#sorry for emotional dump in the tags ! still touch and go !

[thebutchprinxe]

my dad just sold his townhouse (my primary residence for the past ? year ish ?), feeling very :/

[daffi-990]

WIP Wednesday 📝

Me: oh yeah the Eddie breakdown fic will probably only be about 5k

Also me: is 6K into said fic with the end not even in sight 😅

Gotta love when a fic gets away from you haha. Anyways, I was going to share this snippet yesterday but opted for the Buck/Taylor one instead cos it felt more of a tease. This one … I really like the dog metaphors I used in the fourth paragraph and really want to share it with you. Enjoy!

“You planning on moving in?” Eddie jokes as Buck walks into the lounge room with his stuff.

Buck laughs but there’s not much humour behind it. “Uh maybe?” Buck dumps his suitcase on the couch and turns back to Eddie. “Taylor and I we- we broke up.” He spreads his arms to the side in a what can you do way, huffing when he drops them, the sound of his hands hitting his jean clad thighs loud in the silence that his news has brought.

Eddie’s face remains neutral, but his eyes flicker with emotion, the briefest flash of hope lighting up his irises and Buck wants to pause time, to take a moment and ask Eddie what it means. Is it the same hope that beats inside Buck’s own heart? Clawing at the cage of his own making every time Eddie’s touch or gaze lingers for too long to be brushed under the veil of friendship. But just as fast as the hope appeared it’s gone again, concern now etched all over Eddie’s face, his eyes also holding a small sentiment of relief.

Buck knows Eddie has never been a fan of Taylor’s. From the day she sauntered into the firehouse after they’d rescued her, Eddie’s hackles were up, like a dog when someone is unwelcome in their territory. He’d bared his teeth but Taylor had claws and wasn’t so easily deterred. At Buck’s insistence, Eddie had pulled back, grumbling and growling, and when Buck had announced they were dating, Eddie’s growling died down and he became impassive, making sure to be polite to Taylor when she was around. Buck has always suspected though that Eddie took his issues and dislikes about Taylor to someone else, needing to snarl and gnash about the interloper but not wanting to upset Buck.

Eddie has none of that reservation anymore, the news of Buck’s breakup unlatching the muzzle that’s kept his best friends bark quiet for too long.

“I’d say I’m sorry you guys broke up, but I’d be lying.” Buck snorts at Eddie’s honesty, the other man grinning sheepishly before his expression turns more sincere. “I am sorry you’re hurting though. I know you loved her. God knows why.” An incredulous look crosses Eddie’s face that Buck doesn’t think he meant to make and for some reason it sets Buck off, laughter bubbling out of him.

It doesn’t take long for Eddie to follow, his laugh such a wonderful and welcomed sound after last night. It’s a light among the darkness, a sign that Eddie is still here and fighting, not lost to him in the pain of his past.

No pressure tagging: @jamespearce9-1-1 @hippolotamus @thewolvesof1998 @steadfastsaturnsrings @wildlife4life @watchyourbuck @wikiangela @exhuastedpigeon @elvensorceress @eddiebabygirldiaz @evanbegins @rainbow-nerdss @rewritetheending @the-likesofus @try-set-me-on-fire @theotherbuckley @princessfbi @puppyboybuckley @athenagranted @sibylsleaves @shortsighted-owl @shitouttabuck @spotsandsocks @devirnis @disasterbuckdiaz @donationwayne @fortheloveofbuddie @fiona-fififi @giddyupbuck @hoodie-buck @honestlydarkprincess @homerforsure @nmcggg @jesuisici33 @jeeyuns @loserdiaz @ladydorian05 @lover-of-mine @captain-hen @bekkachaos @monsterrae1 @malewifediaz @spagheddiediaz @mellaithwen and anyone else wanting to share something, be it fic, art, gif, music .. whatever you want ❤️

[iiwaijime]

track 01.

mlist.

cws. major character death, nightmares, blood, guns.

wc. ? 1k

tooru tightens his grip on the metal loops around his fingers; the once cool-to-the-touch surfaces of the dog tags now warmed up by his skin. he clutches them close to his heart and lets his eyes flutter shut. and suddenly, for a brief moment, iwaizumi is just in the other room, and the golden light behind his eyelids emanates from the antique lamp on his bedside table instead of the shitty fairy lights he'd salvaged from an abandoned garbage dump, and he can almost hear the smooth classical music that he'd listen to to relax — almost. but then the soothing scene he's conjured up in his head is shattered by a crazed thumping of fists on the doors of his bunker, and a gutteral scream splits the night in two. he is no longer in his room, and his hands are slick with blood — iwaizumi's blood — and he looks up, only for his eyes to meet a pair of green ones, ones that are glassed over unnaturally. he knows what this look means; he's good as dead already, and there's nothing that can be done. but still.

"oikawa," he croaks. "tooru, run."

he shakes his head vehemently. "no, i can't leave you, not like this—"

he doesn't register the fact that he's crying until much later. but right now, he can't run, he can't move, and he can't leave iwaizumi.

tooru is cut off by a bullet that whizzes past his cheek, and it's enough to shock him out of his stupor, and make him listen to his body, his brain, that's been screaming at him this whole time.

it's then he notices it, glittering around iwaizumi's neck. his eyes widen, and he's bending down again, getting on his knees before he can even think, head bent as he undoes the clasp and pulls the pair of dog tags away from his best friend.

"i'm sorry," he gasps, and the tags, glinting in the sunlight, seem to catch iwaizumi's attention. his mouth twists up into a pained half-smile; tooru's heart wrenches painfully in his chest, and iwaizumi mouths something like go. he's barely turned around, tags in hand when his world explodes in pain as a second bullet nicks his ear.

he stumbles away, unable to look back. heavy footsteps follow, and soon he's running faster than he can catch up with his thoughts. all the same, he prays. he's not sure to what, but he just does. please, get up. please? if not you, then who?

eventually, he manages to outrun them, but he keeps running still. now, it's hard to differentiate between his sweat and tears and his blood and iwaizumi's blood, and the tags are slipping out of his hands even as it coagulates. and then he's falling, and the dog tags go flying, and everything around him turns into an inky black.

this is definitely not the first time tooru has woken up sobbing from a nightmare, free hand fisting his cheap, wrinkled, plasticky sheets. he lets the tags fall to the bed slowly, examining the indents it left in his palm with a sort of disconnected wonder. various pinks and reds decorate his palm, but the tags are okay, and therefore so is he.

he swings his legs off the bed and quietly pads to the door, checking and rechecking the locks, even though he'd locked them himself a few hours ago. he's halfway under the blankets when he decides to check one more time, just in case. in these times, you never know.

he counts his sips as he drinks his water, counts the steps it takes for him to get to the "kitchen" from his bed and back. (forty-two steps, twenty-one each way.) he knows he could probably do it with much less, but tonight he's taking the tiniest steps, because while he has to sleep, he's also trying to put it off for as long as possible. he doesn't like sleeping, because sleeping means dreaming, and dreaming means that every emotion, every feeling, every though he's pushed down comes clawing out of his chest to infiltrate the secure fortress of his mind. it's not really secure anymore, though. it's really just falling apart.

he does not like telling people this, but tooru oikawa is a hopelessly sentimental person. he thinks and remembers and yearns and dreams, and tonight he dreams of The Fair. it's where they got the dog tags done, him and iwaizumi. tooru had begged and begged, and even paid for both of theirs instead of just his own. it'll be cool, he'd said. matching best friend shit, for the memories. yeah, for the memories, all right.

this time, though, he's trying to shoot down targets over a pool of water. and the thing is, he is winning. but every time he hits one, the spongy darts turn into real bullets, and the targets melt into iwaizumi's face, and the water is no longer water — it's blood.

he doesn't have the energy to panic after this one, and there's light streaming in through the skylight anyways, so it's time to get up. his body aches, complains every time he moves; he steadfastly ignores it as he goes through the all-too-familiar motions of his day. any other day, and he'd let himself laze around, but today just so happens to be the most important day of the fortnight — the day he restocks all his supplies (or tries to, anyways).

he gives up on working out halfway through, rolling onto his back with a groan. everything hurts. he still can't not go out, though, so instead of heading out later, he decides to do it now. more time to sleep later, then. he cleans up, changes into more protective gear. guns, check. knives, check. what's he missing— oh. tags, check.

the two pairs hang together on matching hooks. he remembers the day he'd fixed the hooks there, clear as day. he'd been sobbing as he worked, the... remnants of iwaizumi a neat little pile in a corner in the form of bloodstained clothes. the smell permeated the entire bunker, but he hadn't been ready to throw it away just yet.

the broken down convenience store on top of the hill sneers down at you mockingly; your joints ache from how far you've walked and you're not even sure if you'll be able to make it up. you drop your duffel bag with a sigh, before turning around to sit down beside it — only to be met with the muzzle of a gun.

"don't move," the masked person says sharply. the voice is vaguely familiar, but then again, being alone for so long has probably skewed your senses at least a little bit.

"huh?"

they step closer, gun still trained on you. "i'll take everything you got, thank you."

your own defiance surprises you, words rushing out before you can stop yourself — even though you don't really have anything worth taking with you. "no, the fuck you won't."

they hum appreciatively. "you've got fire, i'll give you that — but i'm no stranger to pulling the trigger, so don't try anything."

"what do you want?" you ask, guarded, cautious. "i'm not giving you my bag."

"guess i'll just have to take it myself, then," they say, an amused lilt to their tone, and suddenly everything's a blur as you rush towards them, arms outstretched. the power of the shove catches them off guard — they hadn't even been expecting it, so they stumble back, but only for a second. it's still enough for the hood to fall back, and the mask to tumble to the ground, and then you're staring into familiar brown eyes. he shakes dark hair out of his eyes, glaring at you.

"the f—"

"tooru?" you gasp. "tooru oikawa?"

he blinks.

"i'm y/n! we were friends, remember?"

"no fuckin' way," he breathes, and you're tugging your own mask off, watching his face clear while he lowers the gun. "shit, you're alive?"

you nod, relief flooding through your veins before your heart drops again. the gun is aimed back at you once more; tooru stares at you, face a blank slate. "i'm glad you're alive, really. you know i'm not a bad guy, right? i just—" he shrugs, smiling wryly. "this entire situation's fucked, and my life is a higher priority to me than yours."

"what—"

"what's in the bag?" his voice is amiable, but his expression and the way his hands are unwavering as he holds you at gunpoint tell a completely different story.

"i don't have food," you tell him coldly. he says nothing, inching closer ever so slightly.

"really?" his voice taunts you, light and sing-songy, completely out of place in this situation.

"goddamnit, tooru!" you snap. "i haven't eaten in two fucking days, are you happy now?"

"oh," he says. "that's not good."

it's annoying, how he's switching from caring to not, in literal seconds; how he seems to be happy that you're alive, but threatens your life a moment later. "what's it matter to you?"

his jaw hardens. it looks like he's fighting some sort of internal battle, before he sighs and starts walking towards you. you back away instinctively, intensely aware of the gun still trained on you, until he stops abruptly and glances to the side. you follow his eyes, taking in a sharp breath when you realise he's successfully separated you from your precious duffel bag. "do you have any weapons on you?"

"why, do you plan to take those too?"

he sighs exasperatedly. "no. in fact, i have a proposition."

after losing his best friend, tooru oikawa promised himself to never get attached to anyone again. so what exactly is he doing right now, taking you back to his bunker like a lost puppy to feed and take care of?

"tooru, you asshole," you seethe as the two of you walk in. you're mad at him — rightfully so, with all the mixed signals he's sent you between the murder threats and the concern — but still grateful to have food and a place to stay, even if it's only for a little while. not that he's specified how long, of course, but you don't expect him to want you to stay forever.

you're wary, always on guard, a feral animal who never lets down. tooru thinks you might actually hate him.

chapter notes!!

buildups? we don't know her!!

tooru is really good at this apocalypse game. you're alive by sheer luck.

yeah tooru's acting freaky rn but we'll get a him pov next chapter

i hope.

they're not exactly friends rn,, ur MAD mad cs he threatened to murder u??? basically???? so drama next ch

taglist — 12/50, add yourself please — form

@akaakeis @akaashislovee @mikauraurr @lulumi1u @dawnisatotalqueen @anqelkoz @kayleedelulu @buckturd @mjustag1rl @ilovemymomscooking @kang-ulzzang

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[mushroomnoodles]

its no problem at all- i quite love your comments! this does, however, make me want to go into some further detail on simon's journey and emotional state and just.. events during his pregnancy with morrigan. granted, i'm no writer- i'm much more of an artist, but i guess this kinda stuff has me thinking a lot? so sorry if it's weird.

tw for the sfw and non kink mpreg talk ofc, also i touch on simon being depressed and feeling like a burden again. but there's fluff in there too i swear! not tagging this under art because.. i didn't actually draw anything but myself. lol

i think something i find really fascinating, especially from personal experience, is how hard it is to change your frame of mind. it takes long, consistent effort, and you generally have to want to do it. simon becomes pregnant with morrigan, oh.. i don't know, 6-10 months after the events of F + C? he's 60 years old, physically at least. he's going to therapy and staying away from the bar, he's going outside for walks to get that sunlight and appreciate nature.

then GOLBetty dumps a baby in him. simon isn't instantly attached to the baby yet- this whole thing is sudden and terrifying. his mind is racing with thoughts of some terrifying chaos entity inside him, because god knows it's not a normal child with the way pb's equipment has been literally blown to smithereens at the mere attempt to monitor the fetus.

but he's refusing to terminate the pregnancy, because betty had to have wanted this for him if she did it. they wanted kids before everything happened, and she did so much for him- gave up her ambitions, her body, her humanity- she was asking this one thing from him, and it was the absolute least he could do in return.

also.. betty's not coming back. ever. not as his betty. this is a piece of her she's given to him. a parting gift. how could he ever let that go?

even at risk of death or worse, he couldn't bring himself to do it. and simon starts to struggle again, even if he tries to resume his life- he's so hyperaware of this thing growing inside him, and because of its mother he doesn't dare say or announce anything. he agrees with pb on that part- carrying a child of GOLB(etty) is definitely not something any of them want to make public.

he refuses minervabot's therapy in fear she'll detect his pregnancy, or worse, fucking explode.

simon's so guilty and yet so determined by his sense of duty to betty- betty wouldn't do this if she knew it would destroy ooo, he rationalizes, she wouldn't do this if it would kill him, surely? (golbaby, aware unbeknownst to simon, hears his fretting and decides to take a form that closely resembles his own, because they don't want to scare him.)

but simon's a dad at heart. of course he's going to warm up to the baby. and subconsciously, constantly defending betty's decision (to the girls and in his mind) slowly wears down his apprehension, too. and then he finally feels golbaby kick and it's scary because it's new but it's nothing like he thought it was going to be if he was carrying some.. inherently evil chaos entity his deepest fears (and pb, gently) were telling him it was. (not that he wouldn't have loved it in some degree anyway. look at him.) it was more.. just like a gentle reminder that the thing in him is, y'know, alive. like.. alive. it's just a little guy. huh.

and suddenly it's not really about betty's wish as much, it's about.. like.. getting ready to be a parent to this little guy inside him! and there is so much to do and prepare for. even with golbaby's powers sparking up and effecting the world around him in bizarre ways, simon is more and more convinced that it's just.. a baby. a baby what, he had no clue, but it was a baby, and it was going to be his.

but simon is still shutting down his life around him, because he has to. he's getting bigger and he can't really hide his pregnancy constantly anymore. he shuts down his exhibit and has to go out hunched over in his big ass bulky coat, and it's not too long before he simply leaves the human city altogether, because golbaby is fucking with any machine he passes by. and he's not about to be like, "oh no, i'm not trying to break your stuff, i'm just pregnant with the offspring of the most powerful cosmic entity known and it's an unfortunate side effect. sorry"

being alone is hard! especially when the pregnancy symptoms got worse he just found himself missing betty, not just in the normal way but the, yknow, you knocked me up and i could really use some emotional support way. but also in the please god i just wanna be a little spoon rn way. marceline was there for him (assured him he could call her anytime, too) but he wasn't calling her as much as he should. he didn't want to bug her too much. he knew the whole ordeal was freaking her out anyway, and he tended to keep his innermost thoughts to himself when she'd take him out to see pb. pb wasn't helping either, and neither was constantly seeing the effect the baby had on her equipment.

seeing yourself as something other than a burden and an outcast is a hard thing to get rid of, and sometimes he'd just cling to that idea of pushing onwards because somebody is relying on him now- even when the depression had its really bad point simon was pushing himself to take care of himself because golbaby was depending on him to. he still dragged himself to the store to buy groceries and shit, just for his kiddo. this idealogy didn't last- that he was simply going on because his baby needed him to, but it was a good way to keep his head above the water. simon feeling as though he has a purpose keeps him going through extremely difficult times.

things look up again when unexpectedly fionna and cake pay a visit to his new place in the woods. he tries to hide that he's pregnant- he has been since the start, but it doesn't work in person. he kinda breaks down and has a heart to heart with fionna, and they just sort of end up having tv dinners while sitting on the kitchen floor with cake as a pillow.

it gives him some time out of his head. helps him remember all that stuff minerva told him about handling his feelings and coping with them. he goes back to his walks (and getting that sweet sunshine) and i particularly enjoy imagining him awkwardly asking marceline if she wants to come over for dinner.. he has this board game he wants to try and he needs two people..

he finally says yes to the clothes shopping offer too after a while, and fionna keeps in close touch with him to make sure he's doing ok! simon loves listening to her stories and whatever is happening in his little brain universe. plus, he actually goes out and eats or shops sometimes! wow! he bought a lava lamp! cool!

and even when pb ends up placing that seal on him, he keeps his head up and focuses on those things to keep his mood and social life up because he's not about to let himself go back to that state of being again. you got this dr petrikov.

plus, when pb finally builds a machine that can handle golbaby's power and he finally, finally gets to hear their little, very much human heartbeat? he is over the fucking moon. getting to see that ever so fuzzy outline of the baby on the sonogram? serotonin +10000. there it is! simon doesn't happy cry often but he was happy bawling holding that little picture like a lifeline.

