely get periodic email updates. Stay away from the eastern swamps. Don't go into the southern pine grove.

He absolutely comes back covered in dirt and scratches, hair greasy. Eyes dull and exhausted. And docile. He lets himself be ushered into a bath. He's pliable, longing for attention, his voice soft and quiet from disuse.

He stays in his room for a few days after, sleeping it off, picking at the food the others bring him. But once the exhaustion is gone he's back to his normal self again. The whole thing is a little stressful for everyone, but far less stressful than when he used to throw tantrums in the abbey, so no one is about to ask him to stop.

[holylulusworld]

Before you - Alternative Ending

Summary: King Steven Grant Rogers once was a good king and a gentle alpha. Now he’s a cruel shadow of his former self. Can he find the light again? 

Pairing: King(Alpha)!Steve Rogers x Maid(Omega)!Reader; Bucky Barnes x Maid(Omega)!Reader

Warnings: angst, a/b/o, fluff, implied claiming, implied characters death, polyamory

A/N: This is the alternative ending you asked about… Please consider that this chapter will partially be the same as the other endings. But I changed a few scenes to match the ending.

Before you masterlist 

<< Part 18

<< Steve’s ending

<< Bucky’s ending

The day Sharon and Rumlow died you hid in Steve’s chamber. 

You crawled under the bed and didn’t make a sound. It had to be done. 

Sharon and Rumlow did horrid things. They are responsible for your family’s death, but you couldn’t bring yourself to watch them die.

You’re just not like this.

The king had to watch. Just like his brother.

It was their duty. The people expected them to watch Sharon and Rumlow die.

The executioner ended their lives fast. It was your wish. You didn’t want him to hurt them even more. 

Steve respected your wish and told the executioner to use a sharp axe.

“Off with their heads,” the crowd cheered as you lay still under the bed, hands pressed to your ears to fade out the voices. You curled into a ball, waiting for their end. 

You heard a scream. Applause. And then silence. 

“My love, how are you today?” Steve walks next to you. It’s been a while since you had the time to leave the castle and just take a walk in the gardens. “I know the last months were stressful.”

“I like the dress very much,” you whisper. “Do you think your mom would want me to wear it? I’m not sure. Your father didn’t want me to become your mate.”

“She would have loved you, Y/N,” the king softly says. “I wish you could wear your mother’s dress. I know how important traditions are to an omega.”

In your grasp, you squeeze Steve's hand tightly, "It got lost along with so many things from my past. "But I will gladly wear your mother’s dress.”

“What if you had a new dress?” he stops walking to look at you. “A new beginning for both of us. I know someone who makes the most beautiful dresses.”

“Steve, my king,” you bite your tongue. Can you ask him for a new dress? Can you reject the offer to wear his mother’s wedding gown?

"It's settled now," Steve whispers softly. “I will call for her. She will make you the most beautiful gown you ever saw. I want you to tell her what you want, my love.”

Two months later, …

“How are you, my lady?” the maid asks as you look at yourself in the mirror again. A woman you don’t recognize looks back at you. You’re wearing a dress that isn’t yours and feel like an imposter. “My lady?”

“How are you, my lady?” the maid asks as you look at yourself in the mirror again. A woman you don’t recognize looks back at you. She smiles, and her eyes shine. “My lady?”

“I’m just…I don’t know,” you press your hands to your warm cheeks. “Do you think the king will like the dress?”

“He will love it, my lady,” she says, but you are too nervous to believe her. “You are a beautiful bride.”

You look in the mirror one last time to admire the gown again. It is made of rich fabric in a white and gold pattern, and the upper waistline is tied with a matching golden sash. The dramatically long angel sleeves are lined with gold satin.

“He will love it, Y/N,” you gasp as Bucky steps into the room. He smiles when you twirl around to grasp his hands. “You look beautiful.”

Bucky fights the urge to just tell you how beautiful and precious you are to him. He came here to decide what to do about his feelings. 

It’s all or nothing now. 

Bucky sends the maid away, aware he only has minutes to confess his feelings. He takes a deep breath when the door closes behind the maid. 

“Is something wrong, Bucky?” you place your hands on his chest, glancing at them. It feels right. Like your hands belonged there all along.

You look up at the alpha, remembering every moment since you met Bucky for the first time. You smile as he was always around. Bucky was there before anyone even noticed you.

He was there to protect you. Always. Unconditionally. A true knight in shiny armor. Even if the armor only consists of his artificial arm and a pair of soft blue eyes.

“Bucky…” 

“Please. Hear me out. Don’t marry him,” Bucky takes you by surprise. It seems like he read your mind. Although you love Steve, your heart pounds so fiercely for Bucky that it is undeniable. “I love you and can’t watch you marry my brother. From the first moment I laid eyes on you, my heart was yours.”

“B-bucky,” you whimper. “I love Grant…I mean Steve. I…I’m so confused. You are so wonderful, and I feel safe and warm with you but…”

“You love him…not me,” Bucky chokes out. “I shouldn’t have said a thing. I’m sorry, Y/N. Please forget what I said.”

“Bucky,” you tear up. “Alpha...I love you too,” you whimper when he takes you into his arms. You immediately bury your face in his chest to inhale his calming scent. “I don’t know what to do. I love you, and I love him. How can this be?”

“I don’t know,” he presses soft kisses on your forehead. “All I know is that you are my omega as much as you are Steve’s omega.”

“What—?” Steve gasps when he sees you in his brother’s arms. “Bucky, what are you doing here? Take your hands off my bride. How can you betray me like this?”

“Please…Grant…it’s my fault,” you start crying bitterly. “I’m so confused and…” you shake your head. “Maybe I’m evil. I enchanted both of you and now you are angry at each other. I should leave and never come back. You deserve a better queen and omega…both of you do.”

“My love,” Steve steps toward you and Bucky. He holds out his hand, waiting for you to choose him. “You are the only queen I want. I won’t give up on you. Please choose me.”

“Please choose me,” Bucky whispers. He presses a soft kiss on your forehead. “I can’t let you go.”

“I-I can’t choose,” you cry even harder when Steve wraps his hand around your arm to get you away from his brother. “Please don’t make me choose. I would rather leave and never see one of you again than tear you apart. I can’t watch one of you be sad.”

“Steve,” Bucky lifts his head to look at his brother. “I can’t watch her cry…”

“You were always kind to her,” Steve drops his gaze in shame. “I was awful to her. You and Y/N deserve to find happiness…together. I don’t deserve her.”

“Brother…” 

Bucky steps away from you, shaking his head. “I can’t break your heart to find my happiness. I can’t hurt Y/N either. She loves you.”

You tear up as you stand between the brothers. Your alphas. “I love you both,” you whimper. “Please…I don’t know what to do.”

“We’re a pack,” Steve clears his throat, “and I’m the king. If I say that we will share our omega, no one will dare to disagree with me.”

“Share me,” you look at Steve, eyes wide and glassy. You whimper in need when the brothers step closer to you again. To you, their mixed scents smell like heaven. “But…what will people say?”

“That we love each other,” the king says, “and that you are our omega as much as we are your alphas. If you want us, say the words.” Steve takes another step toward you to take your right hand. “Please.”

"Say it, Y/N," Bucky asks, taking your left hand. “Please don’t leave us.” 

“My alphas,” you purr low in your throat. “I want to be yours, Bucky.” You smile at Bucky. “And I want to be yours, Steve.” You turn your head to look at Steve.

“Our omega,” the brothers purr your name, and everything seems to fall into place. 

You did not only become Steve’s queen but also Bucky’s light. The king announced that you are a pack, and therefore you are going to marry both brothers.

Steve and Bucky didn’t waste another day. You married them right after your love confessions. And that night, you became more than their queen. 

The brothers claimed you and insisted on wearing your mark too. No one will dare to get between you and your alphas ever again.

“A pack, huh?” Natasha watches Stephen Strange walk next to her. “What brings you here? I thought you prefer isolation and silence.”

“I do,” Strange dips his head to glance at Natasha. “Maybe I came back because I found something I liked here.”

“I hope it’s not the king’s omega,” she chuckles darkly. “She already has her hands full with two alphas.”

“I set my eyes on someone even more beautiful,” he smiles at Natasha with a looped grin. “I heard you wanted to learn about my profession. I’d like to share all of my secrets with you...”

THE END

Tags in reblog.

[ofallthingsnasty]

through the briar

Pairing: Micah Bell x F!Reader Tags: dead dove: do not eat, hard noncon, sexual coercion, chubby reader, fat-shaming (reader receiving), alcohol, vaginal sex, this is not a happy fic, Micah Bell as his own trigger warning, Arthur Morgan is a good man but he can’t save you Word count: 4.8k Summary: He's a rotten man. And you've always been too soft, both in mind and body.

In the end, it all goes wrong after a ruined job.

Note: Please read the tags properly! I admit I don't like him but I like his character - if that makes sense? He is despicable and that makes him fun to write for. English is also not my first language, so if anything reads a little weird for the late 19th-century setting, that’s probably it. Sorry in advance. And please if you wanna talk rdr2 darkfic/smut, I am so here!!

