#Angst/Comfort

[kentosmirrorball]

{SMAU}: toji getting jealous and mean with reader!

{warnings}: profanity, slutshaming, reader is referred to as “woman”, “mama”, petnames (doll, baby, pretty), angst/comfort.

̗̀➛ gojo’s version , geto’s version , nanami’s version!

⭑*•̩̩͙⊱••••✩••••̩̩͙⊰•*⭑

@sobluesstuff here ya go!

⭑*•̩̩͙⊱••••✩••••̩̩͙⊰•*⭑

[elixrr]

He trusts you. Over the course of your friendship, he built an unforgettable bond with you, one that was meant to last forever– and, really, it could've. It should've, he's not gullible, nor is he naive. He hardly trusts anybody, so you're a rare case— perhaps you're his final and lucky case where he can have somebody else sit with him, shoulder to shoulder, and no mask would have to be up. You're his best friend; you're his lover. You're the shoulder he can lean on, sleep on, lay on, cry on, and that's something that he hasn't had for several years.

Towards the start of your friendship, he didn't exactly see you as a friend, you were more of an acquaintance than anything. You were almost set to be treated by him the same way that he'd treat anybody else. He kept you at arms length, he kept his distance for a while.

Yet, you began to close that distance. You began to slither past his arm, growing closer to him. You were willing, and that's absolutely why you both should've been a lifetime bond.

But now you're being rushed to the emergency room— a head injury, something severe. You're unconscious, terribly injured from the fall, but you're lucky to be alive. He's lucky to have you alive, but now he waits. He waits, waits, and waits for his only trust, his only other shoulder, his only love, and he hopes that you can wake up soon.

You eventually and successfully did. You were in a coma for about a week, but you've finally opened your eyes. You're awake— you're alive! By the Archons and Aeons, that's all that matters to him.

“W– Where am I?” You mutter, eyes finally fluttering with consciousness. Typical question, probably always asked. He watches the doctors explain everything to you.

He watches your eyes as they flicker from one person to the next. One doctor, another, the last one— then to him. A smile nearly graces his face, but your eyes are taken back to begin the cycle again. That doctor to the next, then to that one doctor, then on him, and rinse and repeat. You glance at him as he stares at you, and it's as if he was just one extra person in the room, just one other doctor— out of uniform, though. As if you were saved by him, too, under his care, but your glances are as distant as they are for the other doctors.

Your gaze is unrecognizable. His is the same as ever.

“Who are... You guys?” You ask. ‘Who are you?’ is and would've been fine as long as you looked at somebody that wasn't him, but he's not gullible; he's not naive, and that's the thing. He immediately realizes that you don't recognize him.

He says your name without thinking.

“Do you...” He hesitates, but pursues. “Do you remember me?”

“No, sorry? Have we met before?” The words are fluent, so you didn't hesitate—

—so you don't remember him.

“Amnesia?” One of the doctors mutters, and that's when he realizes that it's all over for him.

He doesn't have another shoulder. He doesn't have a best friend. He doesn't have a lover.

He doesn't have you anymore.

He looks at you, and you look at him. Your eyes are finally fixed onto each other, but you're so distant, so far away from him now. You're both in the same room, but an unavoidable and terrifying distance is built between you two.

“What's your name, then?” You still ask.

The distance shortens. Are you still willing?

“You seem... really upset that I can't remember you. Maybe if you tell me your name, I can remember you?”

Are you really still willing?

He says his name.

“That's a nice name. Sorry, I can't remember, but I'll try.”

“You're willing?” He blurts.

“Of course.” You half-smile.

A sad grin grows on his face. He still loves you— he can feel it deep down inside. You don't remember him. You probably don't even remember any of those special memories you two created that had made the both of you the duo you were, but a smile still adorns his face regardless. You're alive.

And you're still willing.

And, because of that, your bond could last a lifetime.

[siddyyyyyyyy]

Small Cuts

Jason Todd x Reader

wc: 1.7 K summary: Red Hood saves you from the chaos, being scared shitless warnings: standard Gotham violence, description of minor injuries, (panic attack), slight angst/comfort, established relationship a/n: for my loyal Red Hood fans (you know who you are), here's a special drabble I came up with while looking through my notes. have fun (divider)

Jason quickly dodges another punch, putting a bullet between the muggers eyes. Yes, Bruce said no guns and killing, but he isn‘t Bruce. He doesn‘t care, these shits need to go down, they did that themselves by doing wrongs. It seems that Dick managed to escort as many civilians as possible from the mall, getting back to his brother to fight by his side. He knows Bane is a powerful guy, but his small army seems to be quite strong too. It‘s annoying him, he probably has a broken rib by now, and the cuts along his body sting, it getting more difficult to fight against the remaining soldiers.

A scarily familiar, shrill scream sounds amidst the chaos, his breath hitching under his mask. He really hopes it‘s not the person he thinks it is. With a quick punch to the other‘s head, he can search for who screamed, already cursing Dick for not clearing the floor properly. It seems like he is on autopilot, remembering you telling him about going on a quick shop to the mall, see if there is anything new. That same mall he is fighting criminals in right now.

He finally spots you, trapped between the wall and a huge shelf that crashed against it, you being in between it. There is just enough space for you to fit in, but not enough to crawl out of it on your own. Besides, you‘ve never looked so terrified before, not even able to breath properly in your panicked state.

Without sharing another glance, he runs up to you and pushes the shelf away from the wall, grunting at how heavy it is. Now that the huge weight is off, you intake a deep breath, close to hyperventilating again. You can‘t even register who is in front of you or that you are free again.

Jason really wants to just let the medics from outside take care of you, but he can‘t. He carefully scoops you up, holding your head close against him, as he hurries away from the fighting scene, patting your back softly with his other hand. Meanwhile, you can barely register that you aren‘t crushed between the wall anymore, but in someone‘s arms, taking you away.

»S- Lady, you‘re alright! I‘m bringing you to safety, you‘re gonna be okay.«

The slightly distorted voice attempts to calm you down, doing little to actually make you stop from panicking. Jason cursed himself inwardly as he almost slipped, having to keep his secret identity from you while still outside, being close to giving up and patching you up right here; call you his favourite nicknames and petnames. It‘s not like he doesn‘t trust you, no, he would do anything for you because you‘d do anything for him. He still sometimes cries himself to sleep, thinking he doesn‘t deserve you. Now, he is close to crying again, but not because of that. His world is injured, because he wasn‘t careful enough. He should‘ve been the one escorting civilians, maybe he would have spotted you sooner.

With quick strides, Jason finally sets you down onto his couch. These are the rare moments he is glad he lives close to the mall, being still dead-concerned about you.

Your knee is badly scraped, a couple of dark bruises littering on your exposed skin, small cuts across your face.Oh, your pretty face. It‘s all his fault.

As if on instinct, he gets his med kit and kneels down in front of the couch, craddling your face in his hands. Now safe in his apartment, he doesn‘t care about his secret identity being revealed to you, he just wants to make this better.

»Darling, I‘m here, don‘t you worry, okay? It‘s me, Jason. Jay-jay.«

Before you can respond, he takes off his helmet and discards it to the floor, cleaning your small scrapes around his face carefully. His fingers barely touch your skin, the wet rug gently cleaning the little blood off of your forehead and cheeks, his own face looking way worse than yours.

Gasping, you finally take in his face and feel a rush of worry again. Leaning up, you cup his cheek, seeing his black eye and cut across his chin. He looks absolutely done, yet he is still on his knees, cleaning at your own wounds.

He is immediately alerted, searching your face for any sign of pain or discomfort. He doesn‘t seem to realise he is injured as well.

»W-what is it? Did I hurt you?« What is that question? Of course he hurt you, he should‘ve been there way sooner.

Taking a deep breath, you try to use your voice; being still shaken up and weak.

»Your fucking eye...« Jason frowns even more at your weak voice, huffing out and leaning you back down on your back. He bites down on his inner cheek harshly, trying to focus and work on your injuries as best as possible. Your eyes stay on his face, silently observing him as you finally start to breath more normally.

Your light scrapes sting as he cleans them up, putting small bandages over them.

»Don‘t they need you?« You croak out quietly again, whincing lightly as he cleans your scraped knee, the wet cloth becoming bloody.

»They can handle it. I need you to be safe first.« Jason mutters back, feeling guilty and bad for causing you more pain while patching you up. It hurts more but you bear through, leaning up on your elbows to see how bad your knee is. You grimace lightly, hissing at the familiar sting while he cleans your wound.

Jason doesn‘t glance to your face anymore, completely focussed on taking care of you. He carefully wraps a bandage around your knee, lifting it up a little on the couch. His fingertips barely graze your skin, his touch even more gentle than usual. Your body is still trembling from the adrenaline, slumping back on the couch with a heavy sigh. It all comes to your senses.

Jason is Red Hood. He just saved you from that terror attack in the mall. Seems to be in a worse shape than you and still patches you up as gentle as possible. He left his team behind just to take you to safety.

»Take off your shirt, need to see the bruises.«

His voice snaps you out of your slow procession of events, humming lightly in thought before carefully pulling off your shirt. It hurts to move your arms up, feeling a painful stretch around your right side. He helps you take it off, eyes quickly scanning over your big bruise around your ribs. It looks even worse now, a darker bruise evident against your right side. He wants to punch himself, he never meant to hurt you.

It‘s not even his fault. He was just fighting, not having been in charge for escorting civilians. Maybe he shouldn‘t feel guilty, he knows better than blaming himself for something that he didn‘t do. But it‘s just unfair, he could‘ve made it less worse if he only put an eye out and saw you and—

»Jason! Your nose is bleeding.«

You finally managed to pull him out of his thoughts, not knowing what to do. Jason quickly stands up again and gets the bathroom, leaning over the sink to get his nose clean and make it stop bleeding. Rushing over, you limp the way to Jason and get to his side, trying to see in what shape he is right now.

»I‘m fine, why are you standing? Get down- sit down, darling, you don‘t need to do anything.«

»I am not sitting down, you need to sit down, you‘re literally bleeding.« You argue back, trying to lead him to the bedroom.

»I‘m not sitting down, I need to get you safe— «

»I am safe.« You reassure him, seeing his hands tremble, eyes seem unfocused. Nothing really seems to help him calm down, grabbing his shoulders and forcing eye-contact.

After some more attempts of coaxing him into the bedroom, you can finally take care of him. He stands in front of the bed as you sit in front of him, patching up the few gashes along his torso.

Jason watches you the whole time, running his hand through some strands of hair occasionally. Yes, it does hurt as you bandage him up, but all he can focus on is you at the moment. Whole and safe, taking care of him finally.

He doesn‘t deserve you.

But he won‘t ever trade you for anyone else.

You don‘t need to talk once you get him all patched up and clean, both of you acting automatically once everything falls back to normal.

Jason crawls back in bed with you like this morning, carefully wrapping his arms around you, no matter how much it hurts his own body. Both tangled up in each other, comforting the other with sweet and grounding words. You are both safe now.

The small conversation paused, letting a comfortable silence fall over the room. After a few moments you speak up again, atmosphere getting lighter.

»I was dating the Red Hood all the time? For two years?«

He groans lightly, looking down at you in his arms.

»I‘m sorry, I… couldn‘t really tell you. But I wanted to, I really did.«

Jason apologises, his guilty expression pulling at your heart again.

»Wait, no, I‘m not mad. It‘s just… a nice surprise? I don‘t know, but I will buy endless Red Hood merch from now on. If you like it or not.«

You tell him with a small smile, making him pause before rolling his eyes. Of course. There‘s no way you would react badly. Especially after saving you.

a/n: WOW! really hoped you enjoyed it, i'm excited to hear your thoughts about it!!

← MASTERLIST

[theidiotwhowritesthings]

Familiar & Unfamiliar

din djarin x female!reader

warning: attempted sexual assault (not by our boy mando, and i don’t describe it in depth the furthest it goes is non-consensual kissing), light smut, angst then comfort, then fluff fluff fluff, identity theft, mentions of slave trade, canon violence, dom!din trying hard to be sub!din for you, he doesn’t succeed for long

word count: 4,174

Summary: You travel the galaxy with a Mandalorian who is much softer than his impenetrable beskar would lead others to believe. He leaves you with his son to search for a Quarry, but it’s not the Mando you’ve come to know and love who returns to you.

“It shouldn’t take long.” Mando hummed as he collected his gear from his weapon’s storage. You sat cross legged on the Razor Crest’s floor with the child in your lap. His small green hand played with the small, metal ball he seemed to always find. Your hand stroked his ears only stopping to push the ball away from his mouth when he began to try and chew on it. Mando turned around to stare down at you. “Will you be alright here?”

After traveling with the Mandalorian for the last two months, babysitting and completing repairs on the ship, you had finally grown accustomed to the silver beskar covered man. Initially it had been difficult for you to even look at the man for longer than a second⏤ too intimidated by the black t-shape visor that stared back at you. However, joining him had been your only option at the time, an act of self preservation, so you had to push your fear aside. Luckily, you had quickly learned that though the metal he was covered in was impossible to penetrate, the man underneath was as soft as they come.