(side note, fionna is very entertained by how sassy he gets during the last few months of his pregnancy when golbaby is sealed. simon's filter is slacking. marceline's pretty amused, too.)

he feels like he can hold his own again, sort of, i guess? and golbaby is very much still his purpose, but he knows just being alive is good enough. maybe he still doesn't entirely believe it yet, but he keeps saying it aloud and in his brain so eventually he will.

uh, i was a human being who also felt like i had to have purpose to justify living. soo.. the ups and downs of the journey are important to me, cause i had them too! i'm still growing and learning (and i have a lot of work to do, i'm pretty young) but. idk. shakes simon around like a chew toy

[iibonniee]

hi guys! i am here for a life update! (this is about to be lengthy)

firstly, i would like to apologize for any confusion i might have put out there. there have been times where i felt like i was almost out of this funk i was in, only to find out that i wasn't quite there yet. it was, and still is, so fucking exhausting. coming into 2023 was honestly a mix of emotions for me. a part of me dreaded it, while the other half was well aware of the excitement that could come in with the new year. i will be honest with you guys, i have barely touched tumblr in the 5 months let alone anything such as notes or docs. april and this month alone i have felt so much darkness around me. this unfortunately was the second year without my dad. i don't want to go into too much details about it, but i am slowly getting out of that funk. it really kills me and i personally feel as if i am dealing with this alone and i hate that but i am managing.

this year has shown me a lot. it has shown me where people stand in my life, who i should try to hold close and who i shouldn't. it was and still is such a contributing factor to my depression. the people i considered as friends don't really need me at all, and if they do they are showing a terrible job at it. as much as it hurts, i eventually need to cut ties with these people so i can step forward with my life. i need consistency, some sort of foundation so i'm not in such a mess.

i know this line is probably getting old reading, but i cannot express the amount of gratitude i feel that people still support me even on my unannounced hiatus. when i get tagged as someones favorite monsta x writer, i wish you could see the smile on my face. it is moments like those that truly make me miss putting content out. sadly, the months of being on and off with writing has given me massive writers block and i am absolutely stuck. being a perfectionist makes the matter all the more worse. i can promise you guys that i have been writing, even if it was bit by bit, and i am so excited to reveal all the exciting ideas i have in the coming future

i love you guys deeply. my moots, my silent readers, all of you. i am beyond grateful for every single one of you. my heart is full and content. please, never hesitate to message or even send an ask. i might not be as active, but i will always make time for people. i love you guys so much, and i am sorry for this dump i just piled on you all. i hope you can understand and i hope this helps clue you in as to where i was. i will be back, that much i promise. keep being amazing and beautiful fucking souls as i know you all are.

until we chat again, bonnie <3

[cr4yolaas]

the first time they say “i love you” — various jjk men

tags: fluff, angst, cursing, descriptions of injury (gojo), guilt, not proofread

haikyuu version

𝜗𝜚 nanami kento

the soft lights of his kitchen fell onto your faces, each string of golden light illuminating every muscle, vein, and bone. there was a comfortable silence floating about. for once, you are both at peace — save for the bits of dried blood littered on your flesh and the distraught uniforms you’ve both discarded into some random corner.

you had finished your mission with him far too late, thus leading to his insistence that you stay the night. you could not decline, not when he bore a tincture of a smile on his lips and a warm radiance that whispered your name in delicate tones. you found yourself clad in his sleep shirt that was much too large for your frame. he pretended to not be enamored by the sight.

“kento,” you spoke. “can you put in the potatoes?”

curry was the meal of choice for tonight. very rarely did a man as strict as him indulge himself in such a meal, but he could only surrender to your persistence.

“of course,” he murmured absentmindedly while dumping the potatoes into the pot one by one as you continued to stir.

a small word of appreciation left your lips as you maintained your attention on the meal. the sight was overwhelmingly domestic, nanami noticed. he felt it in the way you wore his clothes with such familiarity, and in the way you wore his house slippers. it was evident in the way you used his kitchen utensils as if they were yours, and in the way you focused so intently on the contents of your creation.

nanami kento was overwhelmed by the warmth you exuded.

with his voice ghosting through the air and onto your skin, he whispered a soft “i love you,” the words foreign on his tongue yet natural all the same.

your stirring came to a halt. nanami feared he had done something wrong, until you beamed at him with a gentle phrase of reciprocation, each syllable making his lips curl up into a smile he had not worn for a handful of moments.

𝜗𝜚 gojo satoru

satoru felt a little too strongly at times. his emotions crashed and burned and fueled disasters in his chest that ruptured into much, much larger catastrophes, leaving him no longer the strongest, but instead the most vulnerable.

you sat on the table as shoko inspected your body. shallow, intermittent breaths escaped from the cracks between your teeth, the most immediate evidence of your struggle (as if the gaping tear in your arm and the gash along your side weren’t enough).

satoru observed quietly, bearing a patience that was foreign on his tongue. long lost promises of protection and safety seemed to be gone with the tides. acknowledging that much left him neutered.

he watched as shoko left the room without as much as a whisper. you placed your weight against your unharmed arm, allowing your legs to dangle off the edge of the metal. he loathed the sight — not because of you, but because of what happened to you. he approached you slowly, his footsteps in limbo as he neared the table.

with a touch that was slightly too rough, he placed his hands on your thighs, his calloused fingertips rubbing against the marred flesh. “i’m sorry,” he murmured. “i should’ve been there. fuck, i’m so sorry.”

you shook your head at him, to which he displayed disapproval of. “it was out of your control,” you whispered. he was grateful to hear your voice intact, at the very least.

“still,” he argued. “i told you i was going to help you. and now, because of some reckless mistake, i’ve landed you on this table while i’m unscratched. it isn’t fair.”

“it’s not your fault, satoru. i’m still here, aren’t i?”

gojo satoru was weak to your words. he buried his head into the space between your shoulder and neck, his haggard breaths fanning against your exposed skin. “i love you,” he uttered into your flesh, as if hoping his display of devotion would embed itself into each fiber of muscle and bone. “don’t leave me.”

𝜗𝜚 toji fushiguro

toji wasn’t quite watching carefully (like you told him to) when you wrapped up his wounds. he knew he was supposed to. but he couldn’t bring himself to, not when the dim lights of his bathroom painted you graciously, akin to the songs of heaven falling upon the most heralded angel.

his angel — a double meaning, defined both by your persistence to tend to his injuries and your gentle nature, relative to him, at least.

he wasn’t sure if the way you pulled harshly on the wrappings or the way you cursed at him incessantly would be considered very gentle by most. but to him, it was the strongest wave of tenderness he had encountered.

“stop getting into stupid shit,” you berated, your voice reverberating against the cramped walls. “i can’t keep doing this, you big child.”

the quiver in your lip sold your anxiety, the sight leaving toji with much bemusement. without much hesitation, his voice tumbled out of his mouth, a strong profession of love leaving his lips and falling onto your ears.

you paused in your actions, the medical wrap halfway around his hand. “… say that again?”

“i said i love you. what, are you mean and deaf now?”

you tore of the remainder of the tape with a newfound ferocity at his accusation, feigning ignorance to the heat rushing to your face and the stutters in your breath. “no, i just can’t fathom the idea of you saying something like that.”

toji fushiguro found himself smiling down at you. a gentle warmth encapsulated his very being and drenched him with a vulnerability he had not uncovered in years.

“believe me anyways.”

[etoiile]

ami, ami, tell me more about your selfships, please. i love hearing/reading them ^^

RAHHHH noo i hope that you know this door cannot be closed once its been opened (｀ω´) ANYWAYS HERE WE GO

okok so my biggest one for blue lock is definitely REO. and here's why

reo lowkey has like attachment and abandonment issues (thanks nagi!!) and like .... ME TOO!! (cries in parental problems) so we'd both be like very attached to each other and wouldnt ever have to doubt if the other person loved us and much as we loved them. NO INSECURITIES YAY!!!

reo loves pampering people. its his love language. I LOVE BEING PAMPERED BC IT MAKES ME FEEL SO SPECIAL (again cries in parental problems lol my parents never made me feel special HAHAHA) (this post is actually js me trauma dumping)

reo is very perceptive to emotions and so am i ^^ im not too good with expressing how im feeling so having someone who can just tell is so nice

idk why but like i love being carried for some reason. AND REO CARRIES NAGI EVERYWHERE ITS PERF !!!!!

reo talks enough where i dont feel stupid for talking too much but he's also not too talkative which is good bc i love talking (clearly)

i am actually nagi 2.0. like i am nagi nagi is me. WE ARE THE SAME. im really lazy and clingy and unmotivated hehe and reo loves nagi so therefore reo loves me!!!!! (this is my delusion talking)

i think that reo really needs to feel like he's needed. and like. ME TOO BRO!!!!!! im good at making people feel like they mean a lot to me coz im very affectionate and i think that that's something that reo really needs

he's kind of a teasey flirt?? but like not too much where i'm like boy stfu like i dont want an f-boy but i think that like teasing is fun. idk he's just sassy and i think its cute ^^

reo is just so earnest and caring and un-judging, if that makes sense. im really sensitive and a crybaby, but he seems like the kind of guy to welcome me into his arms regardless of my flaws. (unlike sae no offense who's a judgy bitch. still love him tho!!)

reo is rich and my grades lately are looking like im gonna have to marry rich (´ε｀；)

the other ones are chigiri (a good listener but not TOO quiet, sweet and sassy which is fun, def has a better haircare routine than me) and nagi (because we're pretty similar)

ok. ONTO HAIKYUU!! (if ur wondering i have a ton of hq works sitting in my drafts lol. I PROMISE I'LL COME OUT WITH ONE SOON!!!) (jk no promises)

SUGA AND OSAMU AND SUNA. i'll keep these ones short coz i feel like ive made this too long alr lol

suga:

super sweet!! i cant deal with too much meanness (like tsukishima)

despite sweetness hes still super silly and sassy which is just fun

emotionally perceptive (like reo!!) put reasoning for why i need an emotionally perceptive guy above ^^

osamu:

shared love of food LOLL

i have a thing for twins idk why LOLOL. im sorry this is so random but it had to be said. i also like kaoru from ohshc. and like. my current irl crush is an identical twin. IDK WHY ITS LIKE THIS BUT IT IS HAHAHA (i think maybe its bcoz like between the two of them one is always more quiet/perceptive so i notice that?? idek bro)

quieter!! yes!!!!!!!

he would give the best hugs ever. like osamu is just so squishy and yes and he would give such good hugs!! (sobs in touch starved) (this is ur sign to make smth w/ a touch-starved s/o and tag me. im begging u.)

suna:

A FLIRT. i js think its fun

js super goofy

he seems like a really good listener

PERCEPTIVE!!!!!

im sorry this was so long i just couldn't stop yapping once i started lolol

[karahalloway]

Catching up on your stuff again!

“Oh…ah…” Drake stuttered over his words as his brain spun frantically trying to find the right thing to say that would make his romantic gesture less romantic and not awkward.

This description 👌

“Yeah, well, that fell through.” “Oh, Drake, I’m so sorry!” Her voice was full of so much sympathy that he felt like an ass for lying.

...because he never had any plans 😏

“It wasn’t anything serious anyway.” The truth was, he had canceled the date when he’d realized Riley would be left home alone. He had only asked the girl out so that he wouldn’t be home when Liam arrived. Not out of jealousy, but fear of discovery. He was sure his best friend could read his love for his supposedly in-name-only wife all over his face.

Okay... somehow, that is even more gut-wrenching and sad... 😢

It was getting harder to fight his feelings for her. The more Liam fucked up and neglected her, the harder it became. He wasn’t jealous of Liam per se. He loved the guy, and he was fully aware of the myriad web of circumstances that had led to him having to marry for political alliances and not love. Still.

Agree - it's hard not to develop some kind of emotional involvement in this situation. I mean, he is literally living with Riley...

Every relationship he had entered had ended before it really began. Two or three dates at most. Several of the women had dumped him citing with confusion that he seemed to actually love his wife.

“Deep fried chicken and cheese stuffed avocado.” He told her as he pulled her chair out for her.

Drake always knows to bring the comfort food!

“Yes,” he affirmed as he took his own seat. “I know it’s your favorite.” “But…how? I gave the kitchen staff the night off!” Neither of them had planned to be home. “Oh, ah…” a flush spread across his face as he rubbed the back of his neck, “I made it.”

He tried to lighten the mood. “I’m offended that you’re this impressed, Riley. I have mad kitchen skills.” “I know. I just can’t believe that you did all this for me.” A single tear slid down her cheek.

The guilt was back at the reminder of the impossible situation Liam had been placed in, but it was mingled with hurt, embarrassment, and a fair amount of anger.

Gah! I don't blame her convoluted feelings! It's a tough spot to be in! Not wanting to feel vindictive, but at the same time not being able to help it... 😟

She lifted her eyes to his face as he regaled her with tales of Max’s misadventures from when he had tagged along on Drake’s latest fishing trip with Bastien. “… And then he tripped over the side of the boat and fell in the water!” Drake shook with laughter at the memory.

How the hell did I know that this was going to be the punchline?! ����🤣🤣

Her eyes focused on his mouth hoping he didn’t notice the flush on her face as her mind refused to stray away from imagining what his lips would feel like on her neck, on her mouth…other places….

I see where this is going...

And yet it was Drake who had attended her grandmother’s funeral with her. It was Drake who had taken care of her when she had the flu last year. And it was always Drake who picked up the pieces after Liam shattered her heart time and time again. Why was she keeping him at arm’s length?

They were both laughing as their gazes met. A sudden silence descended on them as they stared into each other’s eyes. The smiles faded as lips parted and breath caught.

She moved first, bringing her lips to his. Her kiss was tentative. His response was not.

YES! I loved this! The fact that he's just like 'fuck it' and goes for it!

His eyes flew open, and he fixed her a look that was almost pleading. “What do you want from me, Riley?”

He swallowed thickly and tried for a normal tone of voice. “The movie…” Her hand slid up his thigh to the bulge in his pants. “A movie? Is that really what you want right now?”

She's killing him, poor dude 😅

She cried out in protest when he withdrew that touch. “Why are you stopping?” “I…we shouldn’t…”

Before he could decide how to proceed, there was a knock at the door.

There was only one person it could be this late.

Yes... Indubidably...

He needed a shower. A cold one.

He sprinted up the stairs, taking them two at a time. He slammed his bedroom door behind him and then leaned back against it, gently banging his head into it several times before muttering to himself, “The fuck did I just do? Stupid, stupid, stupid!”

Such a Drake reaction!! Love it!!

They had crossed a line tonight. A line that couldn’t be uncrossed. Even though they hadn’t done the deed, the genie was out of the bottle-- his feelings for her, their obvious sexual attraction to each other, all of it. He just had no idea what to do about any of it.

Ahhhh! The angst! This was great! Now I want to reread the whole series all over again! 😆

My Lonely Valentine (The Agreement) A One-Shot

Series: The Agreement

Fandom: The Royal Romance

Pairings: Riley x Liam, Riley x Drake

Rating: NSFW 🍋🍋🍋

Warnings for this chapter: Lemons, or should I say almost lemons? Lemon adjacent?

Word Count: 3,269

A/N: This is a prequel one-shot. Occurs before the events in the main series.

Submission for the @choicesholidays Valentine's Day prompts.

My other stuff: Master List.

Riley walked into the informal dining room of Balymore, her estate in Valtoria, to find the table draped with a red silk cloth, flames flickering from wrought iron candelabras, and gleaming silver cloches gracing the tabletop.

Her mouth fell open and she turned to her husband in name only in astonishment. “What is all this?”

“Oh…ah…” Drake stuttered over his words as his brain spun frantically trying to find the right thing to say that would make his romantic gesture less romantic and not awkward. “I…um…I know you were disappointed that Liam had to cancel your plans for today, so I just wanted to do something to cheer you up.”

Disappointed was an understatement. It was Valentine’s Day and Liam had cancelled their plans. She shouldn’t be surprised. She should be used to it. But it hurt. A good cry and a hot bath had helped, but after a long nap, she’d found herself ravenous. Her quest for food had led her downstairs where she’d followed her nose to find the source of the delicious aroma wafting up to her.

Confusion pinged through her as she took in his demeanor. “What about your plans? Didn’t you have a date?”

“Yeah, well, that fell through.”

“Oh, Drake, I’m so sorry!” Her voice was full of so much sympathy that he felt like an ass for lying.

“It wasn’t anything serious anyway.” The truth was, he had canceled the date when he’d realized Riley would be left home alone. He had only asked the girl out so that he wouldn’t be home when Liam arrived. Not out of jealousy, but fear of discovery. He was sure his best friend could read his love for his supposedly in-name-only wife all over his face.

It was getting harder to fight his feelings for her. The more Liam fucked up and neglected her, the harder it became.

He wasn’t jealous of Liam per se. He loved the guy, and he was fully aware of the myriad web of circumstances that had led to him having to marry for political alliances and not love.

Still.

The effect it had on Riley was the same and it hurt him to watch her suffer. He had agreed to marry her to keep her at court and near Liam. A marriage of convenience. A favor for his friends. An act of service for the two people he loved most in the world.

The problem was that the longer they lived together, the closer they became and the harder he fell. He had tried to fix it, put distance between them, but his stupid, traitorous heart wouldn’t let him move on. And he had tried.

The first year they were together had been so full of turmoil that he had just focused on getting her through it. Once they had moved to Valtoria and she had settled into her new position as Duchess, she had encouraged him to find a relationship of his own.

“You shouldn’t have to suffer just because I am.”

The full truth of the situation was that he had only half-heartedly dated so that she would stop worrying about him and his happiness. Because he would do anything for her. Even date other women. But his heart had never been in it.

Every relationship he had entered had ended before it really began. Two or three dates at most. Several of the women had dumped him citing with confusion that he seemed to actually love his wife.

Everyone on the planet could see that, apparently. Everyone but her.

Because she was too busy letting Liam break her heart over and over.

“Still. I’m sorry your date canceled. I know what that feels like.”

“I’m fine.” He brushed her concern off with a twinge of guilt but telling her that he had been the one to cancel would just open up questions he wasn’t ready to answer. Or more to the point, questions he wasn’t sure she was ready to hear the answers to.