The flames in front of you are high and merry.

During the day, they sting your cheeks in the Lemoyne heat, but at night they wrap themselves around you like a cozy blanket, a welcome addition to the tepid air that settles over Flat Iron Lake as soon as the sun sets. The days are long and suffocatingly hot here, something that you especially feel, under your skirts and in every crevice of your body. You spend them with rolled up sleeves and a prickling nose, entrenched into your chores with sweat dripping from your brow by noon. Only now, when the sun finally relents and stops spurring on the muggy air of the lake, can you appreciate the temperature. The nights are nice and, if you ignore the bugs that bite and nip at every inch of exposed skin, they’re even downright comfortable. Colter seems a long way from here now, and you’re grateful for it. You like it, sweat or not, and still you are sitting by the fire instead of sleeping, restless and your mind in coils. The other women are already in bed, even Karen, who is the one to stick around the longest these past few days, has long since started snoring. Truly, at first they had been understanding, but after days even they have grown a little tired of your groveling, especially now that Arthur is back from the brink of death and everyone busy with his recovery. No one cares about your little quarrel with Micah anymore. It has to seem small to them, you’re sure. It’s huge to you - you, the one who had a gun pressed to her forehead, almost a casualty of a failed stagecoach robbery - but at the end of the day, it’s nothing. And you agree, in part. It’s entirely your fault, you feel, that a silly, botched job has gone to your head that badly. It shouldn't irk you as much as it does, because you have seen many things go south in your time, after all. But it’s not every day that you stare death into the face, as well. You aren’t Arthur. Or John or Sean or even Micah, for whom it seems to be a daily occurence. You’re just you: soft in both mind and body, someone of Dutch’s ever-growing menagerie of pets and misfits. Picked up like a flea-ridden stray from the side of the road because you tickled something in the big, grand heart of Mr. Van der Linde, for whatever indiscernible reason. 

You aren’t quite useless. But you aren’t all that helpful, either. And so it stings all the more to know you’re just a little more vulnerable than you thought you were. You didn’t botch the job, you’re quite aware of that. It had been Micah who messed it up; not acting quickly enough and rushing into the attack, paying no mind to you, who had been standing out in the open without protection. It certainly hadn’t been your looks that made it end badly, like he insisted afterwards, or your inability to handle a gun.

But Micah’s needling and taunts are hard to ignore when he knows just how to crawl into every however tightly guarded insecurity of yours.

He had been at his peak immediately after you crawled back into camp, clutching the reins of a borrowed shire like your life depended on it, eyes wide and hands cold. And even though you had already expected the treatment that followed after he stormed away from the busted-up coach when every single man around you was dead, it had stung immensely.

You did nothing but tuck your chin into yourself and let your eyes burn with tears while he berated you for mistakes that weren’t yours. Walking away didn’t help - he was like a hungry dog, nipping at your heels with venom in his voice and quick hands that waved around wildly, drawing everyone’s attention to your lecture. He pushed and prodded until your cheeks were a stinging, hot mess and you could only mumble about how sorry you were. Only Arthur arriving in camp with fresh game and a few dollars in his pocket had saved you. Micah rode out, then, and Arthur had shuffled you away to the main fire, a calming hand on your shoulder. And oh, Arthur. He had been the kindest about it all. Always a watchful eye on you when he was around because Micah did not let go of his venom - and when he was around, the blond would at least leave you with a couple of sarcastic remarks, but nothing quite as malicious as when he caught you on your own. Arthur stepped in between you and his abuse more than once, always with a tight jaw and hard eyes, telling Micah to finally forget about it. But it only helped in the moment. The busted coach is just the latest issue he has with you, and one that he can finally hound you for without attracting too much attention. Out of all the women, he seems to like you the least and he isn’t quiet about it, either. While you’re all useless baggage, just many, many more mouths to feed for him - your biggest wrongdoing is not even being nice to look at. Too big, too unpolished, too quiet. Sometimes he acts as though you’re everything he hates distilled into one person, even though that is just another one of his exaggerations. 

 Even in Colter he made off-handed comments about how you'd never starve, how you looked like some kind of grizzly bear all bundled up in your coat and yet you sometimes catch him staring at your cleavage, especially when you have to cover up less than you'd like. He is an animal, nothing more than that. And you know you shouldn’t let his words get to your head but with every word, every crude gesture, every goddamn look at you he tears you down, leaving you to feel raw and wrong all by yourself. He knows too well how to get under your skin and likes to do it just as much.

And it all escalated just days before he, Dutch and Arthur rode out to meet with Colm. He threw you one of his shirts while you were scrubbing away at the tub, already sweaty with the midmorning heat and arms strained with the task, barking something about you fixing it for him. Stunned into silence, you simply let it happen, not even able to utter your usual apologies. You had never seen Arthur storm over quite as fast as he did when you pried the red, mingy fabric from your eyes, having watched from the edge of camp, just as Micah was about to get rough with you. They got into one of their typical squabbles afterwards, only this time you were at the very center of it. Arthur’s gruff tone and curt words had held well against Micah’s sneering and he had finally relented when Arthur threw his own shirt back into his arms. He kept his distance afterwards, seemingly done with his taunts. You know now that he just had found something more interesting to do with his time. Riding out to talk to Colm had sounded like a truly insane idea, even for him, and your worries were confirmed when Arthur barely made it back to the gang, shot up and paler than a ghost. That had been a week ago - and just thinking about it in comparison to your bickering, it feels trivial, almost petty to still be bothered by it. But Micah’s words have touched something in you. His constant reminders of your stature and skill just won’t leave you, especially not when you’re all alone with your thoughts. Maybe it’s why you double down in your care for Arthur, both to thank him for his effort and so that you can focus on something else for once. Like the others, you have spent the last couple of days fretting over him. Sitting by his side in the evenings, silently mending or knitting while the sun is still up and fetching him anything he needs, when he asks for it. He doesn’t say it, but you can tell he likes the company, likes that someone is watching out for him. You can’t imagine what’s brewing in that thick head of his during the days - but it isn’t pretty, not with the way he grunts and whines when he dozes off and leaves you to brood. You usually trudge back to the main fire once he’s out for good, at least when Micah hasn’t already taken up a seat.

And today you’re lucky, so you sit and revel in the heat, your shawl loosely slung around your shoulders to ward off insects and unwanted attention. You left Arthur to snore softly on his cot, calm for once, and the only sounds around you are the soft nickering of the horses and Cain sniffing about, licking up any residues of food on plates and spoons the others didn’t bother to put away. A few members of your posse are missing, scattered about Lemoyne doing odd jobs or drinking, no doubt, and the rest is sleeping. You and Micah are the only ones awake, aside from Bill who’s on guard duty. You’re keenly aware of the fact that the blond is sitting by the scout fire, doing god knows what. He never really sleeps and that makes your nightly ruminations all the more difficult. You're always tense, always feeling his presence behind your back. Furrowing your brows, you poke at the fire with a stick, much like Jack often does.

Maybe it all has to stop? The thought strikes you suddenly, as you move a log. You could simply try to forget about this, especially now that you all have to work a little harder with the gang’s enforcer out of commission, but you doubt that Micah is going to let go of it any time soon. Your mind runs faster than any logical thought. An appeal to his ego could work. An apology? Thanking him? Everything in you bristles at the thought of apologizing to him. It wasn’t your fault - but he did save you, ultimately. If it hadn’t been for his quick aim, you’d be buried somewhere in the red soil near Clemens Point now. And maybe it’s the crux of the issue; that he both caused this and, somehow, resolved it again. You don’t feel indebted to him at all, it’s more of an even bigger annoyance to you. If only you had been a faster draw, then at least you would have something to hold against him. You sit and stew in the notion for a few minutes. Maybe it could really work, could get him off your back. Maybe you would catch more flies with honey than with vinegar, maybe it would give you some sleep back - if you stopped being his favorite target for a little while. And maybe you could forget about this whole thing a little faster without him constantly at your throat. You know that you’re not one for confrontations - especially with quick-tongued opponents like Micah Bell - but you can try a thank you, even a stuttered one. Even if you can already hear Karen scream at you over being even remotely nice to a snake like him, it might just be the right thing to try. You prod at the logs once more, then you swallow your pride and get up, mind quickly made up. 

Micah’s red shirt glows warm and almost orange in the light of the fire. His hair falls forward as he leans into the warmth, seemingly unbothered by your slow approach. He looks peaceful, almost serene and only lifts his head ever so often to sip away at a bottle of unidentifiable liquid, no doubt alcoholic in nature.