You learned that the solemn, silent, and dangerous facade Mando wore was more or less an interpretation of what people saw. Yes, he was dangerous. You had seen him wrestle quarries three time his size and come out unscathed, but you had also seen him humming a song under his breath while giving the child a bath. You had seen Mando go out of his way to purchase you a new pair of boots in the market simply because he noticed your discomfort with your current pair. The brief times you felt his touch, a brush against your arm or a hand on your back, it was soft and comforting. His eyes were impossible to see behind his helmet, but you could feel the care in his gaze. Having Mando’s attention on you felt like safety.

Mando called out your name and you blinked in surprise. “Oh, um, yeah! We’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

“I shouldn’t be gone long. Days at most.” He reassured before you could even ask. You stood up and Mando drifted closer⏤ his gloved hand reached out brush the child’s head. Mando chuckled when his son cooed and giggled in response. You heard a long time ago that the best judge of a person’s character was how they treated animals and children. Mando passed that test with flying colors. “You remember the rules?”

“Hmm, no running with scissors?” You joked. Mando tilted his head and you chuckled. “Don’t open the Razor Crest’s ramp for anyone but you, and if I do have to leave for some emergency, get to a crowded spot with plenty of witnesses and talk to no one. Not until you come for us.”

Mando nodded in approval. He gave the child’s head one last pet along the ears and as his hand pulled away you felt his leather covered fingers drag down the length of your bare arm. Heat crept up the back of your neck and you prayed to any deity that was listening that Mando hadn’t heard the hitch in your breath. You were not attracted to your metal armored Mandalorian employer and friend. At least that’s what you kept telling yourself. 

Without another word, Mando made his way to the back of the cargo hold. He opened the ramp before heading down and you called out for him to be careful. Mando glanced over his shoulder, at you and the child, and you waved. You stood at the cargo hold’s edge as Mando pressed a button on his gauntlet and the ramp began to rise. As the metal door rose, you stared at the mandalorian’s back until the ramp cut him off from sight.

Din was more distracted than usual and he told himself it wasn’t because of the newest addition to the Razor Crest. It obviously wasn’t because of you. No, he was just busy with all the bounties he was juggling and the stress of trying to find the child’s people. Then the added dilemma of his current quarry. Already he had been on the flesh trader’s trail for three days. Three full days. That was nothing in comparison to past hunts that would take him weeks on end, but Din found his patience wearing very, very thin.

“Are you ready yet, mate?” A voice asked through the closed door. 

Din had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. His only lead came from a mercenary who was hunting an Inner Rim politician that had come all the way out here to participate in the slave trade. It was the only access Din would have to get into the market to find his quarry and it came at a cost. Din glanced down at the helmet held in his hands. It was an oddly shaped red thing from Kaleesh culture. His new mercenary partner made it very clear that if he walked in as a Mandalorian everything would be lost. On any normal bounty Din would’ve risked it anyways. There was very little in the galaxy that could coax him out of his armor, leave him bare to the world, but a child in danger did it. 

A mother had come to him after he searched for a lead in the local cantina on his first night. She had fallen to her knees in front of him and begged for his help⏤ she offered everything she owned and more in return. Her only child, an eleven year old little girl, had been stolen away from her. Dragged to the flesh market to be sold. Din swore to her that he’d bring her back. On his word as a Mandalorian, she would be reunited with her daughter. He just wasn’t allowed to do it looking like a Mandalorian.

“Seriously, mate, we’re going to be late!” Trigg, the mercenary, barked once more.

Din settled the helmet over his head and shifted uncomfortably. It didn’t fit quite like his real one did, but it was tight enough that he wasn’t worried about it falling off in the heat of battle. For a second, he just stared at himself in the mirror. Red armor of cloth and leather covered every inch of his skin, black gloves pulled on tight, and his oddly shaped helmet covered his face entirely. Din hated it more than anything. But, the sooner he saved the girl and caught his quarry, the sooner he could return to his ship. Return to the child and you.

“I’ll be right out.” Din called back. He settled all his beskar armor pieces into the tarp bag he had borrowed from the child’s mother. It was her home they were using as a base of sorts. Din hid the bag in the closet of the room behind a stack of boxes. It made him anxious to leave his armor behind, but he forced himself to step away and open the door.

Trigg stood in the hall wearing his own personal gear. The blond man had scars from a raking claw on the side of his head leaving those patches with sparse hair. His arms were crossed over his chest and he stared at Din in a mix of annoyance and impatience. “Finally. Did you have to do your hair?”

“It’s you we’re waiting on now.” Din replied dryly as he marched past the man to the door.

The sooner, the better.

Night had fallen for the third night of Mando being gone. It was too soon for you to be worried about him, but a ball of anxiety still sat in your gut. He had been away for longer periods of time before. The longest thus far being three weeks. You were mumbling a soft song under your breath as you rocked the child to sleep. When his eyes drifted close, you carefully set him in the hammock above Mando’s bunk and tucked a blanket around him. 

When you were certain that the kid was settled, you drifted toward the fresher to get ready for bed yourself. You wondered what it would take to convince Mando to pick up a bounty on a planet with an ocean soon. Going from the lava plains of Nevarro to the deserts of Tatooine and now this dusty Outer Rim world was bleak. You missed water. You had grown up near a river on your homeworld and spent a decent amount of time there. It wasn’t until you saw dry planet after dry planet that you truly began to appreciate natural bodies of water.

You shrugged out of your clothes, tossing them aside, and slid into a pair of shorts and one of Mando’s shirts. It had been borrowed early on in your travels and now it belonged more to you than it did him. The dark shirt was large enough to cover most of your shorts. You had been in the middle of washing your face when you heard the tell tale sound of the ramp. Quickly, you grabbed a towel and dried your face while rushing out of the fresher.

Mando was walking up the ramp just as you entered the cargo hold and you shot him a smile, “Hey, Mando.” He came to a sudden stop. You glanced around but saw no evidence of a quarry behind or near him. Had they gotten away? “What happened with the quarry?”

The Mandalorian crossed his arms and a nervous energy settled over your skin. The way he stood just seemed…off. And, the silence that surrounded him wasn’t the usual comfortable quiet you had grown used to. Mando’s helmet tilted some, as if his eyes were raking over your form, and you tugged on the bottom of your shirt anxiously. This was an outfit you wore to sleep every night on the Razor Crest, but right now was the first time you felt uncomfortable having it on around Mando.

“Are you⏤Are you injured?” You asked.

Mando strolled closer to you. Another bit of him that wasn’t right⏤ his gait. As you tried to gather your thoughts, he came to a stop right in front of you. Nearly chest to chest. A lump had formed in your throat, mouth dry, and you tried to swallow it down. Being around Mando always made your stomach feel as if it were filled with butterflies, made your heart race out of your chest, made an addicting warmth pool in your core. 

That was not how you felt right now.

Your hand reached out, as quickly as you could manage it, and slammed against the lock button of Mando’s bunk. The metal door slid down. It clicked into place, and the Mandalorian in front of you grabbed you by the throat and shoved you back until you slammed into the Razor Crest’s wall. You clawed at the familiar, gloved hand tightening around your throat as a low, unfamiliar chuckle rumbled through the modulator.

“What’s wrong, baby?” A voice that did not belong to your Mandalorian asked. “Aren’t you happy to see me? You were a minute ago.”

“Wh⏤Who⏤” You tried to spit out but you could barely breathe let alone form words.

“I’m your Mandalorian, baby.” The cruel laugh coming out from behind the t-shape visor you found comfort in felt so very wrong. He yanked you off the wall and released your throat. You managed to gasp a single breath of air before he backhanded you across the face hard enough to see stars. You fell to your knees and elbows roughly, a cry of pain leaving your lips, but you struggled to find a weapon of any kind. “That’s right. Crawl away, baby. Run. I’m a Mandalorian who likes to hunt, and now you’re my prey. How’s that sound?”

Your hand found a screwdriver, lying off to the side where you had been working on something under the floorboard earlier, just as he kicked you in the side to flip you over. The imposter knelt on the ground over you and you tried to stab him where only the flight suit sat. Unfortunately, he turned fast enough that the screwdriver struck beskar and did absolutely nothing. He laughed once more as you gave up the attack to try and slip away, but he grabbed your hands by the wrist and pinned you to the ground. The imposter sat on top of your thighs, kneeling over you, and you were forced to stare at your reflection in Mando’s armor.

It would be a bold faced lie for you to say you hadn’t daydreamed about having the beskar armor on top of you⏤ the weight of it pressing into you in every delicious way you could think of. But not like this. Not with a stranger inside of it. 

“Who knew the ship came with such a pretty little whore.” The imposter hummed. He shifted your arms so he could pin both your wrists with one hand. With his other, he grasped the bottom of the beskar helmet and pulled it off.  The man’s eyes were a piercing blue. Cold and cruel. Blond hair covered his scalp except on the side of his head where the scars of what looked like claw marks sat. He tossed the helmet aside and gave you a sickening grin. “Is that what you’re here for? You keep the Mandalorian’s bed warm? Let him fuck you when he’s done with a hunt?”

“Get the kriff off of me!” You struggled against his grip, against his touch, but nothing seemed to deter him from using his other hand to run over your body. You screamed until you were hoarse and when you cried out for Mando the man sitting on top of you just laughed. Faintly, you could hear frantic tapping behind Mando’s bunk door and fear struck you. Was the child awake? He wouldn’t be able to unlock the door from inside you didn’t think. 

It seemed the imposter was too immersed in you to hear the sound. 

“How about this,” The man leaned closer into your space, “I get a quick taste of you now, and then, once we’re up and in hyperspace, I’ll fuck you better than your Mando ever could, yeah?”

His lips crashed down on yours roughly. You tried to turn your face away, but the imposter bit down on your lower lip hard enough to draw blood. Between the metallic taste of your blood on your tongue and the smell of his rancid breath you were going to be sick. You gasped in pain and he took advantage by shoving his tongue into your mouth. He pressed his hips down into you, grinding against your stomach now, and the feel of his erection pressing into you made a horrified sob slip form you. It seemed to only spurn him on further. He let go of one of your hands to grasp at the waistband of your pants.

The sound of sprinting footsteps made the imposter sit up and you were barely able to register what was happening when a body dressed in red leather slammed into the beskar covered imposter⏤ both men falling away. Taking advantage of your freedom, you scrambled back as quickly as you could. The stranger dressed in red, wearing an oddly shaped helmet that covered his face, had a hand wrapped around the imposter’s throat while his other fist pounded away at the man’s face. Grunts of anger filled the air with every blow thrown and the imposter fought back only for a moment before his body went slack.

You scrambled away further but your back hit a metal crate sitting in the cargo hold. It shifted slightly and the sound made the stranger sit up and spin around. You gasped⏤panicked. Heart still racing. The imposter laid motionless. His face bruised, broken, and bloody beyond all recognition. You were breathing hard, trying to suck in more air as the air you did get brought no relief. The stranger jumped up, motions smooth and agile, and rushed to you. A cry of fear left you as you tried to pathetically jump up, but his hands wrapped around you. Soft, but firm. A comforting weight.

“It’s me. It’s me. You’re safe, mesh’la.” A familiar voice came out of the unfamiliar mask. The bright red and angry shapes still jarring to look at and you tried to struggle away. He pulled away to rip off his gloves. One hand came to rest on the side of your face, while the other lifted the red helmet just enough to reveal a jaw covered in dark scruff and lips. “Listen to me, mesh’la. You’re safe. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. It’s me. I’m here.”

You were still shaking, your entire body threatening to tremble into pieces, but your breaths were beginning to grow controlled. The warm hand on your face was grounding. It was familiar. You couldn't see the man’s eyes, but you could feel his soft gaze. Safe. You felt safe.

“M⏤Mando?” You gasped.

“Yes.” He nodded. “I’m here, mesh’la. You’re safe now.”

You broke into an uncontrollable sob, unable to bite it back, and Mando didn’t hesitate to pull you into his arms. The coarse, red armor you buried your face into felt unfamiliar, but the strong arms that wrapped around you felt right.

For the first time, Din felt uncomfortable in his helmet. It smelled of the spice that Trigg disgustingly chewed on. He couldn’t even bring himself to pull his armor on. It left him in a pair of plain sweats and shirt. After setting you in his bunk, the child curled into your side, he had stripped the mercenary out of his beskar and thrown the piece of shit into the carbonite freezer.

The job had gone so well then so bad. Din found the young Rodian child and killed his quarry. He’d only get half the bounty with the flesh trader dead, but something was better than nothing. The moment he returned the girl to her mother his heart had stopped when he realized his armor was missing. Din had sprinted to the Razor Crest, faster than he had ever run, and still he hadn’t come soon enough. 

Din stepped out of the fresher. The Razor Crest was in hyperspace and the cargo hold was dark. The only light spilling from the open door behind him. The sound of whimpering filled the otherwise silent space around him. Din hurried to the bunk to see you tossing and turning. He scooped the child up and set him in the hammock before crawling in to try and calm you.

He called out your name, bare hands on your shoulders, and when your eyes snapped open, thanks to his visor, he could see clearly the way panic and fear filled them. You screamed and began to swing at him. His helmet. It was his helmet. Without thinking, Din ripped his helmet off and threw it out of the bunk. Din pulled you into his arms again, pressing your face to his shoulder, and whispered reassurances.