He would confess his feelings right then and there if he thought she returned them. But she was in love with Liam. He knew that.

“Stop worrying about my love life and come eat before it gets cold.”

She inhaled deeply as she stepped toward the table, “It smells so good! What is it?”

“Deep fried chicken and cheese stuffed avocado.” He told her as he pulled her chair out for her.

Her face lit up as she sat. “Really?”

“Yes,” he affirmed as he took his own seat. “I know it’s your favorite.”

“But…how? I gave the kitchen staff the night off!” Neither of them had planned to be home.

“Oh, ah…” a flush spread across his face as he rubbed the back of his neck, “I made it.”

She pulled the cloche off the plate then turned her head to him in bewilderment, “You made this?”

He scoffed while shaking his head. “Don’t act so surprised. I can cook. You know this.”

“I mean yes but this is next level!” The avocados were browned to perfection and served with a beautifully roasted Mediterranean vegetable medley, garlic mashed potatoes, and piping hot Ciabatta bread.

He tried to lighten the mood. “I’m offended that you’re this impressed, Riley. I have mad kitchen skills.”

“I know. I just can’t believe that you did all this for me.” A single tear slid down her cheek.

He leaned forward in concern, wiping the tear away. “Hey, hey, hey! What’s that about?”

“Nothing,” she smiled at him through the wetness pooling in her eyes. “These are happy tears. I didn’t think this day could be salvaged, but you somehow managed it.”

“Yeah, well, what are husbands for?” He gave her a disarming smile as he sat back in his chair and turned his attention to his plate.

She laughed at their shared joke. He always said that when he did something nice for her. It was funny because he wasn’t really her husband.

But he kind of was, wasn’t he?

She dropped her eyes to her plate to cover her sudden flush. He was always doing sweet things like this. He was always there when she needed someone to talk to. Though she would never tell Max or Hana, Drake had become her best friend.

He had left his job as a member of the King’s Guard to move to Valtoria with her. He had been there for her when her grandmother passed away. The last time Liam had stood her up, Drake was ready with her favorite pizza and a movie she’d been wanting to see.

What are husbands for?

It was beginning to feel less and less like a joke because it had become the truth.

How true?

She suspected Drake’s feelings for her. How could she not? She had pushed him to date others. It wasn’t fair to let him waste his life taking care of her when she was in love with another man.

Yet here he was, on Valentine’s Day, taking care of her once again.

She stole a surreptitious glance at him as they ate. Maybe he had deeper feelings for her than she initially suspected.

No, she was imagining things. He was just being a good friend. Because that is what he was. Her friend. And Liam’s.

Liam.

Guilt swirled through her at the thought of her supposed boyfriend. Annoyance followed the guilt. He had stood her up. Again. Why should she feel guilty for anything? He married another woman for the love of God.

Not because he wanted to.

The guilt was back at the reminder of the impossible situation Liam had been placed in, but it was mingled with hurt, embarrassment, and a fair amount of anger.

She knew everyone thought she was an idiot for waiting around on scraps of the king’s time and affection. For uprooting her entire life to chase after him to Cordonia in the first place, for staying even after his rejection, and for continuing to believe that she was a priority to him.

Everyone but Drake.

He never judged her.

She lifted her eyes to his face as he regaled her with tales of Max’s misadventures from when he had tagged along on Drake’s latest fishing trip with Bastien.

“… And then he tripped over the side of the boat and fell in the water!” Drake shook with laughter at the memory.

Riley forced an obligatory smile, but she had missed most of the story, her mind occupied with an entirely new idea.

Her eyes focused on his mouth hoping he didn’t notice the flush on her face as her mind refused to stray away from imagining what his lips would feel like on her neck, on her mouth…other places….

She forced her eyes down to her plate and focused on eating her dinner. The dinner that her husband in allegedly name only had taken the time to prepare with his own two hands.

When the meal was over, she tried to clear the table, but he wouldn’t let her. “No, no, I’ve got this! I’m just going to clear the table and rinse the plates real quick. Why don’t you go pick something to watch? Whatever you want.”

“You sure? You did all this work. The least I can do is let you pick the movie.”

“Nah.” He waved her offer away. “As long as you’re happy, I’m happy.”

A multitude of emotions swirled through her as she watched him walk out of the room with the dishes. If you’re happy, I’m happy. He meant that. He was always saying things like that. He was always going out of his way to do little things to make her happy.

She made her way to the media room and flipped absently through the streaming selections as a million images of Drake fell through her mind. Drake, making her laugh when she was sad. Drake, holding her when she cried. Drake, always keeping himself between her and the reporters. Drake, scrambling eggs in their kitchen at two a.m. because they’d stayed up late watching stand-up comedy specials again.

When had he become such a huge part of her life? Yes, she had married him, but that had been on paper only, so she could stay near Liam.

And yet it was Drake who had attended her grandmother’s funeral with her. It was Drake who had taken care of her when she had the flu last year. And it was always Drake who picked up the pieces after Liam shattered her heart time and time again.

Why was she keeping him at arm’s length?

He showed up in the media room with her favorite blanket, a steaming cup of hot chocolate, and a small box tucked under his arms.

She accepted the cup and the blanket while trying to peer at the box. “What’s that?”

“Oh, this?” He teased, holding it out toward her but up out of her reach.

Her eyes widened as she glimpsed the label. “Are those dark chocolate truffles?”

“Maybe…”

“Drake!” She laughed as she deposited her cup on the end table and made a grab for the promised treat.

He lifted them easily out of her reach with a teasing smile. “What? Did you want these?”

“You know I do!” She tried to pout but the smile tugging her lips upward made that difficult to maintain.

“I don’t know….” He pretended to think deeply about it. “Maybe I should keep these for myself.”

With a joyful laugh, she launched herself off the couch, her fingers touching, but not completely grasping the elusive chocolates. The impact of her body colliding into his, combined with his misstep as he tried to dodge her, sent him toppling backward onto the couch where he landed in a slightly reclined position. Her momentum carried her forward so that she landed on top of him, laying on his chest, looking up into his face.

They were both laughing as their gazes met. A sudden silence descended on them as they stared into each other’s eyes. The smiles faded as lips parted and breath caught.

She moved first, bringing her lips to his. Her kiss was tentative. His response was not.

His arms went around her, the box of truffles dropped and forgotten on the floor. He pulled her tight against him as his tongue deftly took control of her mouth. One hand tangled in her hair as the other slipped under her shirt to caress the smooth skin of her back. A plaintive whimper escaped him as he pressed his rapidly growing hardness up into her.

Riley responded, melting into his embrace, no longer tentative. She pressed herself against him as their kisses became more passionate, almost frantic.

She broke the kiss to gasp for air. “Drake…should we—"

Drake froze for a moment, and then jolted upright, gently moving her off him. “Shit, Riley!” He raked a hand through his hair as he pushed himself back away from her. “I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry!”

“What are you sorry for? I kissed you!”

“It was just the heat of the moment.”

“Is that all it was?” She asked him softly.

“Yeah…” He responded unconvincingly.

“Are you sure it wasn’t more than that?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know…” her fingers twisted the hem of her shirt nervously. “You made this whole romantic dinner…”

“I wanted to cheer you up. Because we’re friends and—"

“You went out of your way to get me my favorite candy.”

“No, I didn’t. I just….” He closed his eyes with a shuddering sigh before pushing through with the lie. “I was already in the store, and I saw it…”

“You’re a bad liar.”

His eyes flew open, and he fixed her a look that was almost pleading. “What do you want from me, Riley?”

“I think the question is, what do you want from me, Drake?” She scooted closer to him taking in the way he watched her warily. Like a rabbit watching a coyote approach, his face full of fear, longing, and a guarded passion.

He swallowed thickly and tried for a normal tone of voice. “The movie…”

Her hand slid up his thigh to the bulge in his pants. “A movie? Is that really what you want right now?”

“Fuck…” he breathed out in defeat as a shudder ran through his body. He grabbed her wrist to stop her but instead of pushing her away as he had intended, he found himself pulling her into him as he leaned forward, and then they were kissing again.

Lips and hands explored bodies and pulled at clothing. His heart thundered in his chest as a small part of his mind screamed at him to stop, to put the brakes on this.

That part was overruled as she pulled her top off and dropped it on the floor next to them. He stopped breathing for a moment as he drank in her naked form. He yanked his own shirt off and dove back in.

Riley arched her back as she gave herself over to the sensations cascading through her body. Drake’s hands on her bare skin were calloused, rough. The friction was a sharp contrast to the smoothness of her bare flesh. It felt good, forbidden, delicious. She shivered as goosebumps erupted along her spine.

His hot lips on her throat sent ribbons of white-hot desire shooting through her and coiling in her center.

She cried out in protest when he withdrew that touch. “Why are you stopping?”

“I…we shouldn’t…”

“Don’t you want me?”

A self-deprecating laugh slipped out of him. “I want you so fucking bad….you have no idea….. but not like this.”

“Like what?”

“You’re upset…vulnerable...”

“I was upset.” She drew his hand back to her body; he didn’t resist as she placed it so it was cupping a pert breast. “That’s not what I’m feeling right now.”

He was struggling mightily to keep his voice even as he gasped for breath. “…don’t want you to regret…”

“I won’t…”

“You’re in love with Liam…”

“I am…” She dropped her hand and pulled back a little. “We can stop if you want.”

“If I want?” His gaze searched hers, unsure exactly what he was looking for.

“Yes, you. I don’t want to stop.”

“But Liam—”

“I don’t want to think about Liam right now, Drake. I don’t want to think about tomorrow or what any of this means. But…” She moved away from him reluctantly. “I understand if you do.”

He instantly regretted the distance between them.

Before he could decide how to proceed, there was a knock at the door.

Drake’s eyes closed as frustration, relief and a smidge of anger pinged through him.

There was only one person it could be this late.

Talk about timing.

He quickly pulled his shirt back on and tossed her blouse to her. “I’ll go answer the door. You might want to fix your hair, it’s a little mussed.”

“Drake—”

“No, it’s okay,” he told her as he pulled her to him and dropped a quick kiss on the top of her head before pushing her gently away. “Go make yourself presentable. I’ll show Liam in.”

“Right.” She redressed and hurried over to the closest mirror to smooth her hair back into place.

Drake combed his fingers through his own hair on his way to the front door. Pulling it open, he greeted his best friend with, “Thought you couldn’t get away, Your Majesty?”

“Some last-minute things came up, but I finally managed to slip away.”

“It’s a little late. Valentine’s Day is pretty much over.”

Liam glanced at his watch as he stepped through the doorway. “Not really. Where is she? And why are you home? I thought you had a date.”

Drake shrugged. “She canceled on me. Sick pet or something.” He was only a little horrified at how easily the lie rolled off his tongue. “Riley’s in the media room. We were just about to watch a movie.”

Liam started down the hall. Looking over his shoulder, he asked, “Are you coming?”

“No. I’m going to turn in early. You two have fun.”

He needed a shower. A cold one.

He sprinted up the stairs, taking them two at a time. He slammed his bedroom door behind him and then leaned back against it, gently banging his head into it several times before muttering to himself, “The fuck did I just do? Stupid, stupid, stupid!”

He shed his clothes as he walked across to the room and into the ensuite. He needed relief.

The water pounded down on him as he wrapped his hand around himself. His head tipped back and his eyes fell closed as he remembered her half-naked form in front of him, the feel of her skin under his fingers, the taste of her lips…..

He groaned out loud as streams of milky whiteness pulsed out of him and splashed onto the tile. He placed both hands on the wall and leaned forward, letting the water run over the back of his head as he watched the detritus of his desire swirl down the drain.

It wasn’t the first time that his ardor for her had landed him in this position, but he knew it was different this time.

They had crossed a line tonight. A line that couldn’t be uncrossed. Even though they hadn’t done the deed, the genie was out of the bottle-- his feelings for her, their obvious sexual attraction to each other, all of it.

He just had no idea what to do about any of it.

[eijiroukiriot]

i was actually just about to make a post like this before i saw the boy on my sidebar but i just wanted to say welcome into the new year everyone! whether this year brings the end of bnha or not i hope your heart’s able to rest easy and you make some memories that make this year feel like this year. much love everyone and i’ll see you again soon 💞

[scarlettriot]

Okay. I've been sitting on this one for a couple days. Wanted to see more of the family dynamic before planting the idea in your head 😅 But I was initially inspired by the rivals to best friends to lovers fic with Shoto (thank you, again). Anyway...

Shoto and "spending time with each other's family, with the family constantly pointing out how good you would be together because you're just that compatible"

In my head it's a relatively complete Todoroki family, but just Fuyumi and Natsuo would also be good. Also in my head it's an extension/elaboration of that first fic, but you know I'm down for whatever lands in your head 😝

Pairing: Shoto Todoroki x F!Reader

A/N: Since your ask was inspired by the rivals to besties to lovers... I present to you... this f*ckin' thing!

Seriously, I probably put too much thought into this but enjoy some background of these two goofballs.

I headcanon Shoto having a stutter that comes out when he's too emotional/nervous. IF YOU AREN'T CAUGHT UP ON THE ANIME OR MANGA SOMETHING MIGHT BE SPOILED. I also didn't really proof this so sorry...

Readers parents are reporters/journalists. Reader has a quirk that allows her to adapt her body to situational needs.

Warnings: SMUT (just some cute sexy times but still minors DNI), swearing, very slight temperature play, undertones of standard Todoroki family trauma.

Word Count: 3K

Six Years Old

Shoto and you walked side by side out of your classroom at the end of the day to wait for your parents and his dad to come to collect you both. But, the minutes ticked by, children ran along, until it was only you and Shoto left.

"My father probably had to deal with bad guy stuff and didn't tell my sister to get me today..." He sat with his chin resting on his knees.

"If it's bad enough, my parents are probably reporting on the bad guy stuff." You were right beside him, pushing pebbles together between your feet.

"Sho!" A spiky white-haired boy came rushing out from the school. He was dressed in a jersey, ready for practice, "Why are you still here?"

Shoto merely shrugged, "I don't know. No one came to get me."

His older brother shook his head. "Dad forgot to call Fuyumi's school again. Big surprise. Wait on the playground and if no one's come to get you, we'll walk home together after practice, okay?"

"What about Y/N?" He called back.

"We'll walk her home first!"

He nodded and let Natsuo run after the other boys.

You two dumped your bags beside the swing set, Shoto settling for taking a seat on one of them while you took off up one of the ramps. "Come play with me, Roki!"

"I'm not supposed to play, remember?"

You stopped giggling and hopping to give him a pointed glare. "Fine. We won't play, we'll train."

He looked up at you suspiciously, "Train how?"

This had to be worded carefully or you knew Shoto wouldn't go for it. "You're a hero and I'm a villain, heroes have to catch villains, so catch me!"

"That's easy, if you were a villain, I'd just freeze you in place and then you'd be caught."

Why did he have to bring logic into everything? There had to be a way to get him to just be a kid.

"You make it sound like I'd be easy to catch! But, if you need something harder, don't use your quirk. If you touch me, then I'm caught." It was tag, you were convincing him to play a game of tag with you cleverly disguised as training that his father could potentially approve of and Shoto took the bait.

"When do we start?"

"Right... NOW!"

Two-toned eyes went wide, watching you jump and squeeze your way through a gap to climb up on top of the slide. "You're so far away! Be careful!"

"I'm a villain, Roki! You'll never catch me!"

He raced up the slide, forgoing standard playground rules for tactics he'd been taught. Getting to someone quickly was more important, take the fastest route possible. Shoto hoisted himself up onto the roof of the playset just in time to watch you slip down over the other side, a fit of giggles in your wake.

But, you didn't drop into the playset, instead, you balanced along one side of the monkey bars, arms splayed wide while you hurried across and Shoto stopped dead in his tracks. "Y/N! That's n-not safe! You could fall!"

"No kindness for bad guys! You gotta catch me Sh-"

Just as he feared, your foot slipped and your hands flayed. He shot out a slide of ice, letting you ride it down to the mulch below. "Y-you're not a b-bad guy! You could have been real-ly hurt!"

It was the first time you'd seen Shoto so worked up. "Roki... my quirk-"

"Your adapt-ting isn't th-that fast!"

He was right, any situation you put yourself in, your body needed roughly a minute to respond and alter to your specific needs. "I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. But, if we're gonna be heroes then we gotta be ready for tricky stuff."

That look in his eyes wasn't going away. You couldn't tell if it was anger... or fear, all you knew was how much you didn't like it. "Come on, let's keep playing. I'll catch you this time and I won't go climbing where I shouldn't."

It took him a minute before agreeing.

You'd been chasing Shoto for another twenty minutes when a familiar voice called your name. Your father, with his large grin, walked from the sidewalk, "Sorry, kid, you know the bad guys don't always care when we gotta snatch you from school." He spun you around in his arms when you jumped on him, "Grab your bag. Let's make sure dinner's on the table when mama gets home."

"Daddy, no! I can't leave Todoroki by himself."

Your dad looked over where Shoto stood alone, watching the two of you. "You're right, kiddo, we sure can't." He walked by your side over to him. "Shoto, right? My daughter has told me a lot about you."

Shoto just nodded, not knowing what to say, "We don't have to rush home, keep playing around."

"We weren't playing," Shoto corrected him before you could tug him away, "We're training!"

Your father just laughed, watching the two of you go around and around.

Another half-hour flew by, your father just sitting on a bench enjoying watching his daughter and the boy she'd been chattering endlessly about for weeks.

Being a reporter, he knew exactly who the young man was, who his father was and all he could do was hope the man's piss poor attitude didn't extend to his home life too.

He didn't have much hope though, not after learning about the accident that claimed the life of his eldest son, his wife being sent away, or the burn that suddenly appeared on little Shoto's face just last year.

If anyone was able to see past all that madness though he knew it was you. You'd been a ray of determined sunlight from the moment you came into his life, never giving up on anyone or anything.

"You've got some nerve," He turned to the deep voice and narrowed blue eyes, "Showing up at my son's school, watching him like some damn creep, what the fu-"

"You will watch your temper around these children, Todoroki, got it?"