He doesn’t even acknowledge your presence when you come to a halt in front of him. Seated on one of the stools, he only spins the bottle in loose circles as he holds it in his lap and you can hear the liquor splashing inside. Still decently full. Both of you say nothing for a couple of heartbeats, then his head finally cocks up and he pulls his left shoulder up to rest one hand on his thigh. You feel all your courage plummet from your stomach to your feet, suddenly bewildered by your earlier thoughts. He says your name with too much flourish and it makes you cringe. “Well, what did I do to deserve the honor?” You fumble with the tassels on your shawl, unsure what to respond and already full of regret for even getting into his line of vision. But it’s too late now - simply turning around and leaving again will only give him more ammunition for tomorrow, you just know it. “I- '', you grasp a handful of thread and stare into the fire, anything to avoid his eyes. “I suppose I wanted to thank you. For shooting that bastard, I mean.” He laughs at that, even if it’s at least a little true. 

“Thank me? Aren’t you the sweetest little thing?” His tone is mean and enough for you to want to turn around again. But you just furrow your brows and finally look back at him, not trusting your mouth anymore. He sighs with fake strain and then chortles. “You know, sugarpie?”, he leans his head back and it leaves his face open, owlish eyes glinting at you. “It only showed me how much of a dead weight you really are.” The double entendre doesn’t go over your head. He’s referencing your statue, as he so often does - and it makes your cheeks sting with heat again, makes you pull an indignant face. But you have no fire to give back, you just break eye contact and grab your shawl tighter. He suddenly swings back, arms spread wide in an attempt at a welcoming gesture -  it’s such an unexpected change in behavior it catches you off-guard. Laughing as though he can read your exact thoughts, he slaps the rock next to him, voice jovial.

“Relax, relax. Come on, have a drink with me.” You eye him warily and he looks right back at you, neck of the bottle tilted in your direction. There is nothing harmful in those big, blue eyes and although something in you bristles against fraternizing with him, you finally take a seat and the whiskey out of his hands. Raising it in a bastardized toast, you sniff the liquor and give him a nod. You take a generous swig, pulling a face as the alcohol burns the back of your throat. His eyes are on you all the while, his whole body leaned over to you, watching you with awe, almost. He is chuckling to himself and you can smell him, even over the terrible sting on your tongue. Like sweat and sun and morass, a day spent in camp, no doubt. He laughs when your lips release the glass, wet and deeply amused. “Good stuff, hm? Come on, woman! Another! Loosen up a little.” It feels wrong, the way he talks, the way he switches his tone around in a second. The only time he’s at least cordial is when he’s drunk but even then he manages to be condescending. The liquor rises to your head immediately, the little food you had in the late afternoon doing absolutely nothing to ward it off. Your cheeks heat up with a more intimate burn than the one from the scout fire, a warmth that isn’t entirely foreign to you. You know this isn’t a good idea, but the thought of enduring his company without at least a slight bit of a buzz to take the edge off is just as unappealing as getting a little too friendly with Micah. He almost cheers you on as you tip your head back again, watching you down another mouthful and shivering after it runs down your pipes.

“That’s better, isn’t it?”, he grins at you and you feel like you’ve never seen him clearer - he’s so close suddenly. There is warmth on your shoulder and you realize it’s his hand, resting on your body as if it’s nothing. “I guess”, you say, before taking another sip, just to get rid of the weird feeling of him touching you. You pass time like this, sharing the bottle between you two. He talks about the job gone wrong, about Colm, about everything and anything, but with every swig from the bottle the chatter washes over you more and more, until it’s just noise. You nod and hum and dig your feet into the soil, the warmth of the alcohol enough to make you pull at your shawl and place it over your lap. His hand has wandered from your shoulder to your thigh, and he squeezes it ever so often, over the fabric of your skirt. It’s too close to your hip, too warm and too heavy and the alcohol makes you keenly aware of it, while not really minding it. It’s an odd feeling, something you almost preen at, something that has your stomach in slight knots. Somewhere, deep down, you know that this isn’t wise, that it’s the liquor working its ways into you but then his fingers twitch and you throw all the caution to the winds. He’s just getting more and more tipsy, you figure, and let him continue. He lets you finish the bottle just as the fire in front of you is slowly dying. You should rekindle it, you know, keep it lit so that Bill won’t have to do it later but you can’t bring yourself to care. The less it burns, the less heat is on your cheeks and the pleasant buzz in your head is just enough to keep you warm. Your eyes are just about to droop from exhaustion and alcohol when his hand slides just a little too close to your crotch, feather-light and careful, awaiting your reaction. You feel so unlike yourself, a spark of something white and hot coming to life deep within your belly. Some tiny part of you is telling you to stave it off, to snuff it out because you’re beside yourself, but it dies off instead when he leans over, his hair almost  tickling the skin of your face.

You glance back at him, a silent question hanging in the air even though you can barely see him in the moonlight.

And to your shame, the whiskey has worked its claws into you. You don’t say anything in response but you lean into his touch, just so.

He looks at you for a heavy second, then inhales and - laughs. It's dark and breathy with liquor, the first time you've ever heard him laugh properly, the sound humiliating. He doesn't need to utter a single word, all he ever could tell you is in his chortling. Disbelief that you want this. Mockery at your undignified state. Heat for you.

It fades into giggles and you want nothing more than to bury your face in your hands. “Come on, sugarpie”, his voice is almost dark, so close next to you. You let him help you up and only notice just how drunk you are when you finally stand, the ground suddenly softer than you remember and your legs clumsy. One step, then two and you already stumble over your own feet. Two rough hands steady you, grab your waist while you breathlessly giggle, your predicament strangely funny to you. Wordlessly, he pulls you towards the treeline, his touch never leaving you. You try your best to keep up but find that you can barely walk straight. If he is annoyed by it, he doesn’t mention it, just wordlessly guides you away from camp. Your head is thick with it, so thick that you can’t stop yourself from speaking.

“Where’re we going?”, you push out and it sounds like someone else is saying it. “A little walk ”, he says, voice so surprisingly sober next to your wobble.

You stumble alongside him, disoriented and mind hazy. Just up through the trees, right by the lake - your thoughts are splotchy and all mixed up, every second step a blur. 

Your eyes feel slow and your body so heavy that the earth has to shake whenever you plant your soles on it, you’re sure of it. You barely notice when he pulls you aside, just far enough from camp to be undisturbed, a little spot that is free from trees, where you can see the stars dance on Flat Iron Lake. Swaying as though you’re dancing to some imaginary tune, you have almost forgotten that he exists again, too caught up in the warmth of the liquor. You don’t even know how you end up on the floor, the world around you spinning with the change in balance, turning and turning and never stopping. Micah is above you and you grip his arms to steady yourself, noises of confusion spilling from your lips like water. “What are you doing?”, you mutter into the darkness, feeling the muscles of his upper arms twitch underneath the fabric of his shirt. “Getting a proper thank you, sweetheart.” His words take a moment to reach you and by the time you open your mouth to answer, he is already nipping at your neck, the hairs of his beard scratchy on the tender skin. A hand fumbles and slips under your skirts - when did he bunch them up in the first place? - and the touch makes it so real, sobers you up.

You're about to make a grave mistake. What had flickered in your stomach just minutes ago were ideas, misguided thoughts - not real desire. Just the alcohol weaving its way into your head, putting things into it that shouldn't be. You try to wiggle away but his grip turns to steel, unrelenting and hard on your shoulders. Tears prick at your eyes as he coos down at you with fake concern, his breaths heavy in between words you don’t hear.

“Stop- Please, Micah-”, you gasp, tongue still heavy with alcohol. Everything seems slow and fast at the same time, even his hands on you don’t hurt as much as they should and yet - you’re terrified beyond belief.

“The liquor already leaving you, sweetheart? A shame. I liked you real bold”, he groans into your ear and you’re suddenly overly aware of the hardness pressed against your clothed inner thigh. “Sh, sh”, he laughs, clamping a hand over your mouth. “Bill's on guard right now, he won't hear you, sugarpie. No use in crowing for that idiot.”

You shake your head against his grip, tears pricking at you eyes. 

“Or are you calling for Morgan?”, he says, even more amused. “Bet you’d like this better if it was him. I’ve seen how you look at him, sugarpie.”