“It’s me, Mesh’la. It’s me. I’m sorry. I was wearing the helmet. You’re safe, I promise.”

“Mando?” You breathed. He buried his hand in your hair and pulled you tighter into his chest. As if the two of you weren’t already tangled together in the small confines of his bunk. “I’m sorry I hit you⏤”

“It didn’t hurt. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I left you alone. I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner.” Din didn’t know which emotion waged in him the most⏤ guilt or anger. They were neck and neck. You took in a deep shaky breath and your hot breath on his neck made him sigh in relief. You were safe in his arms. Din rubbed your back and the question fell out before he could hold it back. “Did he… Mesh’la, did⏤”

“No.” You whispered. “You got here just in time.”

Din could feel tears soaking into his shirt. When the tears stopped, Din coaxed you out of the bunk and onto the cargo hold floor. He grabbed a first aid kit and rushed back so you weren’t left alone for too long. The only light still came from the open door of the fresher and he sat so his back was to it. The dim light illuminated your features and it was like a spotlight to the injuries you sported. He had told you that you could open your eyes. With the way you sat, it’d be too dim for you to see his face, but you said you didn’t want to risk it. 

He let his fingers trace the forming bruise surrounding your right eye. It trailed down to brush against the torn skin of your lower lip. Dank farrik. That kriffing fucker had bit you. He could see the outline of teeth. Din’s jaw clenched. He grabbed a bit of bacta and rubbed it gently into the forming bruise. He was going to do the same for your lower lip when you stopped him.

“Did I hurt you?” He blurted.

“No, no. Not that.” You mumbled. “Can I… Can I ask you for a favor?”

“Anything, mesh’la. Anything.”

“Can you kiss me?” You asked. Din was certain he had misheard you. It was why he sat in silence. He was trying to puzzle out what it was you had actually said. You spoke again, nervous, “You don’t have to. I⏤I…”

“You want me to…kiss you?”

You nodded. Eyes still closed lightly. “I know it’s dumb. It⏤ I just don’t want to feel his lips anymore. I don’t want the taste of him on me.”

“That’s not dumb, mesh’la.” 

Din settled one of his hands on the side of your face. His thumb caressed the soft skin of your cheek. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, Din began to lean in. He didn’t want to startle you. He wanted to give you every opportunity to pull away if you needed to. Din would be lying to himself, again, if he said he hadn’t imagined the way your lips would feel on him. But not like this. He hated that these were the circumstances, but there wasn’t a single thing Din wouldn’t do for you if you asked.

His nose brushed against yours. Din was close enough that he could feel your lips part. He waited one second more before pressing his lips softly against yours. One of your hands lifted to tangle in his hair and a simple gesture shouldn’t make him feel so hot under his skin. The kiss was slow and tender. Din was terrified to press too hard and bring you pain. The injury to your lower lip still so fresh. And after what you had just suffered through, he wanted you to have all the control. If you needed to use him to rid yourself of that nightmare, to erase the memory that bastard left on your lips, then he would. 

Your tongue brushed against his lower lip, tracing it, and he parted his lips for you giving you room to explore him. Maker, the taste of you was so sweet. It took every single ounce of Din’s self control to not deepen the moment even further. The kiss grew almost frantic. A hand in his hair and another at the back of his neck to pull him into you. You pulled back just enough to suck in a sharp breath before your lips was back on his and Din lost his battle for self control.

He wrapped his other arm around your waist and pulled you into his lap. Din was caught off guard when you pushed down to press yourself against his already hard cock, but it was a welcome surprise. He grabbed your hips, hands tightening into the soft skin there, and grinded into you. You moaned into his mouth and Din pulled away briefly so he could press open mouth kisses along your jaw then down your neck until he reached your shoulder. Thoughtlessly, he bit down, wanting to leave evidence of himself on you, and you let out a sharp gasp while grinding into him again. Din ran his tongue against the bite soothingly. 

Din’s hands slipped under your shirt and he desperately let his lips find yours once more. His tongue slipped past your lips, but then he tasted it. The sharp, metallic tang of blood. Din pulled back quickly realizing his plan to let you run the show had gone to shit. Both of you were breathless. 

“Are you okay, mesh’la??” He pulled one hand away from your hip to touch your face. His thumb brushed against your lower lip and in the dim light he could see the tint of red. 

“Thank you.” You breathed. You leaned forward, pressing a chaste kiss that missed and only landed on the corner of his lips. Then you leaned your head on his shoulder and just took slow breaths. Din let his knuckles drag up and down your spine. He could feel your entire body going limp as you melted into his hold. You mumbled, “Thank you, Mando.”

“Din.” He replied, but he didn’t know if you had already fallen asleep or not. “Call me Din.”

[pastadorable]

TW: Panic Attack

Please don’t let this flop it took what felt like 6 years to draw all them tattoos ☠️

Tattoos: Damon

Jewelry: Blu

[klausysworld]

u write angst so well ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹 I'm thinking about one with klaus, but like, something that hurts but it's comforting at the same time

Like him and reader are in a relationship and he travels for some days, reader has depression and during this time she practically can't do anything, cleaning, basic hygiene, cooking, the basic stuff most people do without difficulty. And when he comes back he sees her in this situation and comfort her, giving her a shower, babying her, this fluff stuff

Klaus is one of my comfort characters and, by the way, the speeches he has about life and enjoying like actually helps me a lot with my depression. And u are gold 🥇

Never Alone

Y/n was a sweet girl. She always was.

Growing up she was often full of emotions, crying almost always whether it was because she was too happy or too sad or too angry. However every time her eyes would water, each time her bottom lip would quiver, one of her parents or aunts or cousins would sigh and tell her how annoying she was, how pathetic it was. Her emotions and feelings became ignored, assumed to be overdramatic.

So when she really had something worth crying over, nobody cared to listen. Not a soul would give her even a second. It didn't matter how many times she tried to seriously talk to them, explain she wasn't an oversensitive little girl anymore, she knew what she was feeling and what had happened to her. They didn't care to hear it.

Instead she learned to push any thoughts down or at least aside. If nobody wanted to listen then she wouldn't bother making noise for them to hear.

For a long time, she barely spoke a word.

Most of the time she didn't even really feel anything anymore. She tried to sometimes but she just didn't, couldn't. Life began to feel utterly pointless.

That was when she would spend days in bed, not moving to do a thing. Often she would hope that if she stayed there long enough, maybe she would disappear or if she slept for long enough, maybe she wouldn't have to wake back up. Unfortunately for her, neither of those things happened.

It was fate really that on one of the only days she got dressed and went out that she met Klaus Mikaelson.

Somehow she managed to be in the grill at the wrong time and managed to both witness and experience a supernatural attack. Klaus had thrown Damon across the room which caused him to slam into the wall beside Y/n. Her eyes were wide and she went to walk back out the door but Klaus sped over and grabbed her wrist she she could exit.

"I don't think so sweetheart" he chuckled, pulling her further into the room and she simply couldn't be bothered to struggle. He sat her down in a booth and gave her a fake smile, looking into her eyes and compelling her "Stay still and stay quiet" he ordered before going back and finishing off the rest of the scooby-doo gang.

His eyes flicked back over to the girl he had compelled. Her head lay against the back of her seat and her fingers picked at her lips until the rich scent of her blood reached his nose.

Klaus sped infront of her and he leaned down to pull her hands away, her eyes glanced up at him with anxiety swirling inside of them. His thumb swiped the blood away from her lips and he sucked it off of his skin with a hum. A slither of amusement shone through him as she shifted uncomfortably.

"You can talk now sweetheart, and move as she should please" he told her, interested in her reaction but she barely gave one.

"Can I just go home now please?" She asked, her voice weak and tired. His eyes narrowed briefly before he shrugged and pulled her up.

"Course you can love, come on lets get you back. Point the way" he murmured as he took her outside and placed her infront of him so that she may lead him.

They walked in silence back to her house. She hesitated to go in when the sound of her parents yelling could be heard from where they stood. Klaus observed as she wondered back into the home, her parents oblivious as she slipped past them and up the stairs.

Klaus forgot about her easily, out of sight out of mind.

But then she came into view again, she was sat on the edge of Wickery Bridge with her legs hanging off while she leaned forward daringly.

His brows furrowed and he made his way over. He took a seat beside her, letting his own legs dangle off as well. Again she gave no reaction to his presence, not even when his hand reached out to gently hold her hand. Klaus may not know her or necessarily care for her but he didn't want her life to be seen as a tragedy. He didn't want her to throw what she had away when she could still have so much more.

They sat in silence for some time, sometimes she would swing her legs and lean further forward to see the water below. Each time she shifted closer to falling his grip on her tightened and his gaze hardened.

Later in the night her phone pinged, Klaus glanced to see her mothers name on the screen with a message beneath telling Y/n that neither of her parents would be home for the weekend so she would need to look after herself. His eyes softened as he watched her read the message. Both brows rose on his face when without a care, she tossed the device into the river.

Klaus couldn't help the little laugh that left him as the water splashed and the light from the phone quickly sunk away from sight. His smile died away again as her gaze didn't lift from the deep flowing water and he hesitantly slid his arm around her to secure his hold.

"I'm not gonna jump" she mumbled but he still frowned

"I don't believe you" he whispered honestly and she hummed.

"You don't know me" she muttered and he tilted his head

"Perhaps not yet" he countered but she didn't offer a response. Klaus sighed softly and carefully dropped down from the edge and back onto the rode, his arm stayed around Y/n's waist so that he could pull her back to safety. She huffed in annoyance as he pulled her along with him.

"I don't know who you are or what you are or what you want.." she dragged and he hummed.

"My name is Niklaus, well thats what my father named me however I choose to go by Klaus, I have for centuries. I'm a vampire-werewolf hybrid and what I want is for my family to be calm and collected for one in the thousand years that I have had the privilege to know them" He grinned at her and she stared blankly at him.

"Okay" she mumbled, accepting her fate.

And from that day on, each time he saw her, he would talk at her and pull her along walks with him. He began bringing her back to his house and going through his plans with her, sometimes she would give advice or little comments to put him on a better track and he found her rather helpful when she wanted to be.

Klaus began to notice more and more about her as time went by. Like how she didn't eat much or change her clothes often. He seemed to have to wait forever outside of her house as though no matter what time he came to see her, she had always just woken up.

So he did what he thought would be good.

Klaus set her up a bedroom in his home with a wardrobe of Klaus and a conjoining bathroom which consisted of both a shower and a bathtub.

He caught on quickly that if he wasn't in the house with her then she didn't bother waking up let alone getting up and doing anything. So he started opening her curtains in the morning, gently waking her up and placing some sort of little breakfast item on her lap and a drink on the nightstand while he ran a bath. He'd sprinkle the bath-salts and pour the bath-soak before folding up a towel and hanging it over the radiator.

Then he would wonder back into her room and lift her up. He had discovered that mornings were especially difficult for her to do anything. She wouldn't talk and she wouldn't move. He was lucky that she felt guilty enough to eat the breakfast he fed her, though sometimes she couldn't physically do it and he would encourage her to drink a smoothie so that she had something healthy in her. But every day, without fail, he would carry her to the bathroom and place her onto the heated tiled floor.

"Can you do it yourself sweetheart?" he would ask each morning, his gaze soft and gentle. Sometimes she would be able to and would get undressed and bathe all by herself. Other times she could get undressed and in the bath but would ask him to come back and help her scrub her skin clean. And of course there were days where she just wouldn't respond at all and he would give soft kisses to her head while carefully, respectfully undressing her and helping her into the tub before cleaning her off and lifting her back out to dry her.

There had been one or two occasions when he had been in a rush or a stressed out mood and would end up being a little rude to her. Her eyes would just grow tireder and little tears would gather to them. Guilt would consume Klaus whole and he would push aside whatever was bothering him and apologise to Y/n while helping her get ready before giving her a soft kiss and promising he would be back to check on her.

For a while the most he would do was just a gentle peck on her lips in an act of comfort however as he continued to look after her, he fell in love with her. He would see how long one of his little kisses would last before she would pull away and he would test how far his hands were allowed to wonder before she would let out a whine and curl away.

Time went by quickly, their routine continued. Klaus would ensure she was up and okay, he would go out to fix his problems, return at some point in the day to give Y/n something to eat, sometimes she would have gone for a walk in the garden or be sat with one of his hybrid who were under strict orders to never lay a hand on her, then he would go back out and return a last time. Then she would sit in his art room with a book or a word search or something to occupy her mind while he painted and spoke to her about all the things he had seen that day and which of them he thinks she would have enjoyed. Often they cooked dinner together and then he would take her back to bed and watch a film before departing to his own room.

A few times he would fall asleep beside her with her head on his chest or in his lap as he leaned against the headboard. Neither ever complained or mentioned the arrangement so Klaus began sleeping there more often and would wake his love with a sprinkle of kisses across her cheeks until her pretty eyes would flutter open for him to see.

Things were going quite well until Klaus had to go away for a couple days to speak with some werewolf packs. He had been skeptic and concerned to leave sweet Y/n all alone but he also knew he had his hybrids and asked them to take care of her. He hadn't known that they were unsired at that point and completely forgot the girl even existed.