"How dare you!"

"My daughter is playing with her friend."

"My son doesn't have time for friends."

You and Shoto came jogging over, "He's not my friend," All three sets of eyes were now on you. One thrilled, another stunned, and the final, oh, they looked broken, "Todoroki and I are not friends, we train together every day at school during breaks and in class when allowed. 'Cause, we're gonna be heroes one day, and that means all the training we gotta do it. Right, Todoroki?" You bumped his shoulder.

"R-right, yeah, w-we train."

Your father put a hand on your shoulder when Enji Todoroki set his sights on you. "You want to be a hero?"

"Yes, sir."

"It isn't easy, hard work, all the time. Shoto trains every single day."

"I know."

"So does my daughter." Your father added.

"Shoto, does she keep up with you?"

"Uh, yes, s-sir. She u-uses more hand-to-hand styles th-though."

"You need to work on that." His gaze rose, "Your daughter is welcome over on weekends only if she'd like to use our facility."

"We'll discuss it." He picked you up, setting you on his knee, "She's been doing just fine, but, who am I to keep her from her training partner?"

You wiggled before getting to the sidewalk, remembering you had a book Shoto had needed and running it over to him while he waited for his dad to get Natsuo. "Hey, did-did you really mean th-that w-we aren't friend-ds?"

You made sure his dad wasn't looking before giving Shoto a quick hug, "Silly, Roki, of course, we're friends. But, your dad doesn't like friends... so partners and rivals?"

There was the smallest smile on his face, "Partners and rivals."

Thirteen Years Old

The door to the Todoroki's training room slammed open. You and Shoto lay on the floor with heads side by side, chest heaving, sweat clinging to the both of you. "He's gone for the weekend!" Natsuo announced with a cheer, "Whoa, what have you two been doing in here?"

"Training," Shoto told his brother while he tried inclining on his elbows, "Like, we do multiple times a week."

"So that's what the kids are calling it now. Got it, cool, cool," Both you and Shoto shot him a look, "Anyways! I'm having some friends over but I just wanted to let you guys know you could like, relax for once if you wanted."

It was rare you got the chance to hang out with Shoto at his house and not need to be in constant fight/study mode. But, here was the perfect opportunity. Shoto glanced over at you. "Would you want to have dinner and maybe, um, I-I'm not sure."

Natsuo laughed from the doorway, "It's dinner and a movie, Sho. I know you don't really get to be a teenager but, you should at least know how to ask someone out!"

"Wait, b-but I'm not, I'm not asking you out. Just dinner and... movie, as partners."

Flustered Shoto Todoroki was one of the best things to witness. "I know, Sho. Dinner and movies sound good. Can I shower though?"

He nodded, letting you go off while he sought a shower of his own. His sister was in the kitchen when he walked out, a towel still drying his white hair. "I hear someone has a date," She beamed and kept babbling before he could get a word in, "I started making her favorite for dinner, I'll tell her it was your idea though. I've been waiting for this day!"

"Fuyumi! It's not a date! It's j-just Y/N and I eating dinner."

"And watching a movie."

"Y-yes, that too. But, it's just friends, don't make this into so-something weird."

She looked over the rim of her glasses with a sneaky grin. "You're stuttering, Shoto."

He sealed his lips tight and begged her to do the same when he heard the bathroom door open.

Fifteen Years Old

"Sho, there's no way. I barely took down like three of those robots. Other people were cutting them down left and right!"

Your head fell on the table, the envelope from UA still unopen between your fingers. He had nothing to worry about, accepted thanks to recommendations but you, you weren't so lucky.

You gave it your absolute best though, pushing yourself to what felt like your limits in hopes of being accepted but, hell, all you'd really managed to do was help some other examines that had fallen into a man-made river during the test. After they were safe, you only had time to take down a couple robots that were nearly dropped anyways.

The envelope was plucked from your fingers. "What are you doing?"

"Do you want to open it?" Shoto asked.

You shook your head, "But, I don't want you opening it either!"

"I can ask your mother to, she's just in the den, right?" He was already up from the table.

"That's not what I meant, Shoto and you know it!"

You stood behind the sofa and he was in front of it, mirroring your steps with a smirk. "Well, I want to know. Because said we're partners, rivals, I can't just go to a school where you're not."

"You can't just open my mail either! That's like illegal or something! Not very hero-like."

"I'm not a hero yet." He ripped the envelope open and you lunged over the sofa at him making him abandon the letter in order to catch you. "That was very dramatic-" Your attention was stolen by a hologram appearing sideways of a tiny bear? A mouse? Oh, he talked.

Shoto righted it and it wasn't long before your entire house was filled with cheers. Still on the floor, you hugged Shoto tight, his arms circling around you, "Told you, you'd get in."

Your mother had heard the bickering a few minutes ago but stayed in the hallway to let you work things out yourself. Ready to assist if only you asked but, Shoto was there for you, just as he always was. She watched you chase him around the living room like you'd done as little kids, saw you launch yourself at him like the kids you still were.

She hid a soft smile when you cheered and wrapped your arms around him, thanking him for all the support and help he'd given, listening to him return the sentiment.

Through the evening celebrations, she swore she could see the future unfolding before her eyes, faster than it ever had before.

How he held every door open for you, listened whenever you spoke, the way he looked at you when you were talking about everything you hoped to achieve.

And how you reached for his arm when crossing the street, scooted closer so he could put his arm around you when a brisk wind blew, how you watched him when he was busy doing something else, it filled your mother with so much warmth.

"So, are you going to ask him out or wait for him to do it?" She asked as you got ready for bed that night.

"MOTHER!"

She just laughed and walked down the hall to her own room and wondered if you'd have a fall or winter wedding.

Seventeen Years Old

The chatter faded into background noise once you were in the kitchen. Grabbing a glass and filling it to the brim with water and hoping it would loosen whatever this ache was in your chest.

It was supposed to be a fun holiday break. Endeavor was at some hero conference so most of your class planned for a sleepover at Shoto's to celebrate the holiday. And still, something pulled inside, wasn't settling, wouldn't ease up-

"Are you alright, Y/N?"

Fuyumi stood just a few feet from you, worry creased between her brows. "Yeah. Oh yeah, I'm fine, just getting some water!"

"I've known you for over a decade now, I think I can tell when you're lying." You took a long sip, trying to think up something to say so you could get out of this. "I overheard some of the girls talking, saying they think my baby brother has a crush... I'm guessing you think so too?"

Again, you didn't say anything and so she placed her hand gently on your forearm. "Shoto might have a crush, but, I don't think my brother will ever look at anyone else the way he looks at you."

Her words didn't relieve the ache in you, only added yet another layer because it was becoming very apparent that you weren't sure you could look at anyone else the way you looked at him either...

Twenty Years Old

You laid in the quiet of Shoto's bedroom after your run, the shower you shared, with your chin on his chest, cool fingers making lazy patterns over your skin. "My mother is going to be insufferable when she finds out about us." You grumbled.

His laugh was low but absolutely perfect, "I think my sister's going to be worse."

With a jolt, you shot up, hands beside his head. "What's your father going to say? All these years of being your not-friend! He's going to have a fit!"

He just rolled his eyes and flipped you both over, strands of red and white hair falling in your face, his nose brushing against yours. "It's a good thing that fourteen years has made me care a whole lot less about what Endeavor thinks."

Shoto's lips met yours for what felt like the hundredth time that night, slow and easy, using a knee to nudge your legs apart for him again while he worked his way down your jaw, down your neck, "Can we wait to tell them, just for a day or two?" You cocked a brow at him even though he was still trailing down your body, "They're all so nosy, I just want you to myself for a day or two." He kissed between your breasts, "Maybe a week if you let me." Lower his lips ventured, "We don't even have to leave this apartment..."

His tongue, cooled to a temperature he quickly figured out you preferred, licked a lazy line making your answer turn into a needy whine. "Sorry? Was that a, 'yes, Sho, that sounds like the best idea you've ever had?' Yes, yes, I know it is."

As soon as you opened your mouth, he pulled your hips so his tongue was flat on your core, holding you tightly to him. Your hands fisted the silky sheets, letting him have his way with you yet again. He'd bring you close to the edge only to back off, "Did you say you want to stay here for two weeks? Even better, darling." And he'd start all over again.

It took him only minutes to have you crying his name again, kissing his way back up to your face. "You have- a- very- persuasive argument," Panting, trying to come down from your high, "Let's just tell 'em the next time we see them," Your hips wiggled against him, despite how many times you'd already fucked you still wanted more, "If we don't see them for a couple months, eh, who cares?"

Three-Days Later

"Pay up! I said before they were 21!" Your mother was boasting to your father.

"Technically, Shoto turned 21 last month." Rei pointed out with a smile while Endeavor just shook his head at the antics.

Fuyumi was already asking Shoto how he was planning on proposing, turning the poor man into a stuttering pre-teen again.

"WAIT!" Natsuo slammed his cup down on the table, "You mean, you guys haven't been together since you were like thirteen!" He started listing off all the couple-y things you two did, the flirting and little banter, he'd witness while Fuyumi patted his shoulder.

"They're together now, that's all that matters."

[thirsty-flygirl]

Touch Me

A Javier Peña x f!Reader Romance

Rating: Explicit - language, canon violence, sex, drugs, rock ‘n’ roll. You know the drill, no one under 18 allowed.

Word Count: 1688

Tags: let me know if you want to be! @katareyoudrilling here is the next part if you want to read!!

A/N: I do not speak Spanish so I have to thank the beautiful and talented @flightlessangelwings for helping me with the one line in this chapter!!

Part V: Kevlar

“Absolutely not.”

All eyes swiveled to Javier, eyebrows collectively raised at his refusal. You grit your teeth, trying to swallow your rage at the authoritative finality in his tone.

“I’m sorry?” You replied quietly, your words laced with fury despite your best attempts otherwise.

Javi propped his hands on his hips and offered you a level glare before responding.

“There’s no way you’re going out there.”

Steve gave a low whistle, looking down at the scarred surface of the conference table. Carrillo crossed his strong arms, turning to stare out the window.

Well, shit. So much for back-up.

“Where the fuck do you get off telling me what I can and can’t do, Peña?” Forget professionalism, you were out for blood.

“I know you think you run the show here, but Murph and I have just as much invested as you do.” You couldn’t believe that this was the same man who, less than two weeks ago, had effectively dumped you before you were even together. Since then he had said maybe seven words to you, without the balls to look you in the eye for a single one of them.

And now he wanted to dictate your involvement on missions?

Hell fucking no.

“Listen, this is my intel and my operation,” you seethed, clenching your fists and swallowing the raging desire to punch him in his smug face, “so you can cut the macho bullshit, Javi.” You pointed a shaking finger in his direction.

“I. Am. Going.”

He rounded the table, infuriated, and stopped just shy of where you stood before continuing.

“I’m not gonna let you go out there on a shitty tip and get yourself fucking killed! What if your guy is working for Escobar?”

“Not all of us have to fuck our informants to get good intel, Peña,” you hissed scathingly, watching with a twisted feeling of victory as his eyes flashed with anger. “Although,” you continued, letting a suggestive smirk slide across your face, “maybe if I did I could get to Escobar himself.”

Bingo.

Javier’s expression grew thunderous, eyebrows pulling together. He thrust his hand out, catching your wrist in a loose grip and pulling you toward him.

“If one of those bastards ever lays a hand on you, I’ll—”

“Enough.”

Three sets of eyes snapped to Carrillo, still standing by the window. He stared Javi down, the tension in the room palpable like an approaching thunderstorm, air heavy and electric with the heightened emotions pouring from each of you. Javi glared back, nostrils flaring and jaw grinding, still holding you close like he was afraid you would disappear.

Only seconds passed until, but it felt like an eternity until the fingers wrapped around your wrist fell away. You rubbed the skin there absently, not hurt so much as trying to shake the effect his simple touch had on you. You cleared your throat and continued, quietly but firmly.

“I’m going, Javier. You and Steve stay on the radio.”

You walked from the room, trying to calm your racing heart as you made your way outside. Crossing to where Carrillo's men were gathered, you offered them a nod as you reached into the truck, pulling the vest from the front seat and situating it over your head.

It wasn’t like you didn’t know what you were up against, didn’t know the risks involved. You had gotten word from one of your informants that a drop was happening tonight and one of Escobar’s inner circle would be there. Capturing another well-known sicario was one step closer to getting Escobar himself, and you would be damned if you stayed behind while your partners took the lead.

For Javier to try and pull rank on you just showed how little he thought of you as an agent. His meaning tonight was clear: don't send a woman out to do a man's job.

The thought infuriated you, but you couldn't deny it fucking hurt, too. You'd thought he saw you as true partners, equals, that you were in this together. Now, it was like every facet of your complicated relationship was in question; did he only see you as a distraction, a roadblock to getting what he really wanted?

You pulled the velcro straps to tighten the vest around your ribcage, the renewed force of your anger propelling your movements. “Fuck,” you muttered, quickly unfastening the hook-and-eye fabric that you’d secured so tightly you could barely breathe. Focusing on the task at hand, you didn’t realize that Steve had joined you.

“Hey,” he called out softly, approaching you like you might turn your anger on him next. Your head snapped up at his voice, pausing in your movements to discern whether or not he was there to convince you to stay behind.

Steve held up his hands as he approached in a sign of peace. “I’m not here to argue, honey.” His blue eyes shone with such affection that you didn’t even give him shit for the pet name. Resting his hands on your shoulders, Steve ducked his head to catch your eye.

“Don’t leave without talking to him.”

You huffed and shrugged Steve’s hands off you, going back to tightening your kevlar.

“Why, so he can try to keep me off the op again?”

Tears stung your eyes and you pulled your lips together tightly, willing the sudden influx of emotion away; you couldn't let the men surrounding you see you in a moment of weakness.

Your vision blurred and you fumbled with the straps of the vest, unable to get them situated properly around your body. After a moment Steve reached out and gently covered your hands, moving them away so he could help.

“He’s scared out of his mind that this could go ass-up,” Murphy replied calmly, easily fastening the vest snugly around your torso. “I know you say your guy's legit, but if he flips and this turns on you, then we're handing you directly to Escobar. Javi's just trying to watch out for you." He regarded you silently for a moment.

"He only wants to keep you safe."

A watery laugh escaped you and you swiped at your eyes with the back of your hand. "Why? So that the two of you can rush out like heroes?" You shook your head. "Do you think I haven't thought of what could happen, Steve? If this mission does go south, I want it to be my ass on the line." Reaching out, you grabbed his hand and gave it a quick squeeze.

"I need to make sure you're safe, too."

Steve smiled and pulled you in for a one-armed hug, landing a kiss on the top of your head. "We'll be on the radio. First sign of trouble, we're heading out to you."

"Deal." You looked over at Carrillo finishing up with the Bloc then giving you a nod to signal it was time. “We gotta go.”

You moved toward the truck, switching your brain into gear and letting the complications of your personal life settle into the recesses of your mind for the time being.

“We good?” you asked Carrillo, sliding onto the bench seat next to him. He replied in the affirmative, his deep, gravelly voice matching the rumble of the engine. Situating yourself, thoughts focused on the mission, you almost didn’t hear your name being called. Somehow filtering through the literal and figurative noise, Javier’s voice broke your concentration.

“Wait!”

Frowning, you watched as he jogged up to the side of the truck, his eyes wild with panic. “Don’t leave yet, I have to talk to you.” His words rushed out as he met your gaze. He swallowed thickly before continuing.

“Please.”

You swiveled your head toward Carrillo, who pounded a fist against the steering wheel and replied in short, clipped Spanish.

"Qué carajo, Peña?"

Javier ignored the colonel's outburst, instead keeping his wide brown eyes on yours.

"Please, just give me a minute."

Dropping your head you sighed loudly, throwing an apologetic glance at Carrillo before opening the door.

“You have exactly one minute, Javi.”

He walked a few feet away from the truck and you followed behind, wondering what had shifted his mood so drastically. Inside, his dark eyes had been alight with frustration, impatience, even anger. Now, he radiated a frantic energy that exacerbated your anxiety. You watched silently as he raked his hand through his dark hair and braced his hands against his hips.

“Javi, talk,” you insisted, crossing your arms protectively against your chest. He blinked at you, ran a hand roughly over his face, and exhaled deeply.

“Don’t go.”

“Jesus fucking Christ!” you exploded, foregoing your defensive stance in favor of throwing your hands up in the air. “Are you that much of an asshole that you really don’t trust me to handle this on my own?”

You turned to leave, furious, making it only a step before Javier’s warm hand wrapped around your bicep, pulling you back to face him.

“It’s not about the goddamn mission,” he growled through gritted teeth, his face inches from yours. He paused, eyes locked on yours, before continuing in a low, fierce voice.

“I can’t risk something happening to you."

You shook your head, blood rushing in your ears. What was he trying to say? Was this some perverse way to get you to abandon the mission, by using your feelings for him to manipulate you?

“No,” you pushed at his broad shoulders, forcing him to release you. “You can't do this...I won’t let you do this, not now. I have to go, Javier.”

You turned away, jogging back to the truck and throwing yourself in the passenger seat. Carrillo swung out into the street quickly, the small caravan containing the rest of the Search Bloc following close behind.

Left standing on the concrete as daylight turned to dusk, Javier watched you go with a sinking heart, dread and sheer terror churning in his gut at the idea that he might have missed his last chance to tell you how much you meant to him, how much he needed you. . .

. . . That he was in love with you.

[bokettochild]

Violet

So y'all remember this animatic? Yeah?

I wrote a thing based off of it.

I'm not entirely sure how I fee about it, but y'all have shown how much you like my crack in the past, even if I wasn't sure about that either, so...

Here's Legend getting mistaken for a mom and pulling his brothers into a terrible impromptu acting adventure.

There are many things you do not do in Castletown.

One of those things, apparently, was taking Twilight with you, and next time he had a chance Legend was seriously considering muzzling their wolfish friend, in his shadow form or not.

He wasn’t the only one with that thought either apparently, although likely the only one who was thinking it out annoyance rather than utter and complete terror. Honestly, Twi needed to cut that protective streak of his in half, or he was going to be regretting it even more than he was going to regret this!