His words stir something in you awake, deep and unsightly. Is he only doing this to get back at Arthur? The thought sours your stomach until you can feel the bile rising and you go limp against him. He takes it as confirmation and almost shakes with fake laughter. “Oh, I’m gonna enjoy this, sweetheart.” One rough hand brushes over the muslin of your drawers, the other still on your mouth. You can only screw your eyes shut and silently weep against him, can only endure the way his skin warms your cunt through the fabric. It leaves for a few moments and he shifts above you, reaching somewhere - you don’t dare to peek, too afraid of what it might be. “There-”, he grunts, then the muslin strains against the fat of your thighs, pulled upward. It snaps and the unmistakable cold of a blade touches you for a split second. “There we go.” By now your grip on him has slacked, your hands barely holding onto his arms. The futility of trying to stop him sweeps over you like a veil, leaves you numb and weak. You can feel the summer air on your core, the way it cools the heat that the liquor had ignited, the way it gets churned around as he moves your ruined underwear around to gain him access. Thick fingers fumble around until they finally find what they seek and he laughs, deep and ugly. You don’t even sob when he lets go of your mouth to undo his pants. It earns you a throaty good girl as he frees himself and you open your eyes to glance up at him. He’s on you, his form an inky mass against the light of the moon as pushes himself into you, slowly and hissing at every inch. You’re not quite prepared, the alcohol mixed with terror making you dry but he doesn't care. It burns and stings and scratches, and you can feel how tight you are around him, how much you don’t want this. His hands reach up again, cradling your face in almost tender fashion while he savors the feeling. Barely giving you a moment to breathe once he bottoms out, he starts a mounting pace, grunting at every push and pull. You’re rattled with the motion, helpless and almost numb. The liquor dulls the pain but still you can’t help the yelps that leave you; not loud enough for him to care, but just loud enough for him to notice. He bows down and presses a slew of open-mouthed, wet kisses over your face, a bizarre mirror of a loving gesture, and bites you weakly whenever you clench around him in discomfort. It’s a ghastly feeling. “Oh, you're real sweet, darling, real sweet”, he moans out in a shaky exhale. You've never heard him so desperate, so genuine. He sounds grateful, almost loving, yet it’s all a ruse. You only murmur his name in response, lost and teary. You just want him to stop, just want him to get off you and go back to camp. You just want your bed, just want to hear Karen snore next to you. “I know, I know”, he mutters and clutches your shoulders again, grunting before he continues. “You’re so goddamn tight, sweetheart-”

It sounds like he wants to say something else but he chokes on the words before they climb up his throat. Instead, he fucks you harder and you’re grateful that your body finally complies and supplies you with some lubrication. In and out and in again, his full weight snaps against your hips, his thrusts slowly growing sloppy and more shallow. He grips you then, the hardest so far, and buries his face underneath your jaw, keening and sucking at your skin as though his life depends on it. Finally, he spills himself into you, ignoring your weak protests. It’s hot and wet deep within you, the mark of a rotten man. You silently cry as he catches his breath, sweaty face pressed into your neck. Minutes pass like this, him regaining composure and you trying to drown the dread that blossoms in your stomach, too afraid to move. His whole weight is crushing your chest that rattles with sobs, a weight you’ll feel for weeks to come. He slips out of you with a weak groan and heaves himself up to his knees. You feel his seed trickle down, stinging your bruised skin. He says nothing as he tucks himself back in, but you can feel him stare at his work in the moonlight. Patting your thigh, he whistles lowly, much like one would do to a horse and you tense at the gesture. “Now”, he laughs between heavy breaths. “Wasn’t that fun, sugarpie? I should thank you for the good time, hm? Real good time we had.” He doesn’t wait for an answer, just adjusts his shirt, smoothing out the wrinkles that have formed. “You're a wild little thing when you’re drunk, you know that?” Another chuckle. He fastens his neckerchief, then palms one of your still-folded knees. “And darling”, he croons, still sucking in the musky air around you like he's suffocating. “Remember: You wanted this. Gave old Mr. Bell something for his troubles, didn't you?” The hidden threat doesn’t go unnoticed. You know how well he can twist his words around Dutch and you have no doubt that if you were to tattle to anyone, you’d be the one getting kicked out of the gang, not him. So you nod.

“Good, good. Don't go telling that big bad”, he grins as he pushes the words out with fake sweetness. “cowboy next thing tomorrow morning, alright?” This time he doesn’t wait for your confirmation, just gets up and stretches himself with obnoxious ease. “See you around, sugarpie.”

His laugh is dark as he strolls back into camp, leaving you behind, empty and still drunk.

End note: I hope you enjoyed it! I have reworked and edited this many, many times so I definitely developed a little bit of tunnel vision. I must have written at least 8k for this in total and revamped every scene at least once and I know that some transitions are a little hamfisted - but I had to finally let this one go, it's been with me two months since its inception and I am just done with it haha. Please be kind when leaving feedback, I am not too confident in this one. And don’t be too shy to chat me up!! I am desperate to talk anything smutty and/or dark for rdr2 with someone!!!

[ntzsche9]

So, hi! I'm Verne (they/them), practically a queer elder in my 30s, brand new to tumblr (dunno how I ever missed the boat), and I only ever seem to write in the 20 minutes or so between pulling up to work and clocking in, or when I'm putting my toddlers down for a nap but don't want to crawl out of their beds and address the chores I gotta do while they're out of the way. I've written poetry, prose, and roleplayed in the past but got away from it for years and years, and only recently started writing again. I have notebooks and lists of story ideas but the few things I have fleshed out are mostly silly character-based "what if?" scenarios, because those are the most fun to me. Too many of my stories are me simply wanting to write a scene, developing a bit of a world around it, then losing interest entirely. I hope this blog can change that a bit, help me focus on following through or figuring out how to better develop small ideas into something longer.

Interests:

Post-apocalyptic

Near-future dystopias

Scifi/Fantasy (urban) with magical realism

History/AltHistory (especially lesser-known and marginalized stories)

Horror, dark, violent, and mature themes

Queer everything. I can't write heteros to save my life and I'm not all that sorry about it.

Sexy melodrama and smut with too much plot

Fanfiction (I could read/write Fallout stuff all day)

Some Favorite Authors:

Octavia Butler

Nnedi Okorafor

VE Schwab

Starhawk

Madeline Miller

Ta-nehisi Coates

Becky Chambers

Emma Donoghue

Looking for:

Community, inspiration, other writers to follow, and problem-solving tips in storytelling and sticking to stories when things get tough. I really just need some folks to talk to when working through all the things in my head. Open to the occasional tag but I'm not great at responding.

I have plenty more little bits of nonsense in various states of readability, like character backgrounds, alt-ending scenes, slice-of-life banter between characters, etc. These will be posted under the tag #ntzsche misc

Noteworthy WIPs:

Bad Blood - A Fallout Nuka-World fanfic (#ntzsche Nuka-World)

My longest story is a fanfic, but with a cast of characters largely not in the Fallout 4 DLC. I intend to eventually write this in a way that someone who hasn't played the game would be able to easily read.

Lafayette, the son of a 'retired' raider, left his abusive father to find his place in the world and was taken in by an eclectic trauma-bonded found family that inspires him to be a better person and shows him love he is certain he doesn't deserve. When his father comes across them in a raid, Lafayette is given the offer to join him, and he agrees in order to save the settlement and his little brother. Lafayette finds that being with his dad again, and being the son he always wanted him to be, isn't nearly as difficult as he thought it would be. He struggles to maintain the person he wants to be with the person he suspects he is, all while a cast of scheming raiders, wastelanders, and slaves vie for power in the raider city built within the rusted remains of an amusement park.

Salem's Child (#ntzsche Salem)

A background on one of the lesser Nuka-World characters that I got carried away with.

Andrew Rook doesn't look like his parents. He looks like someone they are desperate to forget. Growing up in post-apocalyptic Salem, Massachusetts has it's perks, though. In a fading settlement run by incompetent men who would rather blame the population of feral black cats for their problems than try to solve them, Andrew and his two best friends build a world in their imagination that shields them from the wretchedness of the wasteland and the people they have to rely on to survive.

Hechizo

Another character background that I would love to expand into a few short stories around.

Mateo Zavala was born in the vibrant and tight-knit community of Navarro. His great-great-great-great-great-great grandmother, a pre-war ghoul, is still the ruling matriarch, and it's hard for her not to play favorites when she has over 300 living descendants.

The Crash (#ntzsche Crash)

A what-if real-world rewrite of an event from another story. I just really enjoy writing these two.

Gabe always knew his functional alcoholic roomie would get into a terrible car wreck some day, but he never thought he would be dumb enough to be in the car with him. When the consequences of the wreck threaten to destroy Dave's life, Gabe finds himself doing everything he can to hold those pieces together. The love he harbors for his straight, polyamorous best friend runs deeper than either of them are ready to face, and find that Dave's injury turns their relationship completely on end.

[estro-gem]

Ragatha x Pomni (Platonic): Charting the Landscape

The Amazing Digital Circus AU: Oasis

Author's note:

I'm not dead! I'm sorry for not posting as much; life has me in a chokehold and you all know how things can get this time of the year.

Excuses, excuses, right?

This is exposition of the 'Oasis Lore.' Although this is an event in which Pomni and Ragatha tries to figure each other out, this is centered around Pomni's slow start to working her way into fitting into the Oasis. These two are having 'the talk,' as it's loosely mentioned by Jax in the story 'Anywhere the wind blows.'

Unfortunately, this is not really a ship-fic, but there are more of those coming in the future, though!

I don't think this one will do so well, but eh, I'll keep writing regardless...

I'm keen to bring in some more angst into this AU. Things are too happy in these works for my liking. I want to go into just how messed up Oasis can be, since it's a very unhealthy system they've got going on.

Warnings: Nothing too serious.