Y/n hadn't moved from the spot in her bed since Klaus had left two days before. It only took one glance for Klaus to realise this when he returned. His expression changed in an instant and he was pulling the covers off of her, promising her he wouldn't leave her again.

"It's all okay sweetheart, lets get you to the bathroom okay?" He whispered as he carried her in and sat her down on the toilet while running a bath for her to lay in. "I'm gonna get you some water okay?" he murmured before speeding down to the kitchen and grabbing some water and tossing some pasta into a pan with water and turning the stove on before flashing back upstairs.

He placed the glass down on the side and lifted her back up, pulled her clothed off and lowered her into the bath. His fingers gently wiped the tears away that had slipped down her face before pouring some of the warm water over her hair.

"My sweet girl" he cooed softly, his hands lathering her hair in shampoo. "You're going to be just fine" he murmured, rinsing her hair out and combing conditioner through the ends. He reached for the loofa and began washing her body gently, pouring soap over her shoulders and scrubbing it across her soft skin. "Okay sweetheart, stay right there" he mumbled, zipping back to the kitchen and pouring the pasta into the colander and then back into the pan with a jar of tomato sauce before grating some cheese over the top and grabbing a fork. He brought it up and put it on her bedside table before going back to her bathroom and washing the conditioner out before lifting her out the tub and engulfing her in a warm towel and carrying her to her room. He sat her down on the chair by her vanity and stripped her bedding off and tossed i to the laundry basket. Using his vampiric speed her put clean bedding on and then placed her on top the duvet with a kiss to her head. The towel was taken from her and one of his clean shirts was pulled over her head and he carefully pulled her arms through.

"Alright angel, there you are. Nice and clean my lovely, now we're gonna eat some pasta, okay?" he mumbled, placing her cushioned lap tray onto her lap and then the bowl of pasta and her glass of water. "There we go sweetheart" he smiled softly while stabbing some of the pasta onto the fork and hand feeding her.

Once she ate half of it and drank all of her water he took it away and pulled her onto his lap. His arms circled her and she hid her face in his neck before hesitantly whispering, "Klaus?"

"Yes love?" He hummed, stroking her hair

"I need pants" she uttered and he glanced down, remembering he had only half dressed her.

"Of course sweetheart, forgive me" he replied, quickly grabbing some panties and sliding them up her legs to cover her up. "Perfect" he smiled.

"Thank you" she muttered, looking up at him "I'm sorry" she told him but he shook his head.

"No angel, I'm sorry. I should never have left you all alone." he argued, a frown on his face as he kissed her cheeks and stroked her arms. "You feel like going outside today?" he asked kindly and she shrugged.

He nodded silently and carried her out into the garden, sitting her down on the soft grass so that she was surrounded by the flowers. He wondered over to the strawberries growing a little way over and picked a couple before bringing them over to her with a smile. She returned it with warmth and giggled when he held them to her lips for her to take a bite.

He sat down beside her and pulled her into his side. She lay her head on his shoulder and held onto his hand. Klaus rest the side of his face against the top of her head and watched at the trees swayed in the distance.

"I love you Y/n" he whispered, his voice delicate and airy as the words met her ear. Her hand squeezed his and he smiled.

"I love you too" she told him quietly and he kissed her head, she then lifted it to face him and pressed her lips to his. Klaus felt his expression soften as he kissed her back and interlaced their fingers. Their lips parted and he rest his forehead against hers,

"I'll never leave you alone" he told her.

"You promise?" she whispered, her voice shaky.

"I promise."

[the-orange-tabby-cat]

Dusk

Javier Peña x fem!reader

Summary: Javier sees you again years after the end of your love affair. Torn between the memories of what happened then and what is now, you both face the weight of your actions from Bogotá to Madrid.

read on AO3 | masterlist

Rating: Explicit, +18

Warnings/Tags: past lovers, secret relationship, angst, smut (penetration, f oral), implied age gap (not mentioned). Reader has hair, foreigner (not explicit which country, she isn't American or Colombian), knows multiple languages and is able-bodied. No use of y/n, Spanish translations are between the paragraphs.

Word count: 8,7k

Tabby note: My first Javi P fic for angst challenge by @almostfoxglove 💔 Even if I go around difficult topics, most of my work is lighter, so this was a great exercise to go deep into emotions! You can the moodboard inspiration here and the list of all fics here! 🐾

now

“Are you happy to be in Madrid?” The receptionist with a pearly smile cheerfully greets him, or maybe not, it sounded more like she was talking for a while, following a script, that he ignored.

He could be in Paris, Tokyo, or anywhere in the world at the moment he wouldn’t give a damn. Tiredness has been consuming him for a while now, and the week passed at an agonizing pace. Inside his head, there is silence and chaos altogether.

Somehow, he comes to his senses already inside the hotel room. What had he answered to the receptionist? He can’t recall but he got the key, which is more than proof that the autopilot was working. Taking off his jacket, he opens the minibar and takes whatever alcohol he can find.

His head mends the last months as just one, a very lonely one. He can’t fully remember what it felt to be together with someone, closely, intimately. From family to friends, everyone becomes a blur as he tries to get his shit together. The alcohol burns down his throat, he doesn’t even mind reading the label. Once he can rest, it will be fine.

The night promises to be a long one, the timezone difference is a pain in the ass to deal with. Whenever he is about to drift away into sleep, his legs kick repeatedly and startle him awake. The clock reads 1 AM, then 2 AM, at 3 AM he decides he has enough and starts to dress up again.

Passing by the mirror, he ignores his reflection, paying attention only to what he will do. Have a cigarette, walk a little, and head back to sleep. Simple. He locks the room’s door, orders the elevator, presses the button to the ground floor, waits, and walks out when it stops.

For a summer night, Madrid is cold. The scenario is drastically different from the streets of Bogotá and further from the ranch in Laredo, everything he wanted for a fresh beginning. For a week of his time, some words on his experience, and training on how to deal with narcotraffic, the Spanish police paid some considerable money, the type of money Peña couldn’t ignore. Now, here, he is watching the downtown buildings and wondering if it was worth it.

Lightning his cigarette, he drags a puff and looks at his surroundings without much curiosity. Neoclassic buildings or whatever style they are, mostly white now warmed by the orange city lights in a classic boulevard. Not many floors, four maximum, but full of balconies. In one of them, on the third floor, a woman screams at her husband.

The small woman is shouting fast words as she throws some clothes down at the man, who tries to ask forgiveness from the street. Another neighbor, from a couple of balconies away, asks them to quit it and go back to sleep, but the woman ignores and continues the fight.

Getting amused by it, Peña keep watching the scene from his place on the other side of the street. Another balcony, now on the fourth floor, opens and reveals a confused sleepy woman. Even with the low light, he can recognize the pout on your lips.

The cigarette is long forgotten as he watches the details on your face waiting for the best moment to enter the fight. It is like a memory played in front of him, seeing you in your underwear and t-shirt, the angle of your hips making your ass jiggle a little every time you try to stretch yourself down at the balcony the floor under. He doesn’t hiss when the cigarette burns his fingertips, lost looking at you.

When the moment comes, you grab the attention of the small woman in tears and murmur something too softly for him to hear from afar, except for how you sweetly say “Vamos a dormir, cariño?” And so he walks back to the hotel to sleep.

("Let's go sleep, love?")

then

Cheerful bubblegum pop fills your room as you carefully paint your lips red. It takes a little effort, but in your lace lingerie and big hair you feel like a woman, not a girl. Next to you, an open big window lets the chill mountain breeze caress your skin, raising goosebumps in your almost naked body. 

Your dad had separated what he thought was appropriate for the occasion as if you were still a child. Being the ambassador’s daughter isn’t an excruciating task, except when you get to play into your father’s business. You know little to nothing about the USA’s DEA or whatever their mission is in Colombia, what you had access to was that your dad invited part of the DEA into your house for lunch. Sitting pretty and smiling is your task for the day.

With a pop, you touch your lips together and inspect the lipstick line. Perfect. Voices are filling the garden, gaining your curiosity. Coming to the window, you can see men in suits greeting your father and grandma as they walk on. All of them are looking ahead, but one. His brown eyes are locked with yours, inviting you to come down and see them up close.

“Javi,” someone shouts, making the man return to the group. You stay there watching him go before finishing dressing up.

In a white two-piece Chanel suit, you strut down the stairs to the first floor feeling small compared to the high ceiling. It had become a regular sentiment, to look around and see a big house nettly decorated and think to yourself “Why am I here?”.

By the garden door, the ambassador waits for you as he keeps enchanting his guests with some story. Here you aren’t his daughter, you are a state piece and it is key to remember your place in this chess game.

You can feel the brown eyes boring into your skin as the ambassador introduces you to the DEA officers. Following his command, you greet one by one as if it is normal behavior for a diplomat to know every policeman’s name. You heard him review all their names with his assistant the day before.

“Javier Peña, ma’am,” the owner of the brown eyes says to you. Enveloping your hand on his, you do your best to ignore a shiver when he puts pressure. His thick fingers leave a hot trail, his big hand engulfs yours.

Whatever you feel, he does too. 

“A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Peña.” His brown eyes shine when you politely say his last name back at him.

Gathering around the table, you sit in front of him and scold yourself every now and then to look at the others, even if you only want to stare at the handsome man. He, however, isn’t as discreet putting weight in his stare cornering you.

With sips of white wine, you try to ignore it doing your part as a pretty little thing full of questions. How long have you been in Colombia? A few months for most of the department, Javier is in his first week still fresh from Texas. Have you made any progress in your mission so far? Yes, still in the early stages, they are gathering all the information about the cartels. Are you enjoying the country? The food is great and the weather is mostly nice, even in cold Bogotá. Is your family enjoying the country or are they missing the USA? They are getting or already gotten used to it, Javier is single, though.

 You laugh when necessary, showing your white teeth in contrast with the red of the lipstick. Legs crossed like a lady, nails carefully done around the glass, you are well-behaved and it shows.

“Your daughter is an exceptional young woman, your grace,” one of the men says in a sincere compliment to the ambassador, even if he is speaking about you.

“She is indeed. Even more now, after her year abroad.” You smile back at your father, who is doing the proud dad bit.

Tradition is that in your culture once fine man and woman become an adult they have to choose a place to spend a whole year, it is supposed to represent their coming of age on their own terms. You don’t count having access to everything money could get, a comfortable house, and stability as the coming of age journey of the century, but here you are.

“Where did you go to?” Javier asks as he drinks more of his wine.

“Egypt, Cairo.” You reply as you drink his facial features without shame. The sharpness of his jawline, the way his mustache heavily adorns his thin upper lip just to emphasize the plump bottom one.

“What an unusual place! What motivated you?” Another man asks, forcing you to move on from Peña’s face after a lingering second.

The ambassador loves that you can captivate the room’s attention so easily, but your father tried to convince you to change your destination many times. 

Europe was much more chic, but attending an international boarding school made you get bored by it. If the DEA knew how little you care for the USA, they would quickly find you a pain in the ass. The Middle East was much more interesting, far from the restricted embassy’s house in sunny Colombia.

“I like history, to deeply learn a culture. There wasn’t anywhere else that I could experience it so vividly. I’m glad my family could proportionate it to me.” You smile truthfully, gaining a glance from Grandma.

“Must have learned a lot, being on your own out there,” Javier states in a lower tone.

“She knows where to put her foot, soon will go to Oxford to study just like her father,” Grandma praises raising her glass in your direction.

It was a question of time before they brought it onto the table. It is a sensitive topic to you, still unsure how to navigate that new part of your life. Far from homeland, between boarding schools and the embassy, then an ocean of distance from your family, you hadn’t stuck your feet anywhere for too long and suddenly you had to choose something to call yours for the long run. It feels more than just a diploma.

“Well, if everything goes right. I still need to get their acceptance letter.” You remind Grandma with a small laugh, that doesn’t exactly reach your eyes, but nobody seems to notice.

Grandma, playing as a governess, gets up to announce the dessert order with a tentative to marvelous the guests with your home country food. As everyone gets interested in her chat, you and Javi opt to sneak a glance at each other.

In a moment of courage, you lift your high heels and gently caress his leg under the table. Gaining a smirk from him, he slides his leg to get closer to yours. Hidden by the tablecloth, you keep touching as the conversation goes by.

“Has my son already invited you to the annual ball?” Grandma asks with a smile. The ambassador coughs in surprise but is ready to charm.

“Oh, you absolutely should come. We spend the whole year planning it, a celebration of our culture at its finest. If you liked the food today, just wait until you get the beverage. We are known to be good matchmakers too, you might fall in love there, Peña.”

Javier takes his eyes from you to look at his host, who is waiting for an acceptance of the invitation. Pushing his leg closer to yours, he grabs his glass and raises it.

“I trust your gut, sir. Count me in.”

now

The national police of Spain, or CNP, headquarters isn’t far from the hotel. The district itself is bougie, fancier than what Javi was used to, too formal, too classy with the embassies and mansions. He feels out of his element, but no wonder you chose to live there.

He slept well after seeing you, like old times. Your presence always made him feel at ease, even if your departure was bittersweet. The aftermath is still with him, folded in his wallet as a reminder of what once were you both.

From the hotel to the police, he keeps thinking about you. It wasn't new, during the years his mind would drift to you after a long day, but now that you were here it is a different kind of thrill. He tries to bury it down to that place where all his failures and worries are lost, but he can't.