They’d all met thieves before, on the road, in villages, even here in Castle Town, and unfortunately Warriors’ central city was particularly full of them. The captain had explained it ages ago, something about the war displacing people and stirring up unrest with the refugees. It wasn't uncommon that someone got tired of relying on the crown for help, which, the captain had admitted sorrowfully, was rather slow in coming, despite all of Artemis’s efforts, to provide any sort of relief to the starving and displaced victims of the war. Legend had winced at that. Poor blokes, it had been similar in his own Hyrule when those trapped in the dark world emerged again, and even back in their Hylian forms, many of them had struggled to readjust to a world that had moved on in their absence.

It was little wonder than that those in the captain’s time faced the same struggle, especially after a bloody time war, but even so, it bothered him to no end that their group specifically had been the one that the idiot of a man chose to target. Honestly! They were all carrying swords for pities sakes! How did the sod even think he was going to catch a bunch of warriors unawares to steal from them?

Maybe it was because they were split.

It only made sense, after being dropped in the captain’s time, that they restock supplies. Both for practicality and to avoid suspicion, they’d divided the group into two to better run their errands, Time taking those less accustomed to bustling cities with him to gather food and potions, and Warriors leading the rest of them, those who could stand crowds at least a little bit better, to visit the blacksmith, fletcher, and tailor shops.

True to form, the captain strutted ahead with his scarf waving behind him, Wind tagging along beside him and chattering excitedly about something or other at the soldier. He and Four, however, had chosen to trail after, not for any particular reason other than both being extremely tired and maybe just a bit emotional.

In his own case, he hadn’t slept in a good sixty-three hours or so, and combining that with the stress of wandering around in an unknown place, he was a little more sensitive than usual and a bit put out as a result. Similarly, Four was fighting off his usual headache from their sudden switch, and ever since they’d pulled themselves out of the alleyway Hylia dumped them in, the shortest hero had worn his hood pulled over his eyes, mumbling softly under his breath in a way that was, unfortunately, unnerving Legend further and making him want, very much, to beg the other to stop.

That wasn’t an option of course, so he did something he hated almost as much as the saunter Warriors was using to get down the road.

He made small talk.

It helped, surprisingly, and while the four of them had run their errands, he chattered amiably with the smithy, who’d been willing to talk as long as he didn’t have to think too much on things. Legend could agree with that, and the two had spent the last half hour discussing if Four’s tunic really was red, green, blue and violet, as the smithy claimed, or red, green, blue and purple as Legend thought it was.

“It’s violet.” Four huffed, pushing the last bundle of arrows into his pack as they departed from the smithy’s shop and made their way back to the fountain at the center of town, where they'd agreed to meet with Time and the others.

“But it’s not!” He insisted, shifting the bundle of fabric in his arms and meeting the smithy’s gaze. “Violet is softer, duskier, a bit closer to grey or blue. That’s purple, plain as day!”

Warriors and Wind, for once, didn’t say anything, only exchanging grins every so often that the other two ignored.

Talking with Four was surprisingly pleasant, and ridiculously easy in comparison to talking with the others. For one thing, neither had to look too very far up or down to see the other, and as they’d found since their first dinner at the ranch, it was easy to say a lot with just a look. Subtle communication also went a long way further with the smithy than with anyone else, and it was a relief not to have to explain everything for once. Additionally, Four also liked reading, and unlike with most of their other brothers, they could actually have intelligent conversations with each other.

Not that that’s what they were doing when they’d trailed after the other two towards the fountain, but when they heard the snarl and resulting scream, the look the two heroes shared had carried as many words as a full two-hour lecture, while all at once conveying a single thought.

Oh boy, what did Twilight do this time?

What Twilight had done, he found out later, was spring a thief who had attempted to snatch the Sheikah Slate from Wild, who’d been a bit busy trying to calm his anxiety to really notice that one of the humans pressing close all around him was actually trying to steal it. That, naturally, was all well and good. The problem was the way Twilight had chosen to handle it and Legend swore there were days that Twilight forgot what form he was in; rather than pushing the thief away or grabbing ahold of them and confronting them, the gracious rancher had chosen to fling his entire body weight at the man and bite his arm.

Of course, that was only what Legend found out later, what he saw when the four of them managed to peek through the crowd, was Twilight standing there in full sight of the entire market with blood on his teeth and a man screaming in pain and terror at his feet.

Bravo, Rancher, bravo.

“Oof.” Wind winced. “That’s not good.”

“Shit.” Warriors swore, glancing around nervously and ripping his scarf off to hide in his pack.

Realization sprung on the vet like Twilight had the poor thief; Warriors was the hero here. If anyone noticed him, or any of the knightlier looking ones, they’d probably try and have them arrest Twilight. That was all well and good of course, as it would make a reasonable excuse to haul the rancher out of the way, but they’d be expected to call for help from some soldiers, and while they’d been planning on meeting with the queen while they were here, having Twilight presented to her as a feral, potentially insane, and definitely dangerous criminal was not the approach they were aiming for.

They needed a distraction, fast.

So, like the reasonable and totally mentally secure Hylian that he was, Legend shouted the first thing that came to his mind. “Violet!”

His three companions stared at him, and had he been capable, he would have stared at himself, but a desperate glance Fours way had the other drawing back, nodding slowly as Legend shouted again. “Violet? Honey?”

Warriors looked at him like he’d lost his head, gripping Wind’s shoulder firmly as if worried he’d have to pull the kid back from the apparently mad veteran.

Thank Din for teaching him acting years ago, even if it was all stage performing, but he was counting on it to get him, and Twilight, out of their respective messes, even if that meant building his higher before he could escape. At any rate, he’d caught the attention of a few people with his panicked shout. Turning to the nearest Hylian that wasn’t one of his group, he gently tapped the woman’s shoulder, letting his panic and everything in general spill over into his face and voice as the woman met his gaze with a startled look.

“Ma’am, I’m looking for-” Oh Four was going to hate this. “-My child, Violet. Have you seen a blonde Hylian child, so tall?” He lowered his hand to approximately where Four’s head would reach. “I’ve been looking everywhere!” He forced a fake sob into his voice, glancing from the woman to the surrounding crowd, and Warriors and Wind in its midst.

Wind was stifling a laugh behind his hand while Warriors stared in utter shock.

“Oh my,” The woman touched her cheek, clucking lightly and patting Legend’s hand in a consoling manner. “You poor dear! I haven’t seen a thing but just give me one moment.” The burly housewife turned, still patting Legend’s hand gently as she murmured something to the women behind her, before turning back to Legend with a sorry expression. “None of my friends have seen your little one, dear. But-” The woman turned and, with all the force and volume of a cow, hollered at the top of her lungs to the crowd as a whole. “Hello? Yes, this woman is looking for her daughter!”

Woman?!?!?!

“Her name is Violet! She’s-” The woman blinked, looking to Legend with a worried look as several other market goers turned to stare, many of them women with looks of pity and understanding that was making him wish he’d stayed silent. Fortunately, his ruse had startled them out of staring at the sight of a mauled thief as worry for a poor young mother and her lost daughter took its place. “She’s how old?”

Legend fought the protest of female pronouns, both on Four’s part and his own, but only in his head. Outwardly however, he covered his face with the hand not being smashed by the farm-wife's own. “She’s four.” Shoot him, he was saying whatever came to mind because he was panicked, alright?

A snort could be heard behind him, earning disapproving looks from the crowd that soon shifted to pity as Wind too joined the act, turning his snort into pitiful sniffling as he clung to Warriors’ hand, looking for all the world like a child who’d been to the market too long and wanted to go home, but was also panicking at the loss of their sibling. “Have you all seen my sister?” The sailor blubbered softly, actual tears spilling down his face as he pouted, expression making his act so believable that no one even questioned his height. As if to make the act more convincing, Warriors wrapped an arm around the kid’s shoulder, his own face stiffening into something that could either be gas or worry, Legend was a bit on the fence.

“What’s going on here?” Legend wished that was Time stalking towards them in full armor, but it wasn’t, it was a Hylian Soldier, staring at the crowd with a grim frown on his face as he turned to Legend, standing in its center.

Oh well, those who crack under a tough audience get tomatoes to the face; he just hoped Wars would keep playing along. “My daughter,” He sobbed into his hand, pulling the other free from the housewife to properly cover his face. “She- My baby- I can’t find her anywhere, Sir!” Later, Warriors would begrudgingly admit that the look Legend shot the soldier was enough to break any heart as the vet stepped forwards, grabbing hold of the man’s arm with all the desperation of a worried mother. “Please tell me, have you seen a little girl? She’s in her favorite dress, the colors of the goddesses, red, green and blue?” He motioned down at his own tunic, skirt, whatever one would call it. “There’s a violet corner too, I made it for her myself- oh my poor baby! I can’t seem to find her anywhere!”

The grizzled soldier quickly melted under the power of tearful violet eyes, and he too gently patted Legend’s hands as if he thought it would do any good. “I’ll have my men look for her right away, ma’am. How old would you say she is?

“She’s four.” He reaffirmed. Might as well stick to his original story.

“So tall?” The farm-wife motioned, hands lowering a bit more than Legend’s had, but the woman was trying to help, so he couldn’t really be upset with her for getting it wrong. At this point though, he was a bit worried about where Four actually was, because he’d expected the shorter hero to make an appearance sooner rather than later so the act could end.

“Right.” The man nodded, pulling himself loose as Legend brought his hands to clasp in front of his chest in an imitation of the maids he’d seen worrying about the halls when Fable went missing. “We’ll do everything in our power to find your little one, madame, you have my word.” The soldier bowed, kissing the back of the vet’s hand graciously before moving back into the crowd and snapping orders at the soldiers stationed around the market.

People buzzed by, spreading the word of ‘little Violet’s’ disappearance as Warriors and Wind pushed forwards to where Legend stood.

“Really, vet?” Warriors murmured lowly.

“I panicked.” He admitted softly, as to avoid anyone noticing as he wrung his hands. “But seriously, where is ‘’Violet’? I thought he’d have appeared before it became a big thing.”

The captain frowned, settling a hand on his shoulder carefully and standing on his toes to look over the crowd as Wind giggled at the scowling veteran. The minute he shot a look down at the sailor though, the kid had picked up his role as smoothly as if he’d never dropped it. “I’m worried, mom.” Wind blinked past fake tears, and had he not needed to remain in character, Legend would have scowled and flicked the kid’s nose for the tease.

“I am too, honey.” He sighed instead, ruffling the sailor’s curls and looking over to where the others had been. Time and the others had disappeared into the crowd again, likely trying to keep a low profile and laughing their asses off at Legend’s expense while Time and Sky scolded Twilight.

“Mama?” A small voice called out, and the crowd, and he meant the whole crowd, the whole freaking crowd of several hundred people, froze as a small face peeked out from an alleyway, the smithy’s hand coming up to rub at his shimmering purple eyes with a sniff. “Mama?”

“Violet!” All three heroes surged forwards, Legend sinking to his knees and wrapping Four in a hug, taking the opportunity when his face was hidden from the crowd to scowl. “About time you showed up.” Aloud for the crowd however, he let sobs pitch his voice hysterically. “Oh honey, you can’t run off on mama like that! I was worried sick!”

And as if to put the icing on the cake of shame, one of the men in the crowd smiled softly, patting Warriors’ back with a friendly smile. “Your wife is quite the caring mother, isn’t she? Ah, you’re a lucky man, Mr.”

Legend forced himself to not blow their cover, no matter how little they now needed it with the others safely out of sight. Breaking character meant causing drama that they didn’t need. ‘Violet’ had been found, the cute little family would depart, people would calm. But if the worried mother turned out to be a screaming teenage boy and the lost daughter to be a smithy apprentice with a height problem, people would likely riot. So instead of turning around and giving the man a piece of his mind, he pushed forwards, hefting Four in his arms (the smithy sank into him with a sigh that couldn’t have been faked) letting the smaller hero nestle against him, hood hiding the smithy’s face from view as he pulled them both up, adjusting his arms so as to not drop the other.

Man, he was glad he’d put on power bracelets today.

“She is indeed.” Warriors forced out, a strained smile on his face as he settled his hand on Legend’s waist, stiff, cold and incredibly awkward. “We’d probably better head off, dear.” If the captain smiled any harder, he’d break his teeth. “Or the inns will all be full.”

It should have ended there, it should have. Legend was so ready for it to end (although Four was warm and a calming presence as the smithy began to doze against his chest), but because fate loved to mess with him, it didn’t.

“You’re looking for a place to stay the night?” The Man-Who-Needed-To-Be-Kicked cocked a brow. “I run an inn here, just across the square. I’m sure we can find a lovely little family like yourselves a place to rest, you and our wife must be exhausted after such worry!”

Warriors, sages curse and bless him, nodded along stiffly, gently pulling him along by is waist after the Blasted-Innkeeper-Who-Would-Be-Kicked as the man chattered about family discounts and free dinner. Legend’s shoulders only lowered when a free trip to the bath house was also thrown in ‘complimentarily’.

He regretted it when someone pointed him to the ladies’ side of the bath-house (think heavens it was empty that early), and he was about ready to strangle something or someone when the others joined them inside, stuck with a regularly priced room, and the smithy and vet both were bombarded with teases as Warriors sat looking utterly and completely disgusted.

“They thought we were married....”

Legend groaned, flopping over on the other side of the bed with a grimace. “Gross, right?”

“Yeah.”

"We’re forgetting this ever happened, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

Regardless, no one ever let them forget it happened.

Legend was buying Twilight a muzzle, and he was pretty sure Wars would be willing to help.

[jangofctts]

Sink Your Teeth In (Part 2 of Are You In Or Out?)

Rated: Explicit (Paz is in the next chapter DONT WORRY)

Word count: 7.5k

Warnings: mentions of violence, blood, the cold?, reader is in PERIL YET AGAIN, vaginal fingering, oral female receiving, unprotected vaginal sex (wrap them schlongs yall), brief hand jobs, swearing, angst, very VERY light choking, din is a sub sorta?? bottom energy 

Summary: Well. At least you aren't dead. After a solo hunt gone wrong, you’re dumped in a cave on Csilla. Hopefully someone finds you before you freeze to death.  

a/n: hey…so uh. HOW ABOUT THAT EPISODE HUH?!? aheM anyway--yall I just wanna thank everyone first off for all the love and support!!! I see all of your comments and tags and AH IM SO LUCKY TO HAVE ALL OF YOU GUYS. ALSO SPECIAL SHOUTOUT TO @djxrxn​ THIS WOULDNT HAVE BEEN DONE WITHOUT YOU BB GORL

Well—

Here you are. 

Taken by surprise by another bounty, further proving how irrevocably incompetent you are at this line of work. You blame the binders. An older, clunkier model—easy to pick if you’re clever enough and yes. Maybe you should’ve asked to borrow a carbonite chamber, but hey—where’s the fun in that? 

Not much, as it so happens. 

Your feet had been kicked up on the dashboard, dozing and unaware of the freed bounty creeping up behind the pilot’s seat. Something delightfully blunt smashed against your temple, jolting you into a brief conscious state where the only thing you could think before passing out again, was a resounding— 

Oh, fuck me sideways with a fucking lightsaber—

The rest is hazy. A blur of colors and the fuzzy shapes of your bounty’s face sneering in amusement when she bound your wrists and ankles and left you in the cargo hold. Vaguely you recall your ship being commandeered, swung into an unidentified atmosphere and landing on said unknown planet Or planets. Planet hopping to cover up a trail. 

The bitter cold, sharper than a needle through skin is what shook off the last dregs of unconsciousness. The bounty’s hand was hooked into the collar of your clothes, dragging your limp body through drifts of snow and ice. You would’ve fought back—should’ve even though each extremity felt like a numb block of lead. Not very useful in a fight…

Soon, the snow turned to mud and the mud to stone as a mouth of a cave slid over the impossibly blue sky. Dumped in a cave, and left to die—perfect way to bite the dust. Your bounty turned captor lands a sharp kick to your ribs, mouthing some curse in a language you don’t understand, and left without a second thought. 

Seems about right. You have a knack for lying helpless and half dead in places you ought not to be in. 

Two days and counting, you’ve been holed up in this blasted cave with no food, no supplies and no comlink. It’s going be a fucking chore to find you—nearly impossible. You’re lucky in that aspect you guess—you know enough bounty hunters to sniff out a a needle in a whole stack of needles, so all it is is a race of time against the elements and how long it takes for one of them to notice.            

Aeris is no help. He left a day before you had—hired as personal protection for some syndicate leader halfway across the galaxy. Ives is in a similar boat, off-world and unavailable to drag your ass out of the hole you’ve dug. Which leaves…

You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose between your forefinger and thumb. Anytime you even think of those two a migraine cumulates behind your eyes. It’s…it’s not like anything bad happened in the aftermath—there’s been no fallout or arguments with barbed words as weapons. It’s been quiet. Like stepping onto a sheet of cracked transparisteel in a library full of tight-lipped academics. 

The questions lurk under the surface of every conversation and longing look cast your way. You’ll need to clarify and sort things out eventually, but fuck—it’s such a mess of frazzled heartstrings and fine strands of impossible thoughts that lead into an endless void of doubt. You’re shoving that emotional time bomb to the very back of your mind—everything is still so raw…  

So you ran. 

Picked up any and all jobs that the Guild provided just to escape the looming decision of confronting a certain pair of Mandalorians. That and with them having their own tasks to complete, it was rare to see them, let alone together in the past few weeks. A simple run in here and there in the halls of the Covert, but you were too busy to stop and chat—forced a chaotic schedule upon yourself as an excuse to avoid staying in once place at a time.    

Coward.

The word knots in your stomach like gnarled tree roots escaping their prison of dark soil on untrodden land.  

Maker—how did everything become so tangled? 

You draw your knees up to your chest and release a long, drawn out exhale that echoes through the cave. You sniff and force the swell of tears that prick at your eyes away. You’re pretty sure they’ll freeze and you’re not hoping to find out. 

The only good thing about being dropped on this Maker-forsaken, wasteland devoid of anything but snow, is the free ice for the nasty gash on your forehead. A nice little parting gift. 