Little angst and very little fluff (like, a literal speck)

Frustration (For the characters involved, as well as you poor readers)

Unhealthy coping mechanisms

SUMMARY:

After Pomni had a strange encounter with Kinger, she was struck with the need to work about developing her status to something more positive among the other Circus members. She decides to start by approaching Ragatha, who ends up giving her the friendliest reality-check she could ask for. Pomni was in more trouble than she thought.

CHARTING THE LANDSCAPE

Pushing on.

That was what drove the jester this far.

That was the only thing that she was certain of. It didn’t matter that she didn’t see what the future held or what size and difficulty the obstacle was. It didn’t matter how impossible it seemed and it didn't matter how far she was forced to push herself.

She was a wreck, but she was just as stubborn.

The past few weeks have been tough. Her first day in the Digital Circus was apparently one of the worst that Kinger had ever witnessed for a newcomer to brave through. Her effort to push her mind through Caine’s demented joke of an exit – an unfinished, never-ending maze of a project (as his unfinished work usually was), was ‘admirable,’ as the chess piece called it.

He said she reminded him of his younger self.

Kinger glanced at Pomni to briefly meet her eyes, as if he was checking that she was still paying attention, before falling into a trans-like state. Disappointment tugged at her thoughts upon the realization that the most comforting moment that the little jester had had since she got damned to this digital plain, slipped away with the mere echo of the King’s words. When he suddenly jolted into animation again, she saw the sobriety reigned back and her heart lifted at the chess piece’s effort to force away the fog from his mind.

The fool witnessed the tug of war in Kinger's eyes; the clouded haze of nothingness as empty as death was straining to smother the powerful, but saddened twinkle of clarity. Despite the struggle, he spoke with ease – saying that the digital circus was not a fate to be faced by one alone, but instead, to be experienced by many in collaboration.

“You need to share you use.” He said, blinking rapidly as if looking through fog, “If you share, you are safe. If you are selfish, you will be left-”

Silence.

The king piece was frozen in place and his eyes fogged over. Whatever he was trying to say, died with the ember of hope that the girl had built up for his encouragement. He was gone.

Sudden hysterical laughter ripped the little’s fool’s thoughts from her head as she jumped in fright. After catching her breath, Pomni spotted Jax crawling on the floor as he wheezed with laughter, while she heard Ragatha’s bright voice chime in with near-manic cackles. She had half the mind to pursue the curiosity of knowing the context of their situation, but Kinger’s words haunted her mind.

Pomni was still starstruck by the white king’s clear, sober words. She didn’t think to interrupt him or break the apparent spell that was befell upon the one she first thought of, as the group’s loon. At the time, she was silent and eager to just listen to Kinger’s praise, but ever since she had some time to digest his words, they brought an icy sting of fear with their implication.

If she was like him, did that mean that they shared the same fate?

On that day, from then on, Kinger was the epitome of the loon she that grown to recognize, ever since she was casted into The Amazing Digital Circus. Despite her hopes of having another special moment with the King, she was only met with vague commentary and silly ramblings.

At least it was nothing she wasn’t familiar with.

'You need to share your use.'

Kinger said she had use… and that she needed to share it. Pomni didn’t know what use she had, but that wasn’t the part that she was concerned about. Sharing would imply that she had to have someone that would be willing to accept something from her. While Pomni wasn’t familiar with her new prison, she was far from stupid. Stubborn, yes, but not stupid.

She knew that she had no one.

The unfortunate aftermath of her first day and her decisions she made at the time, labelled her as a reckless, cowardly renegade. No loyalty. No sense of dignity.

Selfish.

Something Kinger warned her against.

Although it was never spoken aloud, Pomni was made aware that she was cast aside. She ran for an exit instead of helping a possible friend. She was ignored by Jax for a reason unknown to her. She was avoided by Zooble for making their partner uncomfortable. She was estranged by Gangle for being too eager – too interested – in the beauty that was the strange, sentient ribbon. She was abandoned by Kinger’s unreliable state of sanity.

She left Ragatha for dead.

And yet...

The ragdoll was Pomni’s only chance. If she was going to get her foot in the door, she was going to have to do everything in her power to get through to that doll. Ragatha was the only one who spared her a glance, aside from Kinger. She even stood aside the jester after she was abandoned by Pomni. It was a clear as day that Ragatha was either crazy, or too good for this world… and the fool was going to bet on the latter. It had to be the latter.

The doll was kind, sweet and reassuring. She constantly provided the little fool with a calm, cool image that Pomni couldn’t help but mirror; like the doll was a surface of a still pool in the dry earth. Ragatha acted like a human. Ragatha also looked mostly like a human. It was something the jester clung to on her first day – someone was still human in the digital world.

After the events of this previous day, she counted Kinger as a weird technicality.

Presently, Pomni was slowly creeping towards a lone, plush couch in the main area with a doll seated comfortably onto it. She was engrossed in the needle and thread piercing though the blue fabric that matched the colour of her dress. From what Pomni could tell, Ragatha was working on something smaller and finer than an article of clothing, but the jester didn’t bother to focus on it too much.

How was she going to start this conversation?

“Hi, it’s me again! You know, the girl who ditched you at the first sight of an amalgamation, came back to give you false hope, then ditched you again, when I saw the first thing resembling an exit. Wanna be friends?”

No, that wasn’t going to cut it.

Pomni didn’t have much to offer aside from her will to make this work, but if that was what she had, she would use it. She wouldn’t make it through another day alone – she wouldn’t! She wasn’t driven to insanity just yet; and be as it may – this digital realm would have to swallow her whole as she fought, thrashed, clawed, and screeched all the way down in her decent.

Pushing. On.

“Oh, hello Pomni!” Ragatha’s voice seeped through her mind from very close by.

That was sudden…

“Hey! Um- what are you making there?” Pomni stumbled through her words. She silently cursed herself for dissociating to the point where she forgot that she was approaching the doll with purpose.

“This?” Ragatha made a lack-luster attempt to gesture to the blue cloth on her lap, “I was just making a little dress for the ragdoll I made. I always find it so awkward to make these tiny clothes. There’s not much room to work with!”

The jester fixed her eyes on the sowing project, using it as an excuse to only glance in attempt to meet the doll’s eyes every now and again. She saw Ragatha scoot herself against one side of the couch before patting the space beside her in invitation for Pomni to take a seat. The ragdoll looked unbothered by her presence, but Pomni didn’t trust the performance.

Gangle wasn’t the only one in the Circus who wore a mask – the ribbon’s mask just happened to be physical.

“I saw you chatting with Kinger the other day.” The doll spoke again, nonchalantly, “Interesting choice in friends you have! But who am I to judge? I’d like to think I’m friends with everyone here, but between you and me, I’m pretty sure that we are all one minor inconvenience away from losing it. Power to Kinger for holding out for so long!”

The gentle easiness of Ragatha’s chatter, while undeniably comforting, felt… well… off – in a sense. It was senseless chatter, but hardly babbling, like small talk. Very well done and maintained by the Ragdoll, who was idly sowing the little dress skirt to the waist of the dress top.

But Pomni realized that that was just it.

The Ragdoll’s words felt like they were rehearsed… and Pomni was just part of a play that she wasn’t aware of. It wouldn’t make sense for Ragatha to be acting so unbothered and calm unless this was staged or practiced. While Pomni wanted to melt into the seemingly normal conversation that Ragatha was trying to coax her into, a deep, primal instinct was screaming for her to remain wary.

She wished for it to just quiet down for once.

“He’s quite the character.” Pomni said with a nervous cackle, to which the doll seemed to beam at. Taking it as a chance to keep the conversation alive, Pomni opted to find answers, “He was acting weird on that day.” That was too vague, Kinger always acted weird, “But like, weirder than normal. But not because he was weirder than normal – it was because he was acting normal.” What was she even saying…? “Well, I mean… normal for Kinger’s standard, which is weird because that is not normal. For him.” She wasn’t making sense! “I MEAN-”

“Whoa! Whoa, easy girl!” Ragatha flagged Pomni down with a easy chuckle, “I understand what you are saying, don’t worry.”

The jester felt the burn of desire to explain herself in the back of her throat, but obliged to the doll’s clear attempt to quiet her down. Instead, she reluctantly awaited Ragatha’s response.

“It sounds like you were describing one of his little ‘resets’ as we like to call them.” The doll explained, calmly and inviting as ever, “It’s like a moment of clarity that he gets occasionally. You’re lucky to have been there for it!”

Pomni decided to let her self-explanation die in her throat, even though she still felt the urge to do so. The doll’s description was good enough for Pomni to push on, “So he’s not completely insane?”

“What? No! None of us are – I think…” Ragatha reassured, while admittedly fading off into her own thoughts as she ended her sentence.

Pomni would think about those things later.

“So… what he told me wasn’t just crazy rambling, then?” she hesitantly asked, looking up to the doll with a fixed gaze for the first time since their encounter had started.

“Likely not!” Ragatha almost cheered, before glancing around and leaning closer to whisper to Pomni, “What exactly did he say?”