The job, however, is a great distraction. As soon the formalities are finished, he jumps head in on what he knows how to do. Six years in Colombia were enough to showcase his skills.

During the first break, he goes out to smoke. Sunny day, blue sky, and good weather. A nice sight of a busy fancy street. More than enough to keep his mind in the present and not lost in memories. Stepping out onto the sidewalk, he puts a cigarette in his mouth and starts searching for his lighter when you appear in his vision.

Dress pants, a white t-shirt, and a clock with a leather strap on the wrist. In your arms, a plastic case full of paper forces you to bend a little forward. Clipped on your pants pocket is a badge of some kind with the national police logo. Whoever is with you, speaks with a heavy madrileño accent, but you don't bat an eye to understand it.

To simply put, you are different. Far from the glamour of the embassy, from the party life late at night that he knew so intimately because of you. There was a time when your eyes would find his so easily in a crowd, but now you don’t even glance at him as you enter the building, too immersed in your conversation.

Ignoring his cigarette, Javi follows you down the hallways of the CNP until he reads “Traducción y Letras” on one of the plaques outside. This is more like you, classier.

("Translation and Languages")

Checking his clock, he sees that he still has a few minutes before going back to his lesson. You are alone in the room, just you and archives. He takes a deep breath and knocks on the door, you invite him in without looking up.

“It's good to see you,” he states without much thought as if it was casual to meet you there. You quickly look up at him with big eyes.

He can't read if the expression of surprise on your face is good or bad.

“Javi,” you say, putting whatever you were working back on the table. Your eyes are locked with his but without the playfulness of before.

“I thought you were in the UK,” the last time he spoke with your grandma she told him, it sounded like brand new information. It had been years since.

You scratch your neck, like you used to whenever you got anxious. He can still read you after so long.

“I was. What are you doing here?”

“CNP asked me to train their DEA.” You scoff in amusement like it is the most obvious thing ever.

“Of course, I heard something about it. Didn't connect it with you, sorry.” 

Another glance at the clock, he has less than two minutes before getting back to class but wants to stay here with you.

“Are you free tonight? We should have dinner,” he says straight to the point hoping you will say yes.

He phrased it like that because it is obvious that you should have dinner with him. It isn’t a question, it was a matter of when for Javier.

Still in shock, you swallow hard and shake your head. His heartbeat rises, ready to have another harsh goodbye.

“We can have lunch if you insist. I'm busy tonight. Just come by whenever you're ready.”

Simple as that, you get back to work and ignore his presence. You aren't rude, it isn't your nature, but it feels colder than he remembered.

Nodding at your statement, he leaves you alone and walks down to his office for the week. His bluntness will be a problem, he can't scare you away or he will be settled for another couple of years wondering “what if”.

The weight of his wallet gets heavier with every step, the souvenir of the last night you were his still there begging him to do not fuck it up this time.

After some concentration, he can focus again on training. Work was there for him when he needed to ignore the world and move on. The autopilot was carefully crafted doing the tactical work in South America and reigns free in Europe, for what it seems.

His body craves nicotine, but he needs to guarantee that you won’t run away before. In solid steps, he walks fast toward your office again. At least he thinks it is yours, it is absurd to have you, of all people, working for a police force.

The door is open, but you don’t notice his arrival. With you back to the entrance, you are speaking on the phone in a calm tone.

“Cena es mejor. Aun tengo muchisimo que hacer hoy, harta de trabajo con todo lo que vino de Marruecos.” You heavily sigh before laughing at whatever the person on the other side of the line said. “Sabes que flipo con teatro, mi amor. Ya, nos vemos en mi apartamento a las ocho. Te quiero, bye.”

("Dinner is better. I still have much to do today, I'm full of work with everything that came from Morocco. You know I love theatre, my love. Okay, see you at my apartment at 8 PM. Love you, bye.")

Javi steps back to the corridor before you turn, giving you a few seconds to sit back in your chair. It is logical, you moved on and so did he. Yet, he feels in his chest how unprepared he is to face it.

“Ready?” He knocks on your door as if nothing has happened, like you are still close and this is a regular thing.

“Ah, yeah. Do you have a place in mind?” You ask grabbing your purse and leading the way out, following his play-pretend of acting normal about whatever you two had become.

then

If your lips weren’t so busy kissing Javi’s, you would kiss the landscaper who projected the embassy’s garden. Far from the noise inside the ballroom, further from curious eyes, illuminated only by the moonlight and shadowed by a centennial tree. In the garden’s corner, you are peacefully focusing only on Javi’s body reactions to yours.

How his big hands are divided between caressing your neck and holding your waist so close to his, you can’t but throw your arms around his neck to flush his body into yours. 

You didn’t bring a coat, even if is a chilly night. The heat emanating from him to you keeps you warm, almost burning where the skin meets.

You hadn’t touched a single glass since the party started, too busy waiting for the right moment to come to him. Through the open kisses, you taste on his tongue cigarettes and champagne, getting you drunk with every twist and turn.

Your lipstick will be smudged from the pressure of his lips, that’s why you kept the package and a mirror in the pocket of your dress for a small maintenance before going back to the party.

Your neck, hopefully, bruised with every nibble and hot kiss he inflicts on the tender skin, so you opted for using your hair down to keep to yourself the souvenirs of the night.

With a soft moan, he kisses you back before putting some distance as he catches his breath. You want more, so you pressure your open mouth on his again as he softly laughs.

“Eager, huh?” He asks with his thumb making soft circles in your jaw. You nodd back, positively drunk of him.

Everything became Javier Peña the moment he left the diplomat’s house. You counted the days until the annual ball, daydreaming about your next meeting. From the dress to your position in the room, where you could easily see every guest's entrance, it was all a conscious choice.

You saw him before his brown eyes locked with yours. His regular suit, not a tuxedo, appeared to be out of place when sided with your gown, but you didn’t mind a bit as you made small talk waiting for the moment for you to lead him outside. Dividing the attention between guests, you moved inside the ballroom from one person to another, brushing your hands in his whenever crossing his path.

Inside the ballroom, you were a state piece, but in the garden in his arms, you are you.

It started small, as you softly spoke to each other walking further in the garden. Javi isn’t a man of many words, but for you, he tries. When the last guest went inside, you threw yourself in his arms and happily kissed until he lost his breath.

With the moonlight, his sharp profile is a heavenly vision. In his embrace, you wish for nothing but to be there with him forever. Putting both hands on your face, he kisses your lips one final time.

“We should go, people will start to ask questions,” you whisper glancing at the party. His eyes follow yours before his hands leave you to look for a cigarette.

“Want one?” You shook your head, remembering how he tasted seconds ago. “Not a smoker?”

“No, but I like the smell, though.” Licking your lips, you inhale big hoping to look less flustered. Javi stares at you nodding slowly, pondering about what you said.

Taking your pocket mirror and lipstick, you adjust the makeup as he finishes his cigarette. Your eyes roam his body looking for any clue of what just happened, his tie is crooked and he has lipstick in the corner of his mouth.

His eyes stay on your face as you straighten his tie until perfection, they focus on your freshly painted lips when you clean the lipstick on his with your thumb. Looking up at him, you take a deep breath.

“Perfect, shall we?” You suggest and he gives you his arm, taking you back to the party like nothing happened. Just an innocent walk in the garden, a good host for a guest that didn’t match with the ambient he was in.

It is the first of many nights where nothing and everything happens.

now

The sunlight finds your eyes the moment you leave CNP’s door, Javi can’t remember when he last saw you out in the sun. Maybe he never did. The hue of your iris is pretty just like your face, your stare is more like a woman now. 

You used to be all smiles next to him, clingy even, constantly touching him in the privacy of taxi cabs. He used to think about holding your hand in public, wonder what would feel like to touch you in front of everyone. To claim you out in the open, where you could be just his.

He signals for a taxi, you enter it giving the driver the restaurant’s address just to be quiet in sequence. Sitting far from him, your eyes are distant in the street, ignoring his that inspects every inch of your body.

Javi never learned how to deal with frustration, so he does what he can and lights up a cigarette.

“Do you mind?” He questions remembering how you would watch him exhale smoke with lust, pressing your body closer to his post-sex cigarette. In the late night of your meetings, the first thing you did was to smell him and close your eyes in comfort.

With your eyes still looking through the window, you speak in what appears to be lost in thoughts.

“A little, don’t like the smell of it.” 

He immediately flicks the cigarette out of the car window.

The restaurant is nice, as he expected. Not too fancy, with a minimalist ambiance and small menu. Even if some things are different, you remain the same in others. You wear glasses to read, he isn’t sure if for aesthetic or prescription. The crimson red lipstick is a more cherry tone. You hadn’t smiled yet.

When the waiter leaves and you put down your glasses, he can’t take the silence anymore.

“Didn’t expect to see you working for the police.” A simple statement, you are intelligent and more academically inclined.

“I don’t. I work for their intelligence, translations, and interpretation. I don’t do field work.” Your eyes finally look at his, it bothers him the lack of passion there.

“You do back office work then?” He tries to stretch the conversation to any clue what your life is like.

“Something like that. I work for the government, not the police. Spain has ultramarine territories, plazas de soberanía if you prefer, my job is to provide verbal and cultural translations of information that they might have an interest in. It’s more about the countries that neighbours the territories than these cities.”

“You learned Arabic.” This makes you smirk. 

It was an old wish of yours, you wanted to read more, to experience the culture in another way. It wasn’t unusual for you to switch between languages during the day back then, to him you reserved a few words in your native language when alone.

“I did. There’s a diploma that proves it.”

University is a topic he isn’t keen to speak about. 

The day you left Colombia to never come back is burning inside his mind, the folded paper in his wallet flashes into his head. He wants to open it up on the table, to interrogate you about it like a fugitive, instead, he chooses another topic.

“Why Spain?”

“Why not?” Your eyes are defiant, you understand what is behind his words. You hated Europe, you tried to stay away, why here?

“You could be anywhere in the world, so, why Spain?” He tries again, watching as you bring your hand to the neck.

“I don’t know.” Looking back at him, you keep your voice soft. “Guess it ties parts of my life. I came here as an intern, when the time came the intelligence decided to keep me and I stayed. It feels familiar to listen to Spanish all day. Almost like home, if I have one.”

“You hated the accent, always preferred the South Americans.” It sounds bitter because it is bitter.

Javi wanted to meet the version of you he knew all about, to come back to the day you left and continue from there.

“Relajate, tío. No te cabrees tanto.” You tease doing the Spaniard lisp. He rolls his eyes in response.

("Relax, tío. Don't worry about it." Tío is a traditional slang in Spaniard Spanish, similar to dude.)

“Your grandma was sad when I last saw her, you didn’t visit enough.”

Javi saw her two times after your departure. One when he went looking for you in the diplomat’s house just to be received by the elder woman who informed him that you had gone away already. The other one was on an official visit to the embassy, where he politely asked about you to receive a sympathetic look from her. “She never stays longer than a weekend.”

“Got tired of Colombia. Seems that you feel the same, you left.” Two can play this game, now is your time to be bitter. You are right, he can understand how you feel about it.

“Finished my mission, it’s different.” He is being reasonable.

“And I left to find one. Who says that this isn’t my mission?”

Enough. Javi always hated games.

“What will you watch tonight in the theatre?” Your eyes subtly widened with the realization that he heard you on the phone.

You open your mouth to reply, but the waiter comes with the food forcing the conversation to an end.

then

With every night spent together, you understand less why you are lying. Javi has a respectable job, treats you well, and, on top of everything, the sex is amazing. He makes you feel like the one, yet, you get to be with him only in the shadows.

It starts with quick whispered calls between the house and the DEA to schedule late night meetings, evolves to random encounters in restaurants and bars far from the embassy district after the sun goes down, and ends on your bed after midnight.

Quickies in his car parked in an alley, heated kisses with hands all over the place in the back of a cinema, and ends up on your bed. All paths lead to your bed.

You know every freckle in his body like it is yours, you kissed all the corners and folds in his skin. He learned when to shut you up before moans get too loud to echo through the house, the exact rhythm of his hips thrust into yours that makes you see stars. You know when he will close his eyes ready to come, appreciate how much he likes to give your face little pecks right after.

There is a lighter inside the drawer of your bedstand in case his don’t work. A jacket he once forgot is hidden far in your coat rack waiting for you to wrap yourself around it on the nights you don’t see him. You sleep on the right side of your bed because the left one is his, but only until before sunrise.

Months of obsession led to this. With perfumed skin and the red lipstick he loved so much, you met for what was supposed to be just a couple of drinks. Javi don’t make it so simple.

Two shots of aguardiente and his tongue taste like anise, which you never really liked, but here you are savoring like it is your last meal. He is drunk and whispering sweet nothings between kisses in the back of the bar.

“Stay with me,” he supplicates as if it wasn’t obvious, you laugh at the absurdity of it.

“You say like I have other plans,” his pupils dilate making his eyes almost black, staring right at you. He smacks his lips into yours hungrily with a groan, earning a full moan from you.

“I mean it. Don’t go,” the words hit you like a bullet.