It’s shallow…you think—it stopped bleeding the night before and is now just a scabbed over, tender wound that throbs whenever you move your head too fast. Concussion maybe—a mild one.  

Maker willing when someone finds your sorry ass they’ll have bacta. Or a blanket. Either would be peachy.     

Sitting up with a wince, you shuffle to the mouth of the cave for the thousandth time and scour the skyline for a familiar ship. Or, any ship really. The only thing you do see is a lonesome wisp of cloud against the grayish blue sky much to your chagrin. You scowl and stalk back into your little hovel and slump back onto the ground. 

The hours drag on, the watery light of the dying sun barely doing anything to warm you. Sulking is hardly what you should be doing—not great for the burdened mind and all that, but ah, it’s so fun to wallow in misery. You curl your knees up to your chest and you must slip into a doze because when you’re snapped back into the present, footsteps punch through the frozen tundra outside your cave.  

Adrenaline crackles down your spine—the bounty changed her mind. Ultimately decided she’d be safer in the long run with you dead. Fine.

If this is where your grave is going to be, might as well get in one or two punches. What’s another black eye anyway?

A shadow flickers at the mouth of the cave, curling around the wall as she draws closer. A brown boot kicks through the snow and— 

“Changed your mind? I—“

Your words die on your tongue as relief floods your veins. Din Djarin stands before you, a sight for sore eyes in these trying times. 

Frost glitters on the burgundy chest plate, glinting in the dim sunlight that touches the mouth of the cave. A delicate feathering of the dainty crystals that no high end lace maker could ever hope to mimic curls up the front of Din’s visor and eats away at the edges of his cloak. His heavy step forward reverberates off the walls, some of that ease replaced by the prickle of dread. His silence is unnerving. 

“Din,” you say again, just so he’ll say something. “I can—“

You move to stand, but he interrupts with a halting;

“Sit.”       

Your mouth snaps shut and you drop back on the floor. This…is not good. His footsteps are heavy as he approaches you and every muscle in your frame tightens like a fist wrapping around your ribcage and squeezing. The precise edges of his helmet are not a forgiving sight and even when he kneels onto one knee you have to resist the natural urge to flinch. Like this, despite hunching over, Din is broad. All hard muscle and sinew amplified by the bulky layer of beskar.   

Your tongue runs over the insides of your teeth as you track his hand that he thrusts foreword. You hiss and jerk away at the sudden needly pain when his gloved thumb finds the edges of your head wound. A low sound of disapproval filters out through the helmet in a low metallic buzz. 

“You won’t need stitches,” he says. Din reaches into one of his various supply pouches and pulls out a tiny vile of bacta. He casually pulls off his right glove, unscrews the vile and smears the bacta over his thumb. This time you don’t make a sound, even though your nerves scream at the razor like sensation of his thumb working the bacta into the damaged flesh. He doesn’t ask how the injury happened and you don’t care to tell him. There’s a time and place for stories about battle scars and near misses—it’s much too fresh to be spoken of right now. 

The brief torture finally ends after once last glance over for other presenting injuries. He finds none, replaces his glove and stands with a muted grunt. You know what’s next. You’d rather avoid it—you aren’t keen on the berating lectures—as deserved as they are.      

“I found your ship on Sato 3,” Din begins with a growl. “Imagine my surprise when I found your bounty selling it for parts.”  

Ah, there it is. You wince and study your fingernails. “Pile of junk anyway…”

“I thought you’d be smarter about these things,” he snarls, his sharp tone deadly enough to slice through bone. “Was the hole blown into your lung not enough for you?”

You swallow and bite your tongue.  

The bristling Mandalorian, continues and jabs an orange tipped finger at you. “You are reckless.”

Your chest constricts as you look away, shame blooming in the pit of your stomach.This is a new facet of Din you’ve never encountered. You aren’t naïve—even the most docile of people can harbor a temper, you know that. And you know Din is by no means passive—he’s an elite warrior equipped with a small arsenal at his disposal. You don’t expect him to coddle you or treat you different than any other companion; but…but it’s hard not to take his ire to heart. Not when it’s the kind of anger that boils deep in your chest and erupts with molten streams that leaves scathing wounds and blistered feelings.  

You chew your lip hard enough to taste blood and avoid his piercing gaze. You think if you do you might catch fire and burn to a crisp. “I’m sorry.”   

The meek apology settles in the air like a heavy fog. Din’s anger still brews, looming and dark but he reigns in his temper and switches out the searing cadence of his words with chilly informality. You’re not sure which is worse.   

“No more bounties.” 

“What?” Your brows knit together. The fuck does he mean.  

“No more hunts alone—“  

You interrupt with a scoff. “You’re grounding me?”

He strides across the small space and plants himself on the opposing wall. “Until you’re competent enough, you have no business being out in the field. You might as well be bait at this point.” 

“Competent.” You echo through clenched teeth.  

His helmet dips, leveling a steady glare of indifference. “The Crest is a half cycle’s walk from here. In the morning I’m taking you back to Nevarro.”   

“I’m not a child. You can’t just,” you throw your hands up in dismay, “ban me from bounty hunting.”    

Din’s armor clinks together as he moves to sit. He rests one elbow on his propped up knee, extends his other and rolls his helmet to meet your eyes. “Your actions reflect the Covert now. We can’t risk discovery because of one stupid mistake or a careless loose end.”    

That hadn’t even crossed your mind. Stars, you want to smack yourself. Your ship, as shitty as it was, hosted a good chunk of sensitive information, all encrypted and translated into binary. A mediocre slicer could hack through it in hours. Not exactly foolproof but hey, at least you had something. Good thing your bounty wasn’t in the market of selling stolen ships to the Empire. 

“Din?”

The Mandalorian makes no noise of affirmation that he heard you. You sigh and take his silence as a go ahead and clear your throat. “How long was I gone for?”

Here, in the cave it’s been nearly three days, but the rest of it you’re not exactly sure. Hunting the bounty down took up at least a week or two and even longer to capture her and there’s no accounting for the time lost after your ship was commandeered. Your teeth roll over your bottom lip as you wait for him to respond. 

“Almost two months.” He replies evenly. “Your transmissions were cut three weeks ago and I didn’t think anything of it. Comms are always patchy in Wild Space."

Leather creaks as his fist balls at his side. “You didn’t answer for days. Paz and I tracked the ship to Sato 3, but you weren’t there. Do you know how difficult it was to pick through all the planets recorded on your log?”

You blink and return to picking at your fingernails. 

“You weren’t easy to find, I—“ He severs the rest of his sentence with a crackling sigh and tilts his head back. “You’re lucky.”    

The hesitance lacing his words makes you bite your tongue, the snarky retort crumbling to ash in your mouth. Din doesn’t bother to filter his words—he’s blunt. Efficient and to the point when he does decide to speak. That…well that was different.   

He was worried—

You rub at your cheek—numb with the cold and curl into yourself. Din was worried. Easily the most feared bounty hunter in the parsec, worried that he couldn’t find you.   

A different cold—one that settles deep into the marrow of your bones and hugs your soul with a sheet of frost, makes a home in your heart. The severity of what could’ve happened replaces that sheen of hilarity and fuck. You were closer to freezing to death than Din finding you here—alone in some stupid kriffing cave.  

Somehow the idea of that is worse than the brief brush of eternal slumber you had on Nar Shaddaa. Up to that point you expected to die young—no harm and no foul in it either. You had no attachments, no debt to pay—a drifter in an endless galaxy.    

Now you’re here, buckling under the weight of mismanaged friendships and your uncanny skill at weaseling into any and all trouble. 

Neither you or Din jump to fill the silence. The ashes of disaster settle in nicely with the frozen echo of an endless winter.      

It’d been a couple hours shy from sunset when Din arrived, the sun providing weak light that hardly touched the mouth of the cave. Now as the shadows grow longer and with the temperature dropping, the two of you are swallowed up by the unyielding darkness of night. 

Din shuffles and fishes out the solar light from his supply bag. It clicks on and warm, orange light illuminates the cave. It bounces off his beskar, fracturing the light like a million tiny suns in the tempered metal and in the impossibly dark visor. He looks up, and tosses the light over. 

You catch it easily and despite the warmness of the light it emits, it offers no heat for your chilled fingers. You set it to the side and tuck your hands into your armpits. 

By no means is the cave warm—the natural thermal vents kept the ground dry and free of the ice and snow that rages outside, but it doesn’t protect you from the occasion chilly draft that cuts through each layer you wear. Then again, you weren’t planning on taking an unexpected vacation on Csilla. No time to plan really.  

You sigh and pull your knees up to your chest and cast a glance at your ever radiant ray of sunshine across from you.  

He looks nice and cozy—leaned back against the cave wall, one leg crossed over the other while his hands sit intertwined just below his navel. The beskar must provide insulation—maybe a fancy heater in that bucket of his, or maybe he’s just too stubborn to show anything other than indifference.   

Another bout of shivers tear through your frame and you’re certain Din can hear the enamel of your teeth clack together. You shove your hands deeper into your armpits and tuck your chin into your chest to preserve heat and pray that sleep isn’t far off—can’t be cold if you’re unconscious.    

Metal scrapes over stone as Din readjusts himself and you can feel him looking at you. It’s not a terrible weight to bear; intense and analytic, sure and in the past it would’ve unnerved you. Now, instead of it feeling like he were peeling back each fibre of your soul each time he stares, it’s familiar. A pattern of sorts—

It happens each time Din wrestles with an uncertain question. He deals in absolutes, and it’s no surprise he rarely knows what to say to you. 

“You’re shivering,” he states. You roll your eyes. “Are you cold?”

“Boiling, actually,” you snip. “Why else would I forget a jacket?”

A sharp hiss of air crackles through the vocoder. “Don’t get mouthy with me. It was a simple question.”

“Well—there’s not much to do about it,” you sneer, watching your breath condensate in the air. “I’m freezing, exhausted, and hungry.”       

You know you’re being snide—but your nerves feel like they’ve been severed at the root with a dull vibroblade. You have neither the time nor energy to spare for simple questions. Din should understand that—seeing as he’s a man familiar with short temperament.

The space between you is ripe with crackling tension, and maybe—if you weren’t so fucking cold—you’d play the mediator. Thread stitches into the gash you both sliced into your friendship, as small it may be. You’ve lost friends over less—this could end up no different.

You sigh and turn your head. This is a problem for tomorrow. 

Irritated and upset, you squeeze your eyes shut and chase after sleep. You slip in a doze faster than expected, any and all discomfort fading away a you toe the line between a deeper sleep and waking dreams. You think you imagined Din saying your name—Maker you can’t even escape him in your own fucking head—  

It doesn’t end—like a nagging buzz that swells until it’s right near your ear. Spite spurs you to ignore It and exhaustion convinces you to drift further away. That is, until a hand, gentle and warm curls around your shoulder. You once again hear your name rumble low through Din’s helmet, but it’s much too difficult to open your eyes. Why can’t he leave you be? You barely feel the cold now…

“Stay awake.” Din sounds distant, in some other plane of existence despite the steady hold he has on your arm. “Maker—you’re colder than kriffing ice.” 

“Go away,” you grumble through numb lips. Such a pest.  

He’s talking—but the words don’t make sense. Muddled—split between that hazy line of dreaming and consciousness where you can’t decipher what’s real. His hands however—you can feel those plain as day. A bare palm cups your cheek—shreds through the layer of frost you’re positive has crystalized over your skin and rouses you to a more coherent level of presentness.       

“Don’t quit on me yet—“

“Nah,” you mumble. “I’m hard to…to kill. L-like a scrap rat…”  

Din grunts in response. “Rat is a compliment. You’re more of a spider-roach.”

The ends of your mouth quirk. It’s the best you can do—a full smile just might push you to the brink of death.        

“C’mon—I won’t let either of us freeze,” Din sighs. His fingers find the magnetized latches on his cuirass and it slips off with practiced ease, the armored thigh plating following a moment later. He neatly sets it to the side and grabs his cloak to fasten it around you. With another sigh, Din shuffles in behind you and wraps an arm around your middle, nestling his legs and body snuggly around yours.   

Maker—you don’t have time to bother about the intimacy of this because all you’re drawn to is the furnace like heat. Fuck, he’s so warm. You have only a second to enjoy it before your body begins to thaw—bringing forth waves of achey pain.   

His chest molds to your back, both arms curling over your own arms that are scrunched up tight around your chest. You shake in his hold, vicious waves of cold clashing against his body heat—it hurts—like sticking your bare foot into hot coals.     

You squirm, little gasps of discomfort slipping out that echo around the cave. Din shifts, tucking you further under his body until he’s nearly crushing you. It’s a bit tricky to breathe like this but hey—you’re not complaining. Not when your nose is buried in his soft undershirt that smells purely of Din.   

Your fingers and toes still throb as they thaw, but it’s working. Cuddling Din Djarin to stave off hypothermia—sounds kriffing ridiculous. 

“You’re still shivering,” he says. “I might…”

Your breath catches in your throat as he trails off. “Might what?”

Another shiver wracks through your body as his frosty helmet catches on bare skin when he dips his head in embarrassment. You don’t quite catch what he says and he doesn’t bother to clarify. “Forget it.”  

You turn your head as much as you can, straining your eyes to meet the strip of visor. “Tell me.”

He mumbles under his breath again and cuddles closer, slotting his hips against your ass. “Might know…know another way to keep us warm…”

Oh. 

A spark breathes to life in the pit of your tummy. You wiggle onto your back, your nose brushing the vizor. “Does it involve me taking off my pants?” 

Din huffs, his hands, previously latched onto your hips, starting to crawl up your waist. “It could…”    

You smirk and rock your hips back, eliciting a low growl that rumbles through his chest. With your whine of approval, Din’s hand slips between your legs and gives the meat of your inner thigh a squeeze. You let your knees fall open as far as they can in this position and it’s all Din needs to cup your cunt through the thin material of your trousers. 

Crackling pleasure flood your veins as the heel of his palm grinds into your clit, and while the pressure is nice, it does nothing to satisfy. Only feeds the growing flames of desire with brittle kindling. 

You pull at his undershirt and whimper, thrilled once his deft fingers, calloused and thick unlace your pants and yank far enough down to fit his hand. His fingers trace your outer lips, a ghost of a touch as arousal swells in your stomach. He parts your folds once your wetness begins to dribble out and coats his fingertips with your arousal. 

Stars—you need him. You arch into him and whine. “Touch me. Din, please—“ 

You jerk as Din’s thumb swirls a slow circle over your clit, a rush of endorphins surging out like unrefined fire whiskey. Din’s head tilts to watch you writhe over his fingers and the sudden chill of his helmet touching the inside of your flushed neck steals away your next inhale. Goosebumps race down your entire being, adding to the influx of your excitement that pools in your lower belly.       

Your hands tangle into his undershirt, pulling him closer until you can’t find where he begins and you end. His heart pounds in his chest, thrumming to the dance of your own heart that yearns to break free from your ribcage. Your breath catches when two of his thick fingers tease at your entrance. Your walls flutter around him as the slip in easily.   

His fingers roll forward and stroke against something devastating inside of you, and he when his palm rolls back, it bumps against your clit with that divine firmness you need. Your cunt tightens around the two digits as they curl.  

“Fuck. Can you hear yourself?” He pants, groping your breast to elicit a high pitched wail. “You always make—make such pretty noises.” 

Butterflies erupt in your stomach at his words and fuck. You’re already dipping head first into release. A moment later you’re arching into his chest as every muscle stiffens in a crescendo of bliss, your stuttered breathing harsh even to your own ears.  

Your quick pants fog up his visor as Din rests the crown of his helmet on your forehead, the metal a cool relief to your flushed skin. He slips his fingers out of your dripping cunt, your chest still heaving with exertion as the last strands of your high fizzle and ebb away. Din shifts and and snakes his fingers, still shiny and wet with your arousal, beneath the lip of his helmet and sucks them clean with an appreciative groan.  

“Fuck—“ You breathe, pushing your face into his hand as he cups your cheek. Din’s thumb brushes over your cheekbone and swings his leg over your hips to hoist himself over you. 

“Do you remember...” He starts, his voice buzzing through the vocoder. His fingers tickle down your cheek and trace the parted outline of your lips. “When you let me taste you?”

You nod, and it’s all you’re able to do. You’re not even sure you can formulate words, let alone voice them right now. 

Din’s thumb pulls at your plush bottom lip, and you can’t help but slide your tongue along the digit. He grunts and slips his thumb into the wet heat of your mouth. “I think about you every night…how you came on my tongue—”

Your stomach flips as a rush of arousal sweeps through your tummy. You groan and you’re half sure you’re gonna dissipate into the floor from how hot your cheeks burn. “Din—"  

He continues without missing a beat. 

“You were so fucking wet for me—dripped all over my hand,” he murmurs, nuzzling his helmet, still chilly and frosted over, into the crook of you neck.  “I want to do it again—can I?”

You’re nodding before he even finishes his sentence. He wasn’t the only one longing for his head between your thighs on those long nights apart. Remembering those plush lips and addictive touches could only get you so far and well—he’s here now. You said it once and you’ll say it again—there’s no chance in hell you’d be passing up this opportunity. 

Din lifts his head and as you watch the light glitter in the reflection of the beskar, a sudden stray thought ricochets into the forefront of your mind. “Din, the light—your helmet.”

He pauses, his body tensing as he mulls over his options. “It’s—I—it’s ok…It’ll be ok.”

Din inhales a stuttered breath and casts a brief glance over his shoulder. It’s a dim light, kicked into the corner and laying on its side. From this angle, his face would be partially obscured in shadow…but still. There are easier ways to go about this. Ways that don’t risk jeopardizing the very foundation of who he is—what he stands for and what he so devoutly follows.    

To say you know anything about his religion is laughable. Everything you know can fit on the back of a thumbtack and even still, you’re sure that half of that is still based upon rumor and speculation. But this—what Din is hinting at, you know is not something to be taken lightly. 

He’s stripping his soul bare for you—allowing you to glimpse at that bleeding heart of his he guards so securely within layers of flesh and bone and impenetrable beskar. Din is gifting you his trust and there’s no where else to put it except for the space beneath your breast bone.   