The jester paused, wondering what to do and what she could share. From how Ragatha was acting, the things Kinger shared during his ‘resets’ wasn’t something spoken about so casually. If Pomni had an advantaged by knowing something that no one else did, wouldn’t that mean that she had the upper hand in this scenario?

“Come on, Pomni!” Ragatha asked, leaning in even closer, now seeming eager as ever to hear what had the little fool so hesitant to speak, “What did he say?”

Kinger’s warning of selfishness rang in her mind again, causing the ideology of lying to appear less attractive than it was before, but stubbornly, the jester settled on a half-truth instead, “He just told me that I basically need friends.” She laughed in a bitter tone, “A bit of a slap in the face, but I guess he’s right in a sense.”

“Oh!” Ragatha, leaned back to resume her position as she huffed a little laugh, “Well, having friends is healthy! And lucky for you, we are not going anywhere, so you can take your time when warming up to us. No rush – we’ve all been where you are now.”

“That’s a bit hard to believe.” Pomni sighed, causing the doll to look at her in pity as she continued, “You all seem so… happy? No. Adjusted? Everyone is just doing their own thing and minding their own business like it’s nothing.”

“I wouldn’t say that we 'keep to ourselves' and 'mind our own business' as much as you think.” Ragatha spoke, taking the calm and cool, but hardly uninviting demeanor, “We are actually all up in each other’s business. We look out for each other…”

“You call Jax being the spawn of Satan to everyone around him, as him just ‘looking out for you?’ I don’t think that’s a ‘healthy’ relationship, Ragatha.”

“Oh, Jax shows that he cares in his own special little ways.” Ragatha dismissed too easily for Pomni’s liking, “It’s when he ignores you, that you should be worried. It usually means that he couldn’t care less – that he considers you… well… for a lack of a better way to say this; he maybe considers you… kind of… a bit of a, um, waste of his time…?”

Pomni allowed the poor attempt of the doll trying to soften the delivery of the news, to sink in. She reflected on the fact that Jax barely spared her a glance and even acted like she didn’t exist at times. As much as she despised the person that he chose to be towards his fellow Circus-members, it disturbed her just how much he was avoiding her, while he practically tormented the others. If his sick pranks, harmful jokes, and twisted taunting really was more than him just satiating some sadistic fantasy… and if what Ragatha said about him ignoring someone held any form of truth…

Then Ragatha’s words were a warning.

Ice clawed its way up Pomni’s spine. She wasn’t ready to consider that she was already a lost cause – deserted by everyone and only humored by the ragdoll out of common curtesy or pity. Logical reason cried out for the little fool to remember that Jax was still a bad person and that it may be a blessing not to be involved with someone as harmful as he was, but the fact that he looked right through her, while deliberately being a menace to everyone else, had the jester beginning to believe that there was a method to Jax’s madness after all.

The others had been trapped in the Digital Circus for years. Years. If he was really that bad of a person, would the others have made it this far? Clearly there was something that she was missing. Clearly there was something bigger than the bunny being a borderline sadist and the ragdoll being an unconditional saint.

If only she could figure out what it was.

“You drift into your own head a lot.” Ragatha commented with no real thought behind her words, “I can tell that by now. You go quiet when you start thinking. I suggest for you to be careful though – thinking too much is dangerous here.”

“Oh, uh, noted!” Pomni smiled sheepishly, “Thanks, I guess.”

“It’s nothing, maybe I spoke too soon, right?” the doll huffed brightly, “Maybe you are like Gangle… I swear that girl hosts entire conferences in her head. She might be the only one I know of, that’s able to do that without losing it. Trust me, I would know! I’ve been here long enough, second to Kinger, of course.”

Pomni struggled to keep up with the load of information that was being poured onto her.

Jax was a menace, but apparently there was a good reason for it, and he only acted that way with those he regarded. Pomni was being shunned by him, evident by the fact that he ignored her. Kinger was here the longest, followed by Ragatha. Pomni should refrain from thinking too much. Gangle was known for being the thinker or the group.

Her gut was screaming at her mind: everything said, was important – even if she didn’t know why.

But things needed to slow down.

“Gangle is the thinker, huh?” Pomni jumped in before Ragatha could speak again, “So that means she isn’t avoiding me too, right? At least there’s that-”

Ragatha cut her short, although it didn’t seem to be malicious, “What makes you think Gangle is avoiding you?”

“Oh! The other day, she came to talk to me… but things got weird – I made things weird.” Pomni nervously fidgeted as she briefly weighed her limited options to embarrass herself or leave the statement as it was.

She decided on the former, as embarrassment is a small price to pay for survival, “I think I came on too strong? We’re all human, but our bodies are not. She looks so weird, but strangely… I think she’s beautiful. I tried to tell her that, but she backed away very quickly. Her excuse was something about checking in on Zooble and Jax. She’s been walking wide circles to avoid me ever since…”

Pomni looked over to the doll with the intention of seeing just how much she made her cringe with second-hand embarrassment, but she was surprised to find something different.

Something unsettling.

Ragatha was staring ahead with an unfocused expression. Her face was struck with something akin to dread... and although she didn’t have a human body, she appeared as pale and a sheet. Pomni had half the mind to ask if the ragdoll had seen a ghost, but Ragatha’s slow movement to turn her head towards the jester, caused the words to die in her throat.

“Gangle and Zooble are romantically involved.” Ragatha said, any previous cheer from her voice vaporized to nothing but cut-throat, blunt indifference. From what the jester could tell, the doll was done playing coy and dancing around the elephant in the room.

No more games.

“I figured that one out after Jax’s comments about being grossed out by them making out in public.” Pomni shrugged, hoping to ease the atmosphere.

Ragatha refused to deflate, “He was making it clear for you to back off. You- y- you’re in a worse position than I thought, Pomni. No wonder Kinger took pity on you…”

“What do you mean? What are you saying?”

Ragatha finally tore her gaze away from Pomni with a huffed sigh, looking as stressed as she was on the day of Pomni’s arrival, “You need to get your foot in the door. If you don’t get you act together, it will only be a matter of time before they refuse to let me talk to you. Heaven knows how protective they can be at times-”

“Ragatha, I don’t know what you are trying to tell me. Who’re ‘they?’ Why do ‘they’ force you to do anything you don’t want to do?” Pomni asked as confused as she was becoming frantic.

“Pomni, listen. Focus. This is important, okay?” Ragatha turned her whole body to face Pomni, reaching out to rest her hands onto the little fool’s shoulders, only to pull away upon seeing a very familiar look of discomfort in anticipation to the doll’s touch – something she recognized in Jax.

That was something to unpack later.

“Pomni, you have Jax AND Gangle against you now. And you are well on your way to having Zooble reject you too. Do you understand that?”

Pomni nodded, hesitant, but silent.

“If it was just Jax, you could’ve had Gangle to get through to him, but now Gangle is avoiding you too, only leaving Zooble open – and that’s a very generous statement, considering that you were practically flirting with their partner.

“If you can get to Zooble, you’ll get to Gangle. Don’t worry about Jax for now, I’ll handle him. You need to win Zooble over. This is the only way you can win Gangle over. If Gangle shuns you, you are done for. Do you understand?”

Pomni’s head was spinning, but she got the gist of it down.

For some reason, it was important to be in Gangle’s good books. Apparently, the only way to do that, was to befriend the abomination she came to know as Zooble, Gangle’s partner. It made sense that someone would choose to get along with your partner’s friends rather than to resent them, but what didn’t make sense was why it was so important.

And what was that about being shunned?

“Listen, I get it – the ‘getting along with Zooble’ thing, but honestly, what does it matter? There’s people who doesn’t like me and that’s all there is to it, isn’t it?” Pomni desperately pried.

“Not here it’s not.” Ragatha shut her down, “Things are different around here… and here we all need each other. Especially when it comes to Gangle and the role she plays; the roles we all need to play to survive here. I can’t explain everything now, but please… do whatever you have to do to befriend Zooble. It’s the only chance you have for you to be accepted.”

“Fine, I’ll do it! Just calm down!” Pomni exclaimed as she was disturbed, “I don’t get it, but if this cult-thing will make things easier, then so be it. I’ll get Zooble to like me or whatever.”

Ragatha looked defeated as she flopped back to rest her back to the couch, “I know it hard to understand it now, but you will in time. Just focus on Zooble for now.”

“Ok! Ok! I got it, ok?”

Finally… silence…

There was a moment of silence for Pomni to digest the whole encounter. She didn’t understand what she was getting herself into, but she would just play along for the time being. It wasn’t until now that the jester realized how much she craved to have a normal conversation, an argument… hell, she craved to just be mad for a reason other than for things she couldn’t control.

While it was cathartic to engage in the encounter with Ragatha, she couldn’t help but feel hopeless and frustrated with her lack of understanding.

The doll’s voice was soft as it beckoned for Pomni’s attention yet again.

“About Zooble... They like fashion and abstract art. They also prefer to be alone most of the time, so try to catch them when they venture out to start a conversation with someone like me or Kinger. That way, you won’t be a bother.”