Don’t go to Oxford, stay here. You thought about it since the acceptance letter came weeks ago, if you should ignore it and study in Colombia instead. It is irrational, you know that you will choose yourself over him in the end, but it sounds lovely to be just his in this fantasy.

He senses your hesitance in giving in, so he pushes a little more.

“I like you, stay,” with a low voice, murmuring like a prayer on your lips.

Your brain gets foggy and you listen to it as I love you, wishing to be the same, to have the semantics of it changed to what you want.

That night you think you made love, not sex. You mistake lust for passion, that his stare is of devotion and not of arousement. He gets inside your body and you don’t care about how vocal you are, focused only on his reactions to your nails scraping his skin.

You are sat by the bed, wrapped by the bedsheet as he uses your lighter on a new cigarette. The window by the vanity is open, welcoming the moonlight to shine on his tan skin and create a halo around his profile. He is up to smoke into the air of the night, fully naked so you can see the red marks on his back.

“Stay,” is your turn to plea. He exhales smoke before looking at you.

“We can’t,” a sober Javi says and you miss the drunk him.

“And? Stay, just for tonight.” You smile biting your lip, wanting to wake up tangled limbs with him.

“It’s better if we don’t.”

With a final puff, he puts away the cigarette and kisses your head before dressing up.

“I have a big lead to search on early tomorrow. I can meet you another time this week, maybe.” His eyes don’t find yours, you feel cheap, even if the sheets around your body are expensive.

With a nod, you try to put away the apprehension and give him a chaste kiss followed by a smile before putting on a robe to take him to the door.

The big house seems bigger in the dark, the coldness of it makes you embrace yourself to get heat. By the door, he puts his hand on your jaw and you lean on it, seeking comfort. He kisses you deeply, but softly, before walking out.

Dragging your feet to the stairs, you do your best not to remember the drunk Javi's words, to not give in to the fantasy. Getting to the top, Grandma calls you by your childhood nickname.

“Are you sure of it?” She asks in your native language and you know exactly what she means.

Her eyes search yours in the dark, filled with concern. It doesn’t take much to read behind them.

“Yes. I am.” You start going up a few steps but stop at the top of the stairs.

“These violent delights have violent ends, and in their triumph die, like fire and powder, which as they kiss consume.” She murmurs in English to the empty room and you shiver from the instant recognition.

The quote stays with you in your lonely room. It is painfully obvious why you are lying about Javi, keeping him a secret.

Your bed is cold on the left side, even more in the morning. There is a man’s coat that is cheaper than everything you own inside your closet. You keep lavanda incenses inside your drawer to erase every trace of him, a floral scent to clean the cigarettes you hadn’t smoked.

Intimate details about him sound far from whatever you did inside these walls. You kissed all his freckles but don’t know his middle name or the city he grew up in. You know his drink of choice, but not his fears. Everything feels superficial, not enough to get you feeling what you are.

Laid on your bed, you turn your back to the left side and drift to sleep. In the end, you choose you.

now

You don’t tell what play you will be watching and don’t mention once who will take you. Javi doesn’t put pressure, no matter how much he wants to know.

Lunch is almost normal, you answer here and there a few of his questions, but don’t ask him anything. You used to be talkative, intrusive even, trying to learn everything about him, the curiosity is gone and boredness gave in.

He pays for it, but you don’t kiss his cheek with a thank you, instead, you say the words out loud before taking a deep breath.

Now you would head back in a taxi with your legs on his lap as you talk about whatever you wanted on the road to the diplomat’s house. He would hold your high heels in his hand and massage your shins, thinking about how intelligent you are and how much he wants to take your clothes off. You would tease him about being too quiet and he would answer, truthfully, that he likes the sound of your voice. You would smile big, with soft eyes that could see him as a whole.

Except this is Madrid, not Bogotá and you are close, but so far away. Your eyes are once more looking into the window, both hands on your lap tensed by his presence.

The folded paper in his wallet is the anchor that sinks his heart with its weight. He wants to touch your skin, kiss your face and ask you to say anything, but he is six years too late.

By the CNP door, you get out of the taxi before him. Unsure of what to do, you open and close your mouth.

“Thank you for the lunch. It was nice.” It is a lie, but he takes it. You don’t want to hurt him.

“Thank you for the company. I’m glad that you found a place where you belong.”

He is happy for you and sad for him. You always were better than he could be, good to see that you made life on your terms and don’t depend on anyone. Sadly, he doesn’t have a place in it.

Your eyes are big, round as you stare at him moments before you give his cheek a peck. A small smile adorns your face and he feels better for a second, watching you enter the building.

He sleeps well that night, wakes up like it's an ordinary day, tries to keep life going despite knowing there is a possibility to see you for the rest of his stay in Spain.

First, the idea of seeing you again is a threat, then is a wish. He wants to see you, he looks around the people coming and going through the corridors hoping that you will appear in the corner. Giving in to failure, he focuses once more on his work until the break when he listens to your name being spoken by one of the detectives with a mocking tone.

“El Conde ataca una vez más. Ayer la llevó al teatro, tanta cosa más interesante en esta ciudad y es esto lo que amanece en El País!” He laughs while pointing out a photograph in a newspaper.

("The Count attacks once more. Yesterday he took her to the theater, so many more interesting things in this city and this is what is being reported in El País!")

“No seas tonto, hombre! Está en la parte de society, qué esperabas? Geopolítica?” Another mocks back.

("Don't be stupid, man! You are in the society part, what did you expect? Geopolitic?")

From his position, Javi can see you in a cocktail dress next to a good looking man. You are smiling with your teeth as the man has his hand on your lower back. He looks polished, well raised, Javi can smell money on him.

The detectives leave, still in banter, but the newspaper stays. He reads the small note at the bottom of the picture “El Conde y su hermosa pareja, nuevamente en cita”. It must be a recurring thing, he wonders if the nickname is actually this man’s royal title.

("The Count and his beautiful partner, once more on a date".)

Money searches money. From party dresses, two pieces sets to tennis outfits and countryside all-white, you flaunted generational wealth. He invested a big slice of his payment in suits that looked more put together to appear like he belonged in your world. El Conde, from what Javi can see, never had to worry about such triviality.

Putting his work aside, Javi isn’t a name to remember. He doubts that growing up in Laredo, being a small-town man at his heart would be worth the news. Except to you, who treated him like the most interesting person you ever met, even if he tried to keep the personal information to himself.

Looking back, sounds off why he couldn’t give in to you. Rationally he can understand his actions, you were going to live abroad and it could set you back having someone waiting for you on the other side of the world. His life was too dangerous, with the risk of getting those close to him hurt rapidly growing and he wouldn’t be in peace if something happened to you. Despite all of it, you were worth the inevitable pain from day one.

So worth that seeing you in a dress, having fun with another man, made him think about the countless nights spent out in Bogotá. 

Your room was his favorite place in the city, he slept on the left side back on his apartment’s bed to imagine that you were there with him when the morning came. He never asked for the coat he forgot in your house, he liked to imagine you wearing it to have a little piece of him. Everything back then felt like home.

He closes the newspaper and goes out for a new cigarette, puffing a cloud of smoke with the smell you can’t stand. El Conde must smell like an expensive perfume.

then

You don’t take him to your bedroom anymore, not since that night. If he notices something about it, he keeps to himself. You are still his sweetheart in the backseat of his car, where his hands are all over you and the heavy air fogs up the windows.

The car is parked in a blind spot, where the light from the streetlamp doesn’t reach. It is dark, mostly shadows inside of it, everything is hidden by the tinted windows.

Words aren’t exchanged, the only sounds are the flesh against flesh and the uneven breath from your lips as you ride him hard. Big hands knead the tender skin of your hips, pushing you further to meet his thighs. He is deep inside you, making you clench with every move. His open eyes stare at you with the same devotion look you try to avoid by shutting yours and hiding your head in his neck.

“So good,” he whispers into your ears as his hips increase rhythm.

You cry out loud from overwhelm, the angle makes your clit rub his pubic hair more and more when he moves. He knows you are close, so he hugs you tighter, almost suffocating. You hate how much you are an open book to him.

“Let it go, baby,” he orders and you follow, giving in to ecstasy.

He is not far behind, as he uses your spent body to achieve his bliss. With legs shaking from oversensitivity, your mind is lost between heaven and earth as he pushes one final time inside of you.

 He kisses your face in needy little pecks, softly tracing your silhouette. Your eyes are still closed.

After a minute or two, you start to untangle yourself from his embrace and search for your outfit on the car floor. You still haven’t looked into his eyes and it clearly annoys him.

“I can take you home. Don’t take a taxi.” He offers and you want to accept it, but know better.

“You know I can’t, Javi.”

You haven’t spoken about why you decided to get cold at him, it has been weeks of slowly putting some distance between you two. For every push, he pulls you back in this tug of war.

He breaths harshly from his nose, but gives you a positive nod anyway. Getting out of the car, you start walking to the closest avenue, but he promptly pulls your arm and kisses you.

It makes your head spin, your bodies illuminated by the street lights where everyone can see it. For a second you want to ignore your guts and stay there, claim him as yours until daylight, but you don’t.

“Call me when you get home,” he asks with puppy eyes, already searching for a cigarette inside his pocket.

You don’t call.

The next days pass in a hurry, with your attention divided between doing your bags and ignoring the heartache that is creeping in. Javi asks you out and you find an excuse, if he doesn’t buy it, he doesn’t say it.

Your room constantly smells like lavanda. At night, you try to fill your head with anything that takes your attention from him until you can fall asleep from tiredness. The sheets don’t smell like him anymore, but you know it from memory and let fill your mind when you feel lonely.

You are strong in your decision, to choose you until the night before your flight. His coat is in your bed and you have been thinking about packing it or not. If you let it here, every summer break it will be waiting to shove in your face what you once had and it is still free in Bogotá. If you take it with you, will be a constant reminder of what you can’t have.

Before you reprimand yourself, you call for a taxi to the other side of town. It is after midnight on a weekday, he must be at home, preferably, by himself. You don’t know what to do if he has someone there.

Paying the driver fast, you sprint out of the taxi to look around trying to find the number in the paper. Javi wrote down his address once in case of emergency, you think that having him one last time is one. You locate the apartment and knock erratically on the door.

The moment your eyes see his, you throw yourself at him and leave all worries free when he kisses you back with hunger.

He tastes like cigarettes and you love it. His mustache tickles the hollow of your throat, as he fastly goes down on your neck. Goosebumps everywhere his hands touch while clumsy undressing you. When you are naked, he pushes you into the wall and you arch your back inviting him to where he belongs.

On his knees, he starts to eat you out letting out a heavy groan when you stretch your arm behind and tug on his hair. He alternates between sucking your clit and twisting his tongue inside you, making your body feels heavy with pleasure.

You try to look behind your shoulder, to find his eyes, missing the heat behind them. He happily obliges, gaining his height back just to hold your head in his hands and look deeply into your eyes before devouring your mouth. It tastes like you and him, like happiness.

“I missed you,” he whispers and you believe it because you missed him too.

The rational part of you is stronger, so you decide to show instead of putting out in words, taking off his clothes just like he did to you.

He fucks you against the wall, biting on your earlobe and breathing his airy moans directly into your ear. On his sofa, he looks into your eyes up close as his hips thrust so deep you let your mouth hang. With his hand squeezing harshly your jaw, he guides you to his bed until your head reaches the pillow.

It is a mix of wanting, needing, and despair as he opens your legs and positions himself back inside of you. The warm lights inside his room make his tan skin glow, you feel heated up by sunlight when he slides his nose on the side of your face, bracing himself as your hips find his.

There are no words, but this time silence is forced by the moment’s intensity. He gasps directly in your mouth, unable to keep his breath and kiss at the same time. His whole skin feels wet, from the thin layer of sweat in his collarbones to your sex soaking him up. 

You place one heel on his back, urging him to give it all to you. He responds by increasing his tempo, going harder until you lock your fingers with his and let pleasure overcome your conscience. 

He frantically searches for his own release, looking at you like you are his. You bring your interlocked hands to your lips and kiss his fingertips while staring back at him. When he spills inside you, is your turn to give his face little pecks in a silent devotion.

His body weight is on you, his face is tucked in your neck. You can feel his fast heartbeat, still high as his needy hand is caressing the side of your face. It feels different than everything you did. It feels like love.

But you have thought about it before and it was just drunk words. Yet, you let yourself feel whatever he wants to give you. He raises his head until you are eye to eye.

He keeps touching you delicately in silence for a while, his eyes never leaving yours. You can’t control the smile that beams from you to him.

The night gets darker by the hour, but you don’t care. His body is constantly touching yours, begging you to stay. It is his turn to say whatever he wants to, he tells you about his week, the mission and how time went by slowly without you. When exhaustion comes, you sleep on the right side of his bed, with his arm on your waist and his face in your hair.

With the first rays of the sun entering between the shutter gaps, you wake up and it takes all of your will to leave the bed without making him notice.

Your flight will be soon. It chokes you to see him so peaceful in his sleep, to know that he will be searching for your heat when the morning comes.

Having mercy, you get paper and a pen and write down a final message. With precision, you paint your lips red and kiss the paper corner before placing it on the pillow.