Yet, even still—this could mean nothing at all. You have no way to know the exact magnitude of what this means to him. If he’s alright with this, who are you to question?

He mumbles one last thing about the light and sits up. Goosebumps rush up your bare skin at the loss of the heavy warmth of his body. You whine and curl up closer to his legs, greedy for any spare iota of heat like you’ve been denied it your entire life.   

Maker you hate this fucking planet—   

Your attention snaps back to Din when he makes a noise of uncertainty. His hands are cupped around his helmet—hesitant, nervous and you suspect if Din’s hands weren’t plastered so tight around the metal, he’d be shaking. You chew on your lip and prop yourself up. 

Cautiously, so as not to startle, you reach up and curl your fingers around his wrist. You can feel his pulse thrumming through his veins—alive, flesh and bone like you. Not some heap of sentient metal built for the horrors of war. You don’t know why you do it—just seems right to pull the fragile and vulnerable skin of his inner wrist to you mouth. You plant a gentle kiss there and smile when he cups your cheek.           

“You don’t owe me anything, Din,” you say, staring into the darkened depths of his visor. “Least of all this.”    

Some of that tension held in Din’s shoulders melts. He utters something in that clipped language of his people, and the only thing you can make out is your name. He lurches foreword and fuck—you’re terrified for a split second he’s gonna cave your skull in but instead he lightly bumps the crown of his helmet over your forehead.      

“I want to. For you—only you.”

Din doesn’t leave any time to unpack all of that. He sits up again, wraps his hands around the beskar— 

The metallic thunk of the helmet reverberates through the cave like a crack of thunder.    

You were right. 

You can barely see his face—if you really look, you can see the murky outline of his nose, dark hair and a sliver of his tan skin that the light touches. Attractive—but you knew that already. You touch his cheek and smile, your thumb catching over wiry facial hair and soft skin. Din makes a sound low in his throat and pushes his cheek into your hand. 

“I still want to taste you,” Din says, his voice richer when stripped of that tinny vocoder. You like listening to him speak without it, you think, and it’s a damn shame you never get to hear it. “Please.”     

Before he can escape and fulfill that fantasy, you yank him into a blinding kiss. He kisses the same—all wild edges and with desperation lining each motion—but there’s a new found tenderness here. Like he’s savoring each gasp and every brush of skin you grace him with like it’s your last night left in the galaxy.   

He breaks away from your mouth and peppers kisses and nips down your jaw, then lower as you arch and expose the bare skin of your throat. There’ll be a plethora of bruises tomorrow, and with no hope to cover them either but fuck it—Din can leave as many hickeys and teeth marks as he wants. 

If not for the cold still latching onto your very soul, you’d ditch the shirt; give Din better access instead of him needing to shove a hand up under and grope at your breasts. He gives the fabric an annoyed tug, but it’s fruitless. There’s no use when there’s better things to be sought. 

He shoves your shirt as far up as it goes, shivering as he mouths down your stomach, licks around your bellybutton and sucks a bruise onto your hipbone. Your pants are already pulled halfway down—one sharp yank and they’re around your ankles and off in the next breath. 

Cupping your knees with both hands he gingerly spreads your legs and drapes them over his muscular shoulders. Din rubs his patchy haired cheek along your thigh and hooks his hands under your ass, his ivory white teeth catching the light as he smiles.  

“Fucking perfect—“ He groans, planting his lips over your inner thigh. His tongue swipes a wet line up, stopping just before your aching cunt to dig his teeth into the sensitive flesh. You jump at the burst of pain and shoot a hand down, tangling your fingers into the soft curls atop his head.  

Din grunts and jumps to your other thigh, leaving no inch of skin neglected and without evidence of his teeth and lips. By the time his thumbs touch the outer lips of your cunt, the aching need for him is burning you from the outside in. He has to still your twitching hips with a calloused palm, and only after you settle does he surge forward. 

His tongue meets your swollen clit, ripping a tangled cry from you vocal cords. He’s just as eager as the first time he tasted you, if not more—every action backed by needy abandon. He sucks at the bundle of nerves then sweeps his tongue lower. Din’s thumbs part your lower lips as he runs his tongue though your soaked folds, the tip of his nose bumping against your clit that send delicious sparks throughout your whole body. Little noises and breathy gasps fill the cave, encouraging Din to push his tongue deep into your aching entrance. 

Your hand fists into his hair as your hips stutter and rock into the searing heat of his mouth. The noises you make are obscene, and Din is no better. Each pass of his tongue over your pussy is matched with his own deep moans that vibrated against your clit. Fucking hell he’s devouring you alive.          

Your orgasm sneaks up on you, robs you blind and crashes over you in deep waves that drag you out to sea and never to be found again as you spill onto his greedy tongue. Your fingers are threaded tight in his hair as you squeak and press harder into his mouth, riding out your pleasure until it shifts and becomes raw and sore.  

Din doesn’t pause for even a second—all too happy to stay put between your thighs for eternity. Your legs are trembling when you force his head away, a nice, tingly warmth settling into your limbs 

A dark thrill rushes down your spine when he looks up, wild hair and mouth covered in your slick. If not for the low lighting you imagine his eyes would be glazed over and Maker you want him again. Din swoops down and presses his mouth to yours, the taste of yourself heavy on his tongue that slips past the seem of your lips. 

You whine after he breaks away and sits up—an opportunity for your eyes to roam down his body. He’s still got his trousers on, a considerable bulge tenting the front. With a smirk you reach up and grab a handful, delighting in Din’s startled grunt. “Easy.”

You flash him a wry smile and give his clothed cock a playful squeeze. “Take them off.” 

Din huffs and pulls at the drawstrings. “Needy.”

He says it with no bite and no coquettish retort on your end springs to mind—especially when his thumbs hook into the waistband and pull. A slow reveal of sun-kissed skin and a sparse happy trail that your eyes eagerly drink up. 

Din’s cock bobs as his trousers fall around his knees, tip shiny and wet and curling towards his navel. You bite the inside of your cheek and reach out, a rush of arousal pulsing through your core at Din’s low moan. He’s heavy in your hand, deliciously thick and throbbing—and all of it for you. 

Din gasps out your name as you lightly squeeze and stroke down, your pace dreadfully slow and teasing. Who knows when you’ll get another chance like this—a Mandalorian willingly on their knees for you.           

Your other hand slips up his chest as you stroke him, intent on grabbing a handful of his thick hair that curls softly against the column of his neck. Your fingernail lightly scrapes across his nipple and he sways, pitching forward before he catches himself and straightens. Din’s eyes are squeezed tight, chest heaving with shallow pants as a smirk tugs at your lips. 

“It’s ok, Din,” you whisper. “I won’t break.” 

Your fingers twist into the hair at the base of his skull and guide him back. He slumps forward with a sweet moan, laying his weight onto your body that you’re all too happy too bare. His nose is nestled into the slope of your neck as his hands lock around the dip of your lower back while the other cradles the back of your head, drawing you into a loose semblance of a hug. 

Something snaps and crumbles deep in your soul that bleeds the heartstring blues, humming with broken chords in the presence of Din’s soft fragility. Your hand moves from between his legs to instead wrap around the wide expanse of his back, squeezing him tight to your chest. You hold each other like there isn’t tomorrow to look forward to and you wonder if this is how it feels to fall apart. Two spinning halves of a supernova torn apart and destined to collide and shatter into a million fragments of dazzling light.  

Yes, you’re scared he might blind you or burn you with his brilliance, but you can’t look away.      

Your fingers crawl up his muscled thigh and settle on his hip. “Lie down for me?”

There’s no hint of hesitation or complaint as he maneuvers himself onto his back, patiently allowing you to clamber over his legs and straddle his hips. His cock rests on your inner thigh, pulsing and leaving a dribble of wetness every time it twitches.    

“Good boy.” It’s subtle but it ripples out like a heavy stone thrown into a still lake. Din shudders and says your name in a cracked whisper. He rolls his hips, both of you groaning at the sensation of his cock running along your dripping center.     

Another time for that game maybe. 

Your desperation is running hot and wild to have him inside you and you know he’s in a similar boat. You grab the thick shaft of his cock and grind the tip of him through your lips, breath hitching when it extracts such a perfect moan from the man below you. 

“Ride me,” he pleads, clamping his large hands over your hips. “Fuck—I need you.” 

How can you deny such a request?

You line the wide head up with your aching center and slowly work him in. Shivers wrack through you, and Maker—he’s splitting you apart, molding your insides to the shape of him. Beads of sweat dot your hairline by the time you’re seated fully on his member, the both of you pushed even closer towards madness.  

Din squeezes your ass and props his knees up, rolling his hips up into you. You whimper and tip forward, propping your palms over his chest as he sets the pace. You may be on top but there’s no changing the bold colors of power and lust that cloud his mind, fueling the brutal movements of fucking up into you. Your thighs burn already and Maker—why the fuck are you already tired? You’re not doing any of the work.  

Quicker than lightning, Din curls forward and manhandles you onto your back. You squeak as he grips your thigh and yanks it around his narrow hips, thrusting in deeper. His right hand crawls up the front of your shirt and wraps his fingers around your throat in a loose hold. His thumb hovers over the dip at the base of your neck but he makes no move to press down—just allows the weight of his palm to do the work. And fuck—it works. 

Choked garbles of his name pass through your lips as you buck and squirm in his hold, feeling your arousal begin to drip down the back of your thighs. You’re skirting the edge of sizzling release that alights your nerves with liquid wildfire. Your nails harpoon into the meat of his shoulders as your eyes squeeze shut. Din won’t allow it.      

“Look at me,” Din snarls, yanking your head back by your hair. “I want to—to watch you cum for me.” 

A blush scalds your cheeks but you listen. Your eyes flutter open for him, sliding to the dark shadows of his eyes that sweep you into their own gravity well with no hope to escape. You don’t mind. 

“You’re so g-good for me—always so perfect.”

White hot light bursts behind your eyelids, and that’s all it takes. Your body seizes, your cunt squeezing impossibly tight around his cock as you cum. This one is different—steals your breath away and leaves you a broken husk of a person lost in most delectable forms of agony and pleasure. The cry of his name pierces the air only spurring the Mandalorian into a jarring pace to seek his own peak of ecstasy.  

Din’s nose nuzzles into your neck, his pants hot and sharp against your flushed skin. “You f-feel so—fuck. Say—say my name.”

You leap to his request and with a playful nip to his earlobe, you whisper it to him with the sweetness of starcherrries and the promise of better things. 

He tips over the edge, his hips faltering into no discernible pace as he cums. Din buries his teeth into the skin below your jaw, a mess of whines and begging gasps of nonsense as he fills your cunt to the brim. 

Your harsh breathing mingles as you both lazily slip down from your high. He rests his head over your sternum, listening to your beating heart that drums in a wild staccato as your fingers carefully comb through his hair. If not for the ache in your hips you’d keep him here forever. Din pulls out and you both groan at the loss. 

He doesn’t completely move away and you’re glad for it. He brushes his knuckles down the expanse of your cheek and dots a tender kiss to your hairline. Your name rumbles low in his throat as he shifts lower and gives your ear lobe a playful nip. His stubble scrapes along your neck, and you can’t help but giggle and squirm—but the weight of his body keeps you pinned. Your name slips from his lips a second time, breathy and drawn out in a sweet sigh, like he’s savoring the sound of each syllable and roll of the tongue. 

Din lifts his head, only slightly—near enough that his nose bumps into yours and his lips scrape along yours that are still parted and wet. “I—can I tell you something?” 

You cup his cheek and steal a kiss. It’s supposed to be quick—but instead he leans into it, guiding your mouth into a slow dance of sticky sweet movements that are caught in a slow draw, like crystalized honey abandoned in a glass jar. You’re enraptured by his touch—his skin mottled with scars yet somehow still unfairly soft. He smells of snow—like metal and soap and something gentler, that’s uniquely Din.            

Fuck—you can feel your mind slipping away, wrapped up so snugly in his presence you almost forget to answer. “Yeah—anything.”

Crackling static suddenly rips through the cave, startling you both. A distorted voice chatters on the comlink that lies forgotten beside your pants. It blinks and the transmission ends just as abruptly. With a sigh Din brushes it off and tilts his head to tempt you into another kiss but—

Whoever’s trying to patch through is persistent. 

His lip curls in a scowl and snatches the comm. “Jorhaa’ir.”

You only catch your name being mentioned twice as rapid Mando’a is exchanged. Aeris maybe judging by the tone, but no that’s not right.   

“Wait—is that Paz?”

The muscles in Din’s shoulders tense, confirming your suspicion.

“Is everything ok?” Din doesn’t resist you when you pry the comlink out of his fingers and patch in. “Paz?”

Your heart skips a beat. 

“There you are,” the comlink crackles and you smile. “You’re a pain in my ass, you know that?” 

Stars—you didn’t think you’d miss hearing Paz’s voice. Your chest aches. 

The conversation is short, he asks you how you are and when you’re coming home and in the time it takes to answer, Din is peeling himself from your body. While you're distracted, he pulls on his pants and sits at the edges of your vision.

You both pretend when you say goodnight to Paz, return the comlink and crawl into his arms that nothing has festered with savage detachment. You don't remember to ask him what he was going to say and he lets you forget. The golden heart that bleeds molten ichor slips from your sight and becomes shut behind walls of beskar and bushes of thick thorns and overgrown ivy.         

He still holds you, but it’s the coldest you’ve ever been. 

Tag List: @teaofpeach @corrupt-fvcker @nelba @datmando @ben-is-a-hoe @dreams-like-clockwork @aeryns-library @auty-ren @huliabitch @anxiety-riddled-mando @phoenixhalliwell @cptnbvcks @thesoftdumbass @krissology @starlite41 @legally-a-bastard @basslinedweller @cloud-of-roses @elenamiria @goldafterglow @maybege @equalstrashflavoredtrash @wandxrlust @hdlynnslibrary @calamity-queen @sgtbookybarnes @pinkninja190 @lackofhonor @darthstyles @spacegayofficial @absurdthirst​ @blue-writes-a03​ @max--phillips​

[hyuckssunchip]

[8:55 pm] - Pt. 2 (happy)

Pairings: Taeyong x Reader

Words: 1.3K

Warnings: Language (there is almost always language in my writings), violence (hitting), angst

Synopsis:

‘when he hurts you’ boyfriend drabble

a misunderstanding escalates to something more, what will happen to their relationship??

(note: this is just a character, i trust that Taeyong would never use violence)

Tag list: @popsuhcle​ @ne0yong​

Part 1

It had been almost a week since Taeyong was able to get in touch with you, and although he was desperate to, he didn’t try very hard. He didn’t seem to have the time nor the will too. 

It had been almost a week when Doyoung showed up at your door.

By the look on his face he was more than drained by the constant work and practice he was putting into their next comeback. You couldn’t even imagine what Taeyong looked like. He always seemed to show his wear and tear the most. 

“Doyoung?”

He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes, “Y/N, hi.” There was a pause, as if he was regretting coming here. “Can I come in?”

You raised your eyebrows in surprise, not even realising that he was still standing in the doorway. Stepping away, you gestured for him to enter, taking notice of his heavy steps.

You offered him a glass of water and seat, which he gladly took, glancing with pitiful eyes in your direction. You weren’t dumb, you knew why he was here.

“Taeyong….” He started slowly, gauging your reaction, continuing only when he was sure that you weren’t going to kick him out. “I think you should talk to him, he’s not doing well.”

A frown flitted over your face, “What do you mean he’s not doing well?”

Doyoung just shook his head, “I don’t know much about what happened between you two, Taeyong wouldn’t tell me anything, but I know that whatever it is, it’s taking a toll on the both of you.”

He glanced at your appearance, and you tightened your jacket over your shirt. 

But any guilt or hurt quickly caved to anger, “Why should I be the one to reach out first? He was in the wrong and if he can’t talk to me… if he has to go through you… I don’t think that he’s really trying very hard.”

“I’m not going to defend him, because I don’t know what happened, but… he really does care about you. He’s just stressed and overwhelmed right now.” 

You cast your eyes downwards, fumbling with your sleeves. “That doesn’t make it okay.” You mumbled out.

Doyoung was silent for a while. 

“I know.”

He heaved a sigh, standing up from his seat with his hands in his pockets. “If you do want to talk it out, Taeyong’s been locked up in his studio for the past week. You’ll know where to find him.”

You shut your eyes tightly, jumping slightly as the soft slam of the door. A wave of guilt washed over you. Things had gotten out of hand then, it wasn’t like it was all his fault, you had egged him on. After all it takes two to tango.

You groaned, flopping onto the couch and throwing your arm over your face, heart already decided.

The familiar brown door stared back at you, as if testing you. You weren’t sure how long you had been standing there, hand growing tired with the bad full of food, dangling with a heavy presence. 

Was this a bad idea? Would things end up like they did last time?

Your thoughts teased you, caving into your irrational thoughts. 

“Y/N?”

Your breath caught in your throat as his familiar voice startled you from behind. 

“Oh.” 

Taeyong scratched the back of his head nervously, eyes unable to reach yours, not that you were trying.

“How long have you been standing there?”

“Not long.”

A lie.

“Oh.” 

He gestured to the door and moved to open it for the two of you, standing beside it as you entered first.

The room was a mess. 

For someone as cleanly and perfectionist as Taeyong was, you couldn’t believe your eyes. There were empty take out containers, heaps of clothes from long nights stuck there, papers strewn over every possible surface. 

Your face scrunched in guilt. This wasn’t like him at all.

As if he realized, or had seen your expression, he quickly moved to shoved things off, making room for you to sit, which hesitantly took. 

A moment of awkward silence later you cleared your throat. “Here, uh.. I brought you breakfast. I didn’t think that you had eaten yet.”

There was a smile plastered on his face, but it wasn’t real. It didn’t reach his eyes the way that you were used to.

“Thanks, yeah I’m starving.” But all the while he took his food, his eyes never left yours.

Instinctively you gulped, pulling away. You wrung your hands at the awkward air that settled over the room.

“Can we talk?”