Pomni listened keenly as Ragatha continued to give her pointers, “Try to keep anything about you and your thoughts or feelings under wraps to maintain that factor of mystery. Believe it or not, everyone here is still very curious about you, even if they don’t show it – they are just trying to protect themselves from getting involved with someone who might cause them harm. Trust me, you are the talk of the town – use that. Not even Zooble is immune to gossip, as aloof and unbothered as they might seem.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” the jester affirmed.

Pomni slowly stood from her seat and stretched briefly, “Thank you. You actually… might have helped me a lot.”

“Honey, as it stands, you need all the help you can get.” Ragatha quipped without missing a beat. It earned a little chuckle from the fool.

“Yeah, you’re right. Thanks for the reminder.”

Pomni missed the little, tired smile that crept up the ragdoll’s face as she turned away. Pomni wanted to walk around outside. She wanted to clear her head and regain her strength before she braved an encounter with the Zolo-being. Just before Pomni could walk a few steps too far, she stopped in thought, turning around to face the doll once again.

“Hey Ragatha, why exactly are you helping me? Even after everything I put you through?”

“Don’t sweat it, New Stuff.” Ragatha scoffed with no real bite.

Pomni felt a real smile creep its way up her face for the first time since she was trapped in the Circus, “You really are too good for this place... you know that, right?”

Looking over to the doll once again, Pomni saw Ragatha’s face sporting an unreadable expression. It was almost as devoid of emotion and robotic as her voice was, when she spoke words with far too much weight for Pomni’s liking;

“I just do what I have to do.”

Oasis: TADC AU list

Masterlist

[howtodrawyourdragon]

A Helping Hand

Summary: Written for July Break Flash Bingo 2024. Set in a Modern AU. Hiccup struggles as the pain in his leg is especially bad today. Good thing there's a helping hand nearby.

Warnings: /

Rating: Teen and Up

Prompt: Location: Parking Lot

Words: 910

Fandom: How to Train Your Dragon

Characters: Hiccup, Astrid, Eret

Pairing: Hiccstrid, Eretcup

Author's Notes: The first JBB prompt I wrote for in general, no idea why it took me this long to post it.

Anyway, I've been posting some heavy whump as of late, so why not post a much lighter fic for today? :)

Enjoy!

The card and fic are under the Keep Reading.

-XOXOX-

Today is a bad day to go grocery shopping and Hiccup knew that before they left, but he assured Astrid that he would be fine.

He’s certainly regretting it now.

He’s trying not to lean too much on the cart as he limps around, following his fiancée. Astrid is pretty much running around, trying to get as many of the items on their list to cut this shopping trip short. The pain in his stump was less pleasant than usual earlier today, but after driving here and walking around Berk’s one and only supermarket for the past ten minutes, it has become so much more unbearable.

And Astrid is annoyed. Not with his pain, never with his pain, but with the fact that she trusts him to tell her when he can’t do certain things because of his leg and he didn’t do that today.

It’s so bad, the pain in his leg is giving him a migraine. And what doesn’t help are all the people trying not to stare at him.

He had a couple of plans, a few things to do, but it turns out he’ll be canceling all of it. He’ll be glad when they finally get home and he can crawl back into bed.

Eventually, Astrid manages to find the very last item on their list and then they head over to the register with a very full cart to pay for it all. Once all of their items have been scanned, Astrid tells him to go ahead and head for the car while she pays. He shouldn’t even bother to load any of the stuff up, she’ll take care of it.

Not feeling up to argue with her on that, he does as she suggests and heads out ahead of her. He limps out of the store and finds their car in the handicap spot. It is mercifully close.

Still, his limp draws enough attention. Particularly from a man who only moved here a couple of months ago.

“You need any help?” Eret asks. He was just about to walk into the supermarket himself when he spotted Hiccup struggling with the cart. The uneven terrain doesn’t exactly make it easy to use, not with an obviously painful leg.

Hiccup considers how stubborn he’s feeling in the moment before relinquishing the cart to him and nodding. Eret comes over and takes it from him. Crossing those last few meters together, Hiccup opens up the trunk of the car.

He and Astrid don’t use it often, just on days like these, when the alternative is walking across the city with a very achy stump.

“I got this, you go sit down,” Eret tells Hiccup when he attempts to help. The younger man shoots him a grateful smile and heads on over to the passenger seat in front. He’s not driving when his leg is like this, he’s not driving with a migraine, so he’s certainly not driving with both.

He drops into his seat, lies his head back and closes his eyes. They’re heavy, if he wasn’t in so much pain, he would be falling asleep right here as he waited for Astrid.

After barely any time at all, Eret has loaded up all their stuff and returned the cart. Hiccup knows he’s done when he appears at his still open door and gets his coin from the cart back.

“Sir,” he gives him a friendly, though playful smile. Hiccup returns it briefly, which takes more energy than he can spent.

“Thank you for helping out, Eret. I really appreciate it,” he thanks him, but all Eret does is flash him a smile and tell him to take care of himself before heading into the store himself.

In the side-view mirror, Hiccup watches him go.

Eret moved to Berk a good few months ago in the hopes of starting a new life. He hasn’t shared much about his old one, just that he’d made some bad decisions in the past, go involved in a job he hated and then came here when he quit it on a whim.

Currently, he’s working down at the docks as a fisherman.

Hiccup and Astrid are friends with him. Hiccup certainly since he’d gotten his number after that night of bowling with their entire friend group. And although Ruffnut tried very hard to get it all evening, Eret gave it to him just like that after a single conversation.

A moment later, Astrid plops down next to him in the driver’s side.

“I saw you had some help,” she mentions to him.

“Hm-hm.”

A moment of silence.

“Eret is such a hot piece of ass!” She states quietly, as if he’ll be able to hear them inside the car. Hiccup smiles before immediately regretting it and moaning miserably. His entire face is starting to hurt from the migraine.

“Don’t you think so?” Astrid asks as she starts the engine. She knows Hiccup has his number and Eret has his, she’s onboard with the idea of them.

“He’s nice to look at,” Hiccup admits. “But most importantly, he is nice.”

“I wouldn’t mind if he was nice to me, too,” Astrid admits to her fiancé and they share a smile before she drives out of their parking spot and leaves for home.

Inside the store, Eret can’t help but look back as well and watch as the two drive off. His day definitely made afte r an unexpected encounter with them.

-XOXOX-

[pochipop]

＃GENSHIN IMPACT !! ♡ — ON NIGHTS LIKE THESE (KAEYA X READER).

#. synopsis! — kaeya gets sentimental with you over a late-night chat and a bottle of wine .

#. characters! — kaeya .

#. warnings! — mentions of alcohol consumption, slight angst .

#. word count! — 1.7k .

#. alt accounts! — @ddollipop (nsfw) @yyolkchi (reblog/spam) .

#. others! — navigation & masterlist .

#. a/n! — thank you guys sm for 1k followers! it happened a while back, but i haven't had much of anything to post for the past two months or so aside from a few random fics/requests here and there, so i'm a bit late on showing my appreciation. the cold weather here has made me feel pretty low, but i'm doing my best to overcome that as well as some writers block in order to publish at least a few more fics over the course of my winter break from uni! thank you guys again for 1k + i hope you're all doing well! :)

Kaeya doesn’t always head to the taverns at night in order to indulge himself in alcohol. In fact, the bar is more of a social thing for him than it is a drinking thing itself. He goes to sit and chat with Rosaria, —to listen as she gossips and complains about the “uptight” lifestyle she’s forced to portray herself as living during the day. Sometimes, she even lends Kaeya an ear to complain about the more boring aspects of his job: paperwork, small cleanups, and otherwise uneventful happenings that he wouldn’t want to bore anyone else with.

He goes to sit before Diluc, ordering drinks from the young man he was once closer to than anyone else. Even now, a part of Kaeya wonders if that’s still true. After all, it’s no secret that Diluc has largely caged himself away from the rest of the city. The redhead has crawled inside himself, his walls are high, and chances are that Kaeya still knows him better than he knows himself sometimes. Even so, the gap between them is undeniable now, as much as Kaeya likes to sit and joke in the Angel’s Share as Diluc blankly mixes drinks behind the counter. They aren’t the boys they used to be, and sometimes, Kaeya wants to forget about that; so he goes and he sits at the bar. He orders drinks and makes snide comments, and tries to rile Diluc up (to no avail.) It’s like putting a bandage over a surgical wound, —but Diluc is the closest thing Kaeya has to family, and even if it means forcing the bond, he won’t let the elder male slip away completely.

Venti also frequents the taverns, playing drunken tunes and singing less than sober melodies as he throws back dandelion wine with reckless abandon. Sometimes, Kaeya just sits there, watching as the boy who looks far too young to even be drinking in the first place knocks back drink after drink, as if his very life is dependent on how much he can guzzle down in a single night. Where Venti is over-indulgent in every sense of the word; Kaeya is surprisingly tame. At least, for the most part, anyway. . .