The way back to the diplomat’s house is sad and dark, even if the sky is slowly brightening with the sunrise. You cry until there are no tears left. Grandma is having coffee in the garden by the time you get there, she sees your puff face and gives you a sympathetic look.

The sun is high in the sky when your plane departs.

now

Javi stopped looking for you in corridors and the streets near his hotel. He is the one who wants closure, yours happened years ago and it is folded in his wallet. It feels bittersweet to find you and not have you, but he lived it before and didn’t kill him.

The years after your departure were busy. One can’t mourn a love that didn’t live to see the light of day when work is suffocating. He found joy in the small victories against the cartels, consoled with the bodies of the many women he slept with over time. The aftermath is what bites him back, the way your eyes avoid his with such precision.

Madrid is pretty in the summer. He likes to walk around until late at night having so much daylight still, calms his nerves and lets him rest once. The only thing left to do is to repack his luggage, but he doesn’t want to be alone in the hotel room on the final night of his stay.

He doesn’t notice how much time passed since he started to walk. It must be late, the sunset is starting. Shades of orange, lilac, and pink are coming together on the horizon, the warmness of the sky reminds him of the red of your lips back then.

Stopping by a bridge, he lights up a cigarette and stays on the sidewalk admiring the dusk. It is peaceful, a feeling he hasn’t felt in a long time.

There aren’t many people around, the street is almost empty, he looks around until his eyes lock with yours. It’s warm, but you are wearing his coat, both hands in the pockets.

He meets you in the middle of the bridge, following the pace of your timid footsteps.

“Hi,” you almost whisper still staring back at him, “I couldn’t stay alone in my apartment.”

“Why?” He stomps on the cigarette and takes a mental note of your traces in the warm colors of the sky, flashes of the bliss on your face back in his apartment appear in his mind.

“You know why.” 

He does. Too many memories flowing, a ghost from a past life that keeps haunting, but in the flesh and front of you. He is your ghost and you are his too.

“You kept the coat.” It is a simple statement, no more than an observation, but enough to make you embrace yourself around as if you were searching for comfort inside of it. “I kept something too.”

For the first time in many years, he opens his wallet and unfolds your note from the last night spent together. The corners have little dents from how much his fingers pressed on, reading it again and again. The color faded a little, just like the mark of your lipstick isn’t vibrant anymore.

He places the note between your bodies and you take it, fingers slightly scrapping his. You read it like it is a surprise as if you forgot whatever you poured your heart into that final time.

Your eyes are glossy, the waterline is full and about to overflow when you look back at him. The sun shines one last time into your skin before disappearing, allowing the night to come.

[clare-875]

Everything to Me (Kuroo x Reader)

_____

Pairing: Kuroo Tetsurou x Reader Summary: You feel like a nobody next to him, he proves you wrong Warnings: angst, fluff Note: The above image does NOT belong to me [Haikyuu Masterlist]

_____

Kuroo knows something is wrong the instant your bubbly demeanour diminishes, leaving an unnatural silence in the air. He sees it in the way you avert your gaze, how you keep your head low, how you quietly vanish from your usual spot by his side. Most of all, he sees it in the depths of your eyes; the conflict, the wavering of your usual certainty. You can't help it. You, so usually confident and proud to stand by his side despite the jealousy of girls who look enviously, have dug yourself into a hole you see no way out of. The more you try to convince yourself you're okay, that you deserve the love he so willingly gives you, the more you find the echoes of your mind convincing you otherwise. Maybe it was in the flickers of low voices that surround you when you pass dimly lit hallways. "Look at her, she doesn't deserve him." Maybe it's in the way they nitpick, eyes clouded by their disdain. "She isn't even that pretty" Maybe it's their voices coated with sweetness as they try to snatch away his gaze. "Kuroo-san, please can you help me with this."

Maybe it's in the depths of your own mind, playing games with you and prompting your own demise. But how could you not? He, so smart and witty, quick to offer help and retorts during class. He, the Captain of Nekoma's volleyball team, fit and form captivating all who look long enough; and they always do. He and his caressable hair, unkempt but soft and tempting. He who gathers compliments, admirers and popularity all the same. He who stands next to you; but what about you? What could you offer? You could give yourself credit; you were smart and not unpretty, but you also felt so extraordinarily ordinary. Next to him, you would not stand out, sometimes you would feel so far away as girls you thought of as prettier, smarter, and more popular seek his attention, their sharp gaze on you. The worst was when they would not look at you at all; when they would speak as if you weren't even present, like you weren't even worth their sympathy. Kuroo was kind and loyal, he would push them away gently, would speak of his indifference to them politely, so much so they would act as though he had complimented them instead. You wondered if it was because he pitied you; forgotten in their shadows.

Now it was all you could think about, and you wonder if you would ever break free of the chain of thoughts you had tied yourself to. It kept going on and on, and it wouldn't cease. You felt the fear creep up on you next. What if he realised... What if he left? So, you separated yourself from his presence, hoped that time would end the suffering, and if it didn't you hoped it would at least dull the blow of his inevitable leave. But you should know better. This is Kuroo Testuro, your boyfriend, someone who knew you more than anyone would, and he would notice your actions; the struggle etched in your eyes. It had been a few days and you had hoped he did not realise your abrupt absences but of course he did. You found yourself cornered, as he refused you leave the empty classroom the both of you were in.

"You've been avoiding me." You expected his anger, his swift dismissal but all you hear is worry as you refuse to meet his eyes. "Did- did I do something wrong?" You freeze at that, the slight tremble in his voice, the anxiety muddled within his words. You look up shaking your head quickly, not wanting him to doubt himself when he is so perfect to you. However, you realise it's a mistake as you see his face clearly; you see his pain. He seems more tired than usual, the soft skin under his eyes slightly bruised with lack of sleep. He seems tense as though he is bracing for something; like he's bracing for the worst. He observes the shake of your head and you see his brows furrow in confusion, eyes sharp but gaze gentle as he takes a tentative step towards you. "Then what's wrong, why have you been acting so distant?" Your head rings and pounds with his words but they muffle under the weight of all the other voices stuck chanting in your head.

"Why does he stay with her?"

"He'd be better off with me."

"I bet he just pities her"

"She's nothing"

You can't help it as hot tears pour down your face, and you feel the warmth reach your cheeks. You feel it all, the pain of holding in all the thoughts that rake your mind, all the embarrassment and torture. It comes out as you try and fail to stop a sob creeping up your throat. Kuroo's eyes widen instantly at your rare and blatant show of utter pain; of sadness. He moves as swiftly as your cries come and you feel his strong arms embrace you gently but securely. You feel yourself lose the strength within yourself as you grasp desperately at his shirt, body shaking at the weight of your gasps and cries. Through it all he is silent and patient, he doesn't mind the way your tears now seep onto his skin or the way you allow yourself to be vulnerable. If anything he is thankful you allow him to hold you. If anything he is angry. Who did this to you? Who made you feel this way? Many moments pass by when you are finally able to collect yourself and you gently release yourself from his embrace taking in a shaky breath.

"[y/n]," Kuroo mutters after he allows you to compose yourself. His hand is sure on yours as his other gently lifts your face to his. "Please," his voice is almost desperate as he looks at you, "tell me what's wrong. Did someone do something?" You look to him, the way he wants nothing more than to ease you of the burdens you have allowed yourself to drown in. You feel guilt build as you force your reply through your throat. "I'm sorry," you mutter much to his confusion. Why would you apologise? "I just... haven't been feeling great about myself lately. I think... I think they were right, I'm not enough, I'm not smart enough or pretty enough. You deserve so much better, I- I'm nothing compared to you-" Before you can continue Kuroo tightens his grip on your hand, forcing your eyes on him once more as you look up surprised at the rage that now fills his face, but it takes you a while to understand that the anger isn't directed to you. But himself. How could he not have shown you just how worthy you are of his love; just how much you mean to him?

"[y/n]," he shakes his head at your words, eyes remorseful and stern. "You- you don't know just how much you mean to me. You're so beautiful, you're so kind, you're so smart, you always listen to my science puns and always laugh. You remember my favourite foods, can list out every dislike I have, can name every movie I've watched, every place I've visited. You always come to my games and are always my loudest supporter. [y/n]... you're everything to me." Your eyes widen at his proclamations of adoration for you, heart pounding as he looks so earnestly at you. "When you started avoiding me, I thought you wanted to break up or something, do you know how horrible this week has been without you?" His tone is more gentle now, more teasing and light as it has always been.

"I'm sorry to say, but you're stuck with me, besides you’re the only one who actually laughs at my science jokes." He grins as you smile slightly at his words, feeling silly all of a sudden, feeling the weight lift off you and your lungs able to breathe again. His gaze then becomes more sure and serious as he pulls you closer to his side, kissing the top of your head. "I'm sorry I didn't realise sooner," he muttered against your skin, and you looked up to him heart warm at his words as you allow yourself to take in a breath and shake your head. "Thank you, Tetsu." He grins at your nickname pulling you closer and glad to have you back by his side. "Don't ever avoid me again, understand? And you're gonna tell me who "they" are." He says looking at you, as your eyes widen at his words. Nevertheless, the next time you even heard an utterance of an insult when you passed, Kuroo was right behind you proclaiming loudly how much he, "hates girls that gossip," and how much he adores his beautiful girlfriend. Needless to say, they never bothered you again, and Kuroo never gave them a minute of his time, forever and always devoted to you.

[yinyangyandere]

💔 Gone, But Not Forgotten ll Disney Villain HCs💔

Synopsis; 'How Scar, Frollo, Jafar, Hades, Hook, and Ursula would react to their s/o losing someone close to them'

ll Caution: Discussions of death, somewhat of a vent

A.N.; Man, first post on this blog and it's something sad. What a way to start this whole thing. In any case, I wanted to make a small "vent-imagine" as my own grandmother passed away today. I won't get into too much detail, but I find solace in thinking about my favorite characters helping me during all of this. Sorry if anything's OOC; I'm not the best at writing, and even if these are just headcanons, I still apologize if there's some mischaracterization I accidentally did. But, I hope you enjoy. Have a great day!

ll SCAR ll

Admittedly, he’d be rather standoffish about the subject at first. He’ll still be there beside you as you grieve, but he’s more at a loss of words than anything.

Scar disliked his father, so he didn’t feel too much grief when King Ahadi died protecting the Pride Lands. If anything, he felt more resentment towards him since, with his dying breath, Ahadi had given the title of king towards Mufasa.

However, even if they were distant at times, his affinity towards his mother, Queen Uru, was more apparent. They were more close together, and while he’d never actually say it out loud, her eventual death of old age tore through him. So, in that aspect, he does somewhat understand your pain.

He’ll be more quiet as you process everything, but he’d still offer some words of understanding to you.

If you cry in the attention of others, he won’t do close PDA; he’ll wrap his tail around you and sit close to you though. But if you two are alone, he’ll wrap a paw around you and gently bring you over to do the lion version of a hug.

If you’re okay with it, Scar will give you several licks and allow you to weep in his mane. Even if he may dislike the prospect of dirtying his special source of pride, he’ll allow it for you alone.

“Life is often unfair, but we must keep pushing on. If not for your sake, then let it be for their’s.”

/// ✨ ///

ll FROLLO ll

Out of all the villains, Frollo probably handles what you're going through the best.

Thanks to it being around the 1400s, people passing away were definitely more common, so he was used to any grief you display and assure you that it's alright to cry.

Due to his job of being a figurehead of the Church, he is accustomed to death in general and, while he doesn't officiate the funerals of every single citizen of Notre Dame, he'll gladly do your loved ones.

In fact, he'd probably find a way to be the priest for the funeral even if you were hesitant. Frollo is both persuasive and assertive at once.

It would be a standard, if not slightly more sophisticated, Catholic funeral. Knowing him it would be a burial rather than something like cremation. Otherwise he would probably say some shit like "And send them down to brimstone and fire?! No, they shall be buried and that's final."

Of course, his stony expression doesn't waver before and after the funeral. Though, deep down, he's worried for you. He knows that, after losing someone close to you, you are capable of spiraling down into depression and…the chance of losing you.

He’ll be clingy for a little while, subtle enough for you to not catch attention but enough to make others raise a slight eyebrow.

“My Lord, please watch over my love, for they are currently weak and vulnerable. Allow me to protect them no matter the cost.”

/// ✨ ///

ll JAFAR ll

Jafar’s much like Frollo in how he approaches the situation. On the inside, while he’s truthfully more grateful about the prospect of your attention being more on him in the future, he’s still concerned for your well-being and does wish to help you in any way he can.

He may be a bit overprotective of others coming near you during all of this. God forbid someone, peasant or otherwise, makes fun of you for any reason. It doesn’t matter if they taunt you over you weeping or anything else, he will have their head. Not even to aid him in any magic or sacrifices he tries to do. He’d probably just feed their body to pigs or something.

In normal circumstances, Jafar adores teasing you. However, he’s sensible enough to know not to do so with the problem at hand. While he misses the comebacks you would snap back at him, Jafar would rather not potentially hurt your feelings. He’ll be glad to wait until you feel better.

Remember what I said before about him being grateful for the possibility of your attention being focused more on him from now on? If he notices you’re upset after a while, he decides to shove his pride a bit to make you happy. He asks if, when he’s able to become Sultan, you would be alright with the idea of him actually resurrecting your loved one.