Taeyong tensed at the question as he played with the straps of the bag. 

“Yeah.” 

He sunk into the seat across from you, running his hand over his face in distress.

“Actually, I wanted to talk to you first… about uh… the other day.”

Your mouth stayed shut, but your eyes begged him to continue.

“Look, I… I fucked up. Like really bad. First of all, I should never, never have laid a hand on you. If there’s one thing that I regret… ever is that. It was unwarranted and no one, especially you deserves to be treated like that. You have every right in the world to be upset and angry, and I would too, if I were you.”

He paused to breathe, weary of your reaction. You stayed silent to let him continue.

“If you would let me explain what you saw too… I promise you that it’s nothing like what you thought it was.”

He took a deep breath continuing when you let him. “That… She’s a sound producer that SM is using right now, and she’s been really trying to bounce ideas off of me. I promise that it’s nothing more than that. And the picture… it’s not like I chose it, apple does that stupid thing, you know, where it automatically updates the contact.”

Taeyong sighed, not willing to look back at you in case you didn’t agree with his excuses. 

Little did he know you were doing the same. Communication. That’s all that was needed and all of this could’ve been avoided. If you weren’t so stubborn and actually willing to listen to an explanation, your relationship would’ve never been in this mess. 

“No, I’m sorry.” Taeyong whipped his head to find your eyes. “I was stubborn and upset and… there were a lot of emotions going on. I handled it horribly, and it’s no wonder things went horribly wrong. Yes, what you did was wrong, but it would’ve never gotten that far if I just listened-”

“Stop it. You keep painting yourself in this way. Like you’re the cause of everything, like it was a domino effect. But let’s be real, it was both of our faults. If we can… learn and grow from this, as people and partners…”

You smiled at him, “I’m sorry.” He tried to interrupt. “No, just let me say that one more time. I am… really sorry. And… I love you so goddamn much.”

“Not more than I love you.”

You found yourself pressed against his chest, wrapped between his familiar arms. 

You let it last for a couple more moments before you pulled back. “Let’s get this place cleaned up, it literally looks like a dump, and that’s not an exaggeration.”

His face screwed up in agreement, “Yeah… I’ve uh been stressing a lot. You noticed?”

You smacked his chest playfully at the comment.

“Oh, and don’t think that I’m not gonna make up for our anniversary date. I’ve been working on my present for months now, you are not leaving without it.”

You didn’t think that your smile could get any wider.

Part 1

© Copyright 2021. hyuckssunchip. All rights reserved.

[jordanstrophe]

For Your Own Good

CW: Emotional Whumpee trying to extract revenge, rough/harsh caretaker,  manhandling, forcefully carried, past torture implied, angst

Whumpee had gone insane.

Even after being rescued, they never let themselves recover. They spent all their time locked away in their room tracking whumper’s location, predicting their movements and planning their revenge.

They wanted them to suffer. Even if it was but a fraction of what they felt.

A soft knock came from Caretaker, who held a tray full of snacks and a drink.

“Whumpee? You didn’t come for dinner again. I’m getting worried about you. Can you please try to just nibble on someth-'' Caretaker froze mid sentence when they saw their room trashed. Paper littered the floors, holes in the wall from their fist no doubt, and Whumpee hunched over a desk scribbling away on a map with a red marker like a madman.

“Oh, whumpee...” Caretaker sighed, setting the tray next to them. “How long have you-”  -”Enough!!” Whumpee snapped, hardly glancing away from their work. “I have to-... I have to find them!” They cried, slamming their fist on the table. 

“Okay! Okay, I’m sorry.” Caretaker raised their hands and backed away. 

“I’ll leave the tray, please, try and eat something.” They quietly reminded before shutting the door.

-

The next day, Caretaker had to do a double take when they saw Whumpee up and... Excited? 

“I found them! I know where they are!” Whumpee cheered, struggling to pull their coat on. “What? Whumpee, you can’t be serious! You’re still recovering!” Caretaker argued.

“I’m fine! I can do this.” They hissed. 

“Do what, Whumpee? What are you doing to do when you find them, hmm?”

“I-... I know what I’m doing...”

“Do you!? You've hardly taken care of yourself all week! You’re in no condition to face them! Please, let someone else handle this. I don’t want to see you hurt yourself even more.” Caretaker pleaded.

Every word seemed to make them angrier as they stormed out with a groan and slammed the door behind them. Caretaker practically mimicked their groan before running out to follow them.

--

They made it to an old crumbled shop. Whumpee struggled to pull themselves out of the car as they staggered to keep their balance as soon as their feet touched the ground. 

“Hey” Caretaker called, grabbing their arm. “You can hardly walk. Please, stay in the car. We’ll get them, okay?” They tried to sooth. 

“I have to do this... I’m going to do this. You can’t stop me.” They slurred, ripping their arm from Caretaker's grasp as they swayed and rapidly blinked to focus. 

“Whumpee... I know you want to. But you can’t.” Caretaker’s hand found their cheek as they turned their head back, their hand feeling damp with tears. Whumpee’s eyes widened when they felt them too, reaching up and touching their soaked cheek. They whimpered miserably, their arms falling slack at their side and began to tremble. 

“I-...I’m sorry..” 

“No.” Caretaker cooed, brushing the hair from their face.

“I’m sorry.”

Before they could register what they even meant, they were already bent over Caretaker’s shoulder and carried back to the car.

“Wha-?... No! Stop it! Put me down!” They screamed, weakly hammering a fist into Caretaker’s back. They swung the car door open and dumped them into the back seat. Whumpee struggled, writhing and sobbed hysterically in their grasp as Caretaker just held them tightly against their chest.

“Caretaker stop! Let go of me! I have to do this, pl-ease!” They cried. 

They held them there for what felt like hours until they started to drift off, the exhaustion and stressful week hitting them like a train. Whumpee’s cheek was squished against their shoulder as their breathing began to slow and relax, their eyes falling closed. 

“I’m sorry. It was for your own good.” They whispered, knowing Whumpee couldn’t hear them.

But they didn’t need to.

Tag list: @grizzlie70  @alien-octopus @lave-whump @amethysts-sideblog  @whump-it-like-its-hot  @thingsthatgowhumpinthenight @yet-another-heathen @princessofonward @whatwhumpcomments  @ill-eat-you-if-you-cross-me @mascmasochist @hamiltonwhumpdump  @shokuhoemisaki

o(^∀^*)o Thank you for reading!

[walkerismychoice]

Queen of My Heart - Chapter 38 (The End!)

Book: The Royal Romance

Pairing: Drake X MC, Liam X Olivia, Hana X OC Lydia

Rating: PG-13

Summary: The show comes to and end, and Riley contemplates her future

Author’s Note: I can’t believe I’ve finally brought this series to an end. There was quite a long time I thought I may never finish. I want to thank all the readers and friends who’ve read and encouraged me along the way. I want to especially thank @debramcg1106 as of late for helping me work through the ending and pushing me to finish it out. This is the technical end of the story, but I do have an epilogue planned as well.

Tag List: @khakie4 @dreadpirateemma @ritachacha @blackcoffee85 @choices-fanatic @boneandfur @butindeed @simplyaiden-blog @bobasheebaby @traeumerinsworld @theroyalweisme @umccall71 @lizeboredom @debramcg1106 @enmchoices @withice @viktoriapetit @mfackenthal @drakesfiance @drakelover78 @speedyoperarascalparty @silviasutton1989 @krisnicjack @devineinterventions2 @choiceswreckedme @notoriouscs @blackcatkita @hamalu @akrenich @drakewalkerfantasy @jamielea81 @andy-loves-corgis @jlouise88 @jovialyouthmusic @sleepwalkingelite @i-miss-trr @dragonball-luver @gkittylove99 @lovingchoices14

Word Count: 2230

Queen of My Heart Chapter Index

Due to everything that transpired, filming of the finale was delayed two weeks. Riley was grateful for the time and hardly left Drake’s side during his recovery. He was sent back to the palace after a couple days, and Riley had to convince him that whiskey was not a suitable replacement for the antibiotics and pain medication the doctor prescribed. Reluctantly he obliged. He worked with physical therapy, and by the end of those two weeks, you’d have hardly known he’d been injured at all.

Olivia was salty her ball had been ruined, but the production staff made up for it, giving her and Liam an overnight filmed at Olivia’s northern Lythikos retreat. She was still worried the country would favor Riley with Liam, but Kat assured Olivia between her heroic actions, personal growth, and some favorable editing, it would be hard for most people not to be on her side.

As for Madeleine, it was still unclear if she would be charged criminally or would be incompetent to stand trial due to her mental health, but either way, she wouldn’t be a danger to anyone for quite some time. It was questionable if Jo’s involvement in the whole thing broke any laws. She wasn’t Cordonian, so she couldn’t be charged with treason for skirting security and endangering the life of the crown prince, but authorities were looking to see if there was anything they could make stick. At the very least she was blacklisted and would never work in television again.

So finally, on a calm, clear, day, there was only one obstacle left. Riley met with Liam, adorned in a stunning, body-hugging, Swarovski crystal filled dress, to put on the performance of a lifetime and act as if he’d shattered her heart. Of course, it wasn’t that easy. There were a couple of takes where neither of them could keep a straight face followed few that were unbelievably dramatic, but ultimately Riley was able to tap into her vulnerability and the tragedy she had faced to bring genuine emotion and tears to light. It didn’t matter that it was unrelated to what was happening in the scene, it was real. Kat said it was perfect, and Liam was free to propose to Olivia.

-----

Now that all is said and done, who will Liam choose to be his future Queen? Will it be the fierce Duchess Olivia, or the plucky newcomer Riley? Stay tuned for the finale of Queen of My Heart.”

Maxwell draped his arm around Riley’s shoulder. “What do you think, sis? How did I do on my television debut.”

Maxwell, Bertrand, Savannah, Hannah, Lydia, Liam, Olivia, Riley, and Drake were all huddled in the palace screening room to watch the finale as it aired.

Just about anyone would have been an improvement over Chad,” Riley teased, ”but the squid suit was definitely a nice touch. Your delivery was great, but did you have to call me plucky?”

“You know I had to play it cool,” Maxwell explained. “Plucky is good, but not over the top. Don’t want anyone thinking I’m playing favorites because you’re my sister.”

Riley rolled her eyes. “The suggested ‘noble newcomer’ would have been sufficient.”

“It was a stylistic choice.” Maxwell made a gesture with his hand indicating a mock hair flip.

"Ugh, enough about Maxwell," Olivia groaned. "I'm ready to get to the good part. Can we just fast-forward through any mushy Liam and Riley stuff? Nobody needs to see that."

"I second that." Drake raised his hand in rare agreement with Olivia.

Liam just shook his head. "I know nobody watches live network television anymore, so you must have forgotten how this works. There's no fast-forwarding. Not even through commercials."

"That's fine with me." Lydia chimed in. "More time for making out."

"Lydia!" Hannah's cheeks turned a deep shade of pink.

Lydia pecked her on the lips. "Sorry babe. You're just too damn cute when you blush."

Hannah remained quiet but her smile gave her away. Lydia, with her outgoing, bold, and slightly unpredictable personality, was the perfect complement to Hannah being so shy, proper, and focused. They brought out the best in each other, and the difference in Hannah between when Riley met her until now was night and day.

The friends watched the show and Riley only cringed at herself in a few places, which was much less than she thought she would. Things did get a bit awkward during the montage of kissing scenes between Riley and Liam, and Maxwell and Bertrand made a show of covering their eyes for the steamier parts. They all laughed inappropriately when Liam dumped Riley since they knew it wasn't real. And then finally when Liam proposed to Olivia, everyone cheered.

Riley thought of her friends and family at home. She pictured aunt Susan, Sarah, and Daniel all rooting for her and how disappointed they must have been that she "lost." She couldn't wait to tell them, however, she hadn't lost at all.

"Wow, Livvy." Drake quipped, bringing Riley out of her deep thoughts. "How much did you have to pay them to give you such a flattering edit?"

Olivia threw a pillow at his head which he deftly dodged. "Fuck off, Walker. You were so desperate to get on the show, you leapt in front of a bullet."

"Now, now children." Liam said in a mock scolding tone. "Let's all play nice."

"Yes, father," Drake and Olivia replied in unison, causing laughter to erupt around the room.

Riley still didn't have all the answers about what her future would hold, but she had found her people. Where she was in that moment was where she needed to be.

Savannah yawned. "It's getting late. We should probably go and relieve the sitter." Riley hasn't wanted to pry into Savannah and Bertrand's relationship, but they were working together to parent Bartie and things seemed to be falling into place for them.

"Yes, yes." Bertrand agreed. "Time is money!"

"Oh my god, Bertrand." Savannah rolled her eyes. "Life isn't all about money."

"She’s right." Maxwell propped his arm on Savannah's shoulder. "Besides, now that the show is over, we'll be getting some money, and Kat said if viewers responded well to me, they would probably offer to extend my contract in the franchise. By the looks of these tweets, I'm going to be rolling in dough. 'That Maxwell guy is so hot...ridiculously funny...just what the show needed.' Should I read more?

"Please no." Bertrand groaned. "We can talk finances later. Goodnight, all."

As the rest of the crowd dwindled, Liam asked Drake and Riley to stay behind. He kissed Olivia and promised to join her when the conversation was through.

"So what's up?" Drake got right to the point once only the three of them remained.

Liam cleared his throat. "Well as you know, I highly value your loyalty to the crown."

"Heh." Drake let out a terse laugh. "I don't really give a fuck about the crown, but I do care about you."

"In any case, you take your job very seriously and I could see you as head of the guard one day, once Bastien retires." Liam paused before continuing. "However, I do have another proposition for you."

Drake raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Go on."

"How would you like to be the head of Valtoria?" Liam asked expectantly.

Drake' eyes narrowed in contemplation. "I thought Valtoria was unoccupied. Is there a new Duke or Duchess there now that needs a security detail?"

"No, no." Liam laughed. "Well, there could be. That's what I'm trying to ask you. I would like to give Valtoria to you."

"No fucking way. You have to be kidding me. Did you sign up for some royal version of a prank show now?" Drake scanned the room as if searching for hidden cameras.

"I'm serious, Drake. I think you would make a fantastic duke."

Drake scoffed. "I'm a commoner who despises most nobles and everything the monarchy stands for."

"That's exactly why you'd be perfect for the role." Liam explained. "Cordonia needs a fresh perspective - someone who can resonate with the people the monarchy serves. Just think, you could have a real voice in creating change. I don't want to rule like my father has and his father before. I want the people to have the representation they deserve, and you are a key to that."

Drake sighed deeply. "I don't know Li. Even if I could do this - if I wanted to - what makes me worthy? What's everyone going to say when they find out you gave an average dude the title of Duke just because he's your best friend?"

"I'll tell them that Drake Walker is anything but average. He's smart, capable, and fiercely loyal. He's saved my life more times than I count and has more integrity than anyone I know. Public policy can be learned, but these qualities cannot be taught. He may not be noble by blood, but he is my family, and he belongs."

'Wow, Liam." Drake ran a hand through his hair. "I don't know what to say."

"You're quiet over there." Liam directed at Riley. "What do you think?"

"Me?!" Riley had been as shocked by this as Drake, and she didn't know what to think. This was about Drake, not her. Did her opinion really matter? "I, uh.... think this is really Drake's decision."

Drake took Riley's hands in his. "But it's yours too. I mean, if we are going to be together..."

"Oh, well..." How was Riley supposed to help Drake decide such a life altering thing when she didn't even have her own life sorted out?

Drake didn't leave her fumbling for too long. "Liam, I really don't know if either of use is equipped to answer this question right now. It's a very generous offer, and the fact that I'm not totally shutting you down for suggesting such a ridiculous thing as me being a Duke should tell you I'm genuinely willing to entertain the idea."

Liam chuckled. "I completely understand. This life is new to both of you in different ways, and to navigate a new relationship on top of all that is a lot to ask. I'm in no hurry to fill the vacancy. Consider it an open-ended invitation. I trust that you'll be ready to make your decision long before the public pressures me into making a new appointment."

"Thanks, Liam." Drake gave him hug and patted him on the back. "Now get back to your fiancé before she blames me for keeping you too long."

-----

Back in her palace guestroom, Riley nestled into Drake, her head resting on his chest. "It's been quite a night, huh?

"You could say that again." Drake pulled her tighter against him.

"I kind of feel like we're moving so fast, we're skipping steps - like we're being asked to decide the rest of our lives before we even know what we want to do tomorrow." Riley knew nobody was outright asking for an immediate decision, but she felt the weight of everyone's expectations. Whether she stayed in Cordonia or went back home, she'd probably be disappointing someone.

"Who says we have to?" Drake asked. "You heard Liam. He doesn't need an answer right away. I Know you haven't decided what you want, and I sure as hell don't know what I'm going to do yet. Why don't we take some time together to just...be. Do normal couple things and see where the relationship takes us."

"Normal couple things... I mean I don't know how I can go back to my normal peasant life after attending weekly balls dressed in couture gowns," Riley teased, "but I think I could make that sacrifice for you, my commoner boyfriend."

"Hey, watch who you are calling commoner." Drake pinned Riley down and tickled her sides until she begged him to stop, and he collapsed beside her again. "I just may outrank you soon if I so choose."

Riley laced her fingers through Drake's. "It's crazy to think how our lives have changed in a few short months. I don't think I could have made it through all of this without you, and not just because you kept literally saving my life."

"You may not have taken a bullet for me, but you've saved me too. For once in my life, I see multiple paths with meaning and purpose. I've seen so much of myself reflected in you, but it id the version of me I want to be, not the one I was. You've shown me trials and hardships don't have to make you bitter, and that you don't have to fit the cookie cutter mold to find your place here... Oh, God, listen to me. What have you done to me Bennett?" Drake shuddered in mock disgust.

Riley softly pressed her lips to his and pulled back with a smirk. "I don't think I can take all the credit, or the blame as you might put it. But enough talk about the future. You said we should focus on the now, and right now all I need is you."

"Well then, your wish is my command." Drake pulled Riley tight to him and then they lost themselves in each other, completely unencumbered by any decisions about their future. Those could wait for another day.