Though he’s been known to get plastered from time to time, those nights are few and far between, especially as he’s taken on more responsibilities as the Cavalry Captain and has gotten older, and at least somewhat wiser.

It sounds bad, even when he thinks it only to himself, —but there are times when Kaeya watches Venti and thanks his lucky star he’s not standing in the lowly bard’s shoes. The drunken smile he wears never seems to reach his eyes, and though he grins and dances about, the bitter truth hidden just beneath the surface is that Venti isn’t happy at all. And Kaeya knows that, if only passively.

But Kaeya, —he is happy.

At least, he’s pretty certain that he’s happy, anyway.

He’s got Diluc, although their relationship is marred with guilt and unspoken truths. He’s got a stable job, although it takes quite a bit out of him sometimes and even plays into the bitter parts of his personality from time to time. He doesn’t go hungry unless he does it to himself, forgetting to eat amongst a day’s work, he has a nice, warm bed to sleep in each night, —and Kaeya is loved, valued, and respected by many of Mondstadt’s citizens and visitors alike.

Ah, and lest he forget: he has you.

“Would you like some?” He offers, tilting the bottle of wine grasped tightly in his fist by the neck from side to side.

You can hear the liquid inside slosh about.

“Uh,” you hesitate, but only for a moment, “—sure, why not? It couldn’t hurt.”

Kaeya nods, quickly pouring you a small glass. You don’t often drink with him for a plethora of reasons, but when he drinks at home, he tends to sip slower and savor the flavor more. While his tolerance for alcohol has become quite high over the years, yours pales in comparison. You can hold it down well enough, but your limit is much lower than his own, and the terrain with Kaeya is easier to navigate when you’re not woozy and hazed out.

As the rim of the glass ghosts against your lips, you take a tiny drink before placing it down on the table. Your lover’s sip is longer, taking in more at once, then quickly going in for another.

“I was surprised you said yes,” he admits. “You usually don’t take up my offers to drink together.”

“I say yes sometimes,” you give him a coy smile, “—like tonight.”

He returns your expression with an amused smirk. Kaeya really is a handsome man, and everything about him screams it. From the way his wrist swivels ever so gently with his glass resting along his palm and in between his long, lithe fingers, to the way he charmingly tilts his head a little and raises his eyebrows in soft, barely-there non verbals. 

“I’m glad,” he admits, almosting sighing the words in relief.

“Oh?” Falls from your lips curiously before you have the chance to filter it.

He hums in acknowledgement, taking another sip of wine.

“I’ve been feeling a little sentimental today,” Kaeya tells you, “and I was hoping someone could lend me an ear for a bit. Preferably you.”

“You could have just said that from the start,” you reply, reaching across the wooden table to play with his free hand’s fingers absentmindedly. “I’d have listened whether you poured me a drink or not.”

Of course, Kaeya already knew that much. Even so, he’s always found that alcohol helps him to open himself up to others a bit more, and while the health level of that particular aspect is at least somewhat dubious, he’s yet to find a solid replacement. Thus, he has wine, and is now slightly more prepared to have this conversation; whatever it is to become.

“What’s on your mind, Kaeya?”

He’s so glad you asked.

“Well, the truth is that I've been thinking a lot recently,” he says.

When he doesn’t continue, you speak up again to encourage him to go on.

“About?”

“Ah, well. . . Lots of things,” he notes. “You, more often than not.”

Your heart skips a little beat at his admission. Loving Kaeya is no easy task, but it’s worth it. It’s always been worth it, as it were.

“Good things, I’m hoping?” You joke.

It lands just right with your lover, and his one visible eye all but glimmers like Noctilucous Jade in dazzling moonlight as a small smile plays on his kissable lips.

“Great things,” he says playfully. “Even right now, it’s moments like these that make me stop to think that I’m not really sure I deserve any of this.”

That takes you aback, —but only slightly. Although Kaeya is very good at masking his feelings, stuffing all of his insecurities and worries down in lieu of that cocky, confident facade he shows the world, you’ve come to understand the young knight on a deeper level. The surface is one thing, but Kaeya holds sentiments and emotions deep enough to drown in. And sometimes he does just that.

You suppose tonight is one of those nights.

“When I sit in front of you like this, I think about all the nights I’ve left you waiting up for me, and all the times when I asked for a raincheck on a date that never happened at all. I think about all the promises I’ve broken that I’ve probably never apologized for, and all the times I’ve broken your heart just for you to trust me with it again.”

That. . . Was a sharp turn.

You bring the wine glass to your lips again, taking a slow, savoring taste of the bitter liquid inside. Kaeya watches tentatively as you swallow, as your lips form to the rim and then release it so delicately.

“Did you mean to?” You question calmly.

His brows furrowed together in confusion.

“Did I mean to what?” He asks in return.

“Leave me waiting up. Miss a few dates out of the dozens we’ve had by now. Forget to say I’m sorry when you’re trying to make things better another way, —break my heart a few times over the years as if that isn’t almost inevitable with something like this. Did you do it on purpose?”

“No,” Kaeya shakes his head, “of course not.”

“Well, then that’s that,” you shrug. “I won’t tell you to stop sulking about this if it’s something you need to do for the night, —but don’t forget that I’m not here with you because I need you. I’m here because I want to be. And I want that because I love you, and you might not be perfect, but I’m not either, and if you’re keen on taking some advice from me tonight, I think you should stop holding yourself to a standard you wouldn’t even hold me to.”

He pauses, as if taking the time to let your words sink in, before he starts laughing. It comes straight from his chest, the one you rest your head on at night as his arms snake around you to hold you close to him.

“I love you too,” Kaeya confirms through a snicker, “so much.”

“I know,” you reassure him softly.

Somehow, that little conversation was really all it took to ease him down. It’s easy to forget that even people like Kaeya, who are so seemingly confident and self-assured, can feel inadequate at times and beat themselves up for every little mistake they’ve ever made.

If being with him has taught you anything at all, it’s that soulmates aren’t just destined by the stars that hang brightly in the sky above. Soulmates are maintained, like flowers in a garden that have to be tended to and given the proper conditions to not only survive, —but to thrive. Love isn’t a one-way street, or even a two-way street. It’s a network of roads that intersect and branch off. Sometimes there’s dead ends or rocky stretches of land, but the truth remains with each step you take in any direction: Kaeya loves you, and you love him. And if it’s not written in the stars, then you’ll just have to carve it right into the core of Teyvat itself.

[lux-scriptum]

Romantic confession 23 please 🥺

"after everything you've done, i still love you. with all i am."

cuz I’m so sure with how long all your characters have been around, everyone’s committed an atrocity!

"After everything you've done, I still love you. With all I am." Cadoc’s shoulders curved inwards. “I keep crawling back. Why do you let me?”

The familiar weight of Taegan’s arm was not comforting this time. And yet. He could feel himself unwinding as Tae pulled him into the other demon’s side. “Because if you had anyone else to go to, you would,” Tae said simply. His faint cologne tickled Cadoc’s nose. “Caddie... you don’t make this easy on yourself. You ice everyone out. I’m just used to the cold, and too fucked up to care if I get frostbite. Not everyone has the patience to deal with your temper tantrums.”

Cadoc closed his eyes. “It’s so fucking hard,” he whispered. “You’re all so young. Do you know how many demons my age there are?”

“Thanks,” Taegan said dryly. “I don’t see what that has to do with your temper.”

“It’s hard to see any of you as peers.” The admission burned on the way out. He licked his lips, but didn’t look up. Didn’t even open his eyes. “I know you’re not a child, but-”

“But you’re an old man,” Tae offered. “Grouchy and set in your ways?”

Cadoc choked on his laugh. “Yeah,” he sighed. Bit by bit he melted into Taegan’s hold. If he pretended hard enough he could imagine the kiss to his hair meant something. “Something like that.”

“Well. If your dating pool for people your age is that shallow, you’re going to either have to get used to us younglings not having the life experience you do, or shut up.” Taegan jostled him just a little. “I know at my very young age of just past two centuries, you’re practically robbing cradles, but come on darling. I can’t be all that bad.”  Calloused fingers tipped Cadoc’s chin up. He met Taegan’s green eyes, refused to look away. “This is the saddest birthday I’ve ever witnessed, by the way. Was moping all you had planned?”

“No.” Cadoc could feel his blush, splotchy and prickly, giving him away. He swallowed. “I don’t really care what we do. I’m fine staying here on the couch for the rest of the day.”

“Liar,” Taegan accused softly. His head dipped lower, lips all but brushing Cadoc’s. “You wanted me to fuck you so hard you forget you’re all alone on your birthday again.” 

“And what about it?” Cadoc blustered. He refused to back away, but he also couldn’t bring himself to close the last few centimeters between them. “It’s my birthday.”

“Brat,” Taegan said, indulgent and scolding at the same time. He shifted Cadoc onto his lap. The kiss he’d almost given hung between them. An offer. A tease. A gift, if Cadoc really wanted to take it.

Wasn’t like he had anything better to do with his day.