If you say yes, he’ll actually be honest about it. After the Genie grants him his first two wishes, especially the sorcerer one, it will be done post-haste for your sake. If Genie tries to dissuade him from it, Jafar’ll make “the blueberry-pasted moron” zip his trap.

Whether you say yes or no, you’ll ask him how he could do that. After all, despite still being able to do some sorcery, subjects like necromancy are still foreign to him. In response, he’ll grin and say back to you:

“For you, I would remake the world to suit your vision with no qualms. For you, dearest flower; I would do anything for you.”

/// ✨ ///

ll HADES ll

When you tell him the news, crying all the while, Hades would look confused at you for a second.

“Uh, doll? You know who you’re talking to, right?” Oh.

If you ask him if that’s even allowed or not, Hades would laugh and give you a wide smile. Like he cares about “rules” or what not. It’s his Underworld to reign over, not anyone else’s.

He’ll fish out their soul and allows you to see them. It’s a heartfelt reunion, and as both of you cry in happiness, Hades would be standing off to the side like 🧍. 

If both of you agree to it, he’ll also allow your loved one to come back to life as well. If they were old when they died, he’ll make them younger and healthier as a bonus.

He can’t stand mushy-stuff, but he refuses to see you in sadness or in pain. A tad bit of jealousy aside, Hades knows this will make you fall further in love with him. As if you weren’t already head-over-heels for the smug bastard before…

“C’mon, babe. No need to thank me. Go have fun or whatever; just don’t tell Zeus. Guy’s a killjoy!”

/// ✨ ///

ll CAPTAIN HOOK ll

Not going to lie, if you tell him about the situation and start crying, he would join in with you. He may be a pirate but he’s not completely heartless.

While you grieve, Hook would be there for you every step of the way. And if he’s there for you, so is the rest of the crew. You’d be pampered and spoiled, anything to show he’s here to help whenever you ask for it.

He’d probably be the type to try and get your mind off of it. Looking out at sunsets, going through collected treasure, sharing stories (especially ones that he knows you would laugh at), that sort of thing. 

Even if he’s in front of his crew, Hook will give you the best comforting hugs. If you’re feeling sad, just resting your head on his shoulder with his soft, fluffy hair would be enough to soothe you.

When you two are alone, he’ll quietly sing gentle songs to you, far different from the usual sea shanty he’d parade about. If you begin to cry, he’ll wipe away the tears falling down your face (of course making sure his hook doesn’t cut you) and urge you closer to him.

Definitely the sweetest out of all the villains.

“Look up at the stars, love. See how many there are? Know that, one of them, is your loved one. They’ll always be there to guide you on the darkest nights, even if you are alone.”

/// ✨ ///

ll URSULA ll

As you go through the stages of grief, like with all of the villains listed here, Ursula would do her best to stay by your side and help when need be.

She’d be very touchy with you, offering hugs, kisses, hand-holding, all the works. She knows all too well the feeling of being alone in the world, and Ursula is determined to make sure you don’t feel like you’re going through all of this alone.

I hope you’re okay with her embraces being a bit “slimy” feeling; though, if you’re dating her, I’d say you’d be used to it by now.

Thanks to her deal-making skills, she always knows just what to say in this situation. Except, while she was often dishonest with the deals she made, she’s 100% genuine here. 

All-in-all, definitely second-best when it comes to being the sweetest to you in this time of your life.

Not related to Ursula herself, but Flotsam and Jetsam would be all-over you. You know how dogs can sometimes tell when their owner is feeling sad, and they comfort you by just laying their head on you? That’s them. Despite Ursula sometimes being overwhelmed by the two’s shenanigans, deep down, she’s thankful that they help cheer you up.

“Oh, angelfish, there, there. You were good to them, and I’m sure that they’ll always watch over you from now on. Just like me.”

/// ✨ ///

Thanks for reading! 💛

[inuyassa]

HELLO!!! Can i make a Luffy x F!reader (not dating YET but mutual pining) request where the reader gets injured during a fight but hides it from the crew because the victory party started, (and because after everything Luffy has been through recently the reader doesn't want him to worry) BUT she goes down half way through the party?

What is Luffy's reaction??

Angst to comfort ig?? does that make sense???

THANK.

OMG YOU KNOW I LOVE ME SOME ANGST!!!!!!! I hope this is what you were thinking/hoping!!

Luffy x F!Reader

Request

Angst/Comfort

Warnings: Mentions of Death, Blood, and Implied Injury. Some mature language.

Wake Up...

She gripped the edge of the bathroom sink as she placed another round of antiseptic on the wound.  It was a fresh laceration, bright red and still bleeding.  She had only received it a day ago while the crew was ashore and attacked by a local gang.  The fight was short lived, but she still took quite a few hits, and when one came at her with a knife…

It would be so simple to just go to Chopper and ask to be patched up, but by the time everyone made their way back to the ship, the party was underway.  Drinks and food and music, complements of Zoro, Sanji, and Brook respectively.  It was one of the first times since reuniting that the crew was able to celebrate a win together.  Luffy was overjoyed, his smile was back after so much pain…how could she ruin that by making him worry?

After another painful round of wound cleaner, she made her way back onto the deck.  Brook was jamming away on his violin while Sanji pined after Robin and Nami with plates of sweets and mugs of tea.  Zoro laughed through a half drunk bottle of sake while Luffy devoured a full serving of meat on the bone. The sounds of laughter once again filled the deck of the Thousand Sunny.  She smiled, her eyes growing heavy.  She braced herself against the nearby pillar and tried to stop the world from spinning. 

“Hey kiddo, you doing okay?” Franky walked up beside her, he had been making his way to the spread of food when he saw her loose balance.  She looked up at him, his smile faded when he saw how pale she looked, her skin glistening with a thin layer of sweat.  “Woah, buddy, you don’t look too good,” he said, putting a large, strong hand on your shoulder.  “You need me to get Chopper?”

She grinned, feeling the world swallow her up.  “Hey, Franky,” she began.  “Don’t let me hit my head okay?” Her legs buckled beneath her and she fell.  Franky lunged forward to catch her, easing her onto the ground.  “Kid? Kid! Hey, we need help over here!”

Franky’s voice cut through the jovial music, causing Brook to freeze and the rest of the crew to look towards him.  When Luffy saw her on the ground, he rushed over, leaving his half eaten meat behind.  Chopper followed closely behind, grabbing his bag from off the bench.  The rest of the crew shot over, hovering as she lay in Franky’s arms.  Her breath was short and shaky, her brow furrowed in pain.  Luffy looked her over with panic, that’s when he noticed the blood soaking into her shirt.  She was hurt.  He faltered backwards several steps before he fell to his knees, his heart beating loud and fast in his ears, his eyes full of fear.  Zoro noticed his Captain and knelt down in front of him.  “Luffy, you’ve got to stay with us okay?”

“Blood…” Luffy said, his voice hoarse and soft.  “She’s bleeding…”

Zoro grabbed his shoulders.  He might be the future Pirate King, but right now, he was that same little kid who just lost his brother.  “Look at me Luffy,” Zoro said, his voice stern but comforting.  “This is not like then, this is now.  She’s going to be fine.  You won’t lose her, understand?”  That’s when Zoro noticed the tears welling up in Luffy’s eyes.  He stared blankly ahead, his face locked.  “Blood…” he breathed.  “So much blood…”

“We need to get her inside,” Chopper said.  “She’s responsive but in a lot of pain.”  Franky nodded and stood up, slowly cradling her tense body in his arms.  She let out a pained yell as he did, and Luffy’s breath caught in his throat.  He stood up, shoving Zoro out of the way and running towards her.  He was tackled by Usopp who pinned the manic Luffy down.  “Calm down Luffy,” he yelled.  “You won’t be any help to her the way you are now.”

Luffy clawed at the ground, his fists filling with grass and dirt, he yelled for Usopp to get off him.  “I’m your captain,” he screamed, his voice raw.  “You do as I say and get the hell off me!”

A large, leather clad shoe pinned Luffy’s head to the ground.  Sanji stood above him, his eyes filled with rage and worry.  “You need to calm down Luffy,” he sneered.  “This isn’t helping anyone, especially not her!” 

Luffy fought against the pressure, but with his arms bound by Usopp, he wasn’t going anywhere.  His breath became fast and heavy, his body slowly losing the will to fight them off anymore.  Hot tears streamed from his eyes and he sobbed.  He let our months of repressed worry and fear.  Pain he thought he was over all came rushing back into him like a flood he couldn’t control…

***

“You gave us all quite a scare,” Chopper lectured her as he changed her bandages.  It had been two days since she collapsed at the party, and in that short amount of time, Chopper’s treatment had all but healed her.  “You’ll have a nasty scar, but other than that, your wound looks really good!”

She smiled, caressing the small doctor’s cheek.  “Looks like I owe you my life yet again Doctor.” Chopper began to blush, assuring her that her compliments could not fool him, and that she was a liar.  She laughed.  “Is Luffy around?  I haven’t seen him since I woke up.”

Chopper paused.  “He hasn’t really talked much to anyone on board.  He just sits at the helm and looks out at the sea…we’re all sort of worried about him.”

She sighed, looking out the small window at the ocean.  In an attempt to save Luffy the pain of seeing her hurt, she ended up making the situation much worse…

*** 

Luffy sat cross-legged, letting the sea breeze run its invisible fingers through his hair, his hat dangling around his neck.  The sun was getting ready to set, that would mean three days since he last saw her…

”Is this seat taken?”  Luffy’s head shot around to see her standing behind him, a small blanket wrapped around her.  His heart dropped to his stomach.  She looked so tired…

She must have taken his silence as a response and lowered herself down next to him.  His eyes never left her, afraid that if he so much as blinked she would disappear forever. “You don’t need to blame yourself, you know,” she began.  “I hid it from everyone.  I didn’t want to make you worry.  I guess that plan sort of backfired though huh?”

Luffy still only stared at her…”You were bleeding,” he began.  “And then you collapsed…just like he did.”

She looked at him.  “Luffy…”

“I thought you weren’t going to wake up too…”

Before he could say anything else she threw her arms around him, pulling him into her arms.  Luffy held onto her tight, burrowing his face in between her neck and shoulder.  She felt his body shake with silent sobs.  “I’m right here,” she whispered.  “I’m right here.  I’m not going anywhere I promise…”

[xxaraaq]

𝙄𝙢 𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚

masterlist

Synopsis | Bakugou hates people touching him. But after certain events take place, he waste no time in reaching for your embrace.

Word count | 4.2 k

cw | character death, angst

Bakugou x Black!reader

A/N | I feel like I did a pretty good job with this. I hope you enjoy!

You didn't know what to say. Staring at him as he lays on your chest like a son would lay on his mother. You were shocked. Even throughout your near year and a half month relationship, he has never initiated touch like this. During a night full of deep conversations and wine, he had revealed to you that the idea of someone touching him further than a pat on the back or high five made him writhe in his skin. You respected it through and through, but for some reason, you couldn’t shake the feeling of sadness that sat in the back of your mind.

It struck something in your heart to see him making an effort to show affection towards you, to show you that he really cared in a way he wasn't suited to. You loved seeing how he would slowly reach his arms around you to reciprocate a hug. He knew physical touch meant the world to you. He didn’t understand why, but he told himself that he didn’t need to, that he only needed to try his best to make you feel appreciated in the way he knew you would see. 

It was an unsuspecting, rainy day when he entered your shared apartment. You were immersed in a book for an assignment due in the coming days, blasting music through your headphones.

You weren’t paying attention to your surroundings, and he didn’t blame you for it. He couldn’t, for he knew you wholeheartedly felt it unnecessary to be ‘constantly on guard’. You told him that it wasn’t good for the soul to be in a frequent state of paranoia. He knew you only told him this to avoid a lecture when he scared you as you were walking down the hallway leading to the laundry room shared by everyone in the apartment complex. 

He tapped you gently on the shoulder, effectively and unsurprisingly making you jump. “What the hell!” You squealed, putting a hand to your chest. He doesn’t tell you off like he usually does, instead just looking at you with glossed over eyes and drooping shoulders. “Babe, what's wrong?” You questioned, taking your airpods out and putting them in their respective place. He doesn’t answer, opting to lay, almost collapse, onto your chest and torso. He wraps his arms around you and buries his face into the valley of your breasts.

Your eyes widen in shock. He’s never done something like this. What almost stuns you more is his scent. He took a shower at Best Jeanists’ agency. He nevers does that, only resorting to cleaning himself there when he’s too covered in the labors of his day to comfortably walk home. You were about to ask him what was wrong, but then you feel a tear dampen your shirt. More start to follow, and before the two of you knew it, he was full on sobbing. He hiccups and sniffles as his arms come around your waist, circling you as if you were going to disappear if he didn’t hold on tight enough. You freeze, not knowing how to go about this the right way as to not make the situation any worse. You wanted to cry yourself, seeing the love of your life be so sad. But instead, one hand goes to his back, and the other to his head, caressing him in a comforting manner. He cries his heart out, and you let him, continuing to soothe him in the best way you know how. 

Eventually, the sobs turn silent, and the pair of you lay there in silence, not daring to say a word. You go on with your ministrations, stroking his head reassuringly. You hope he gets the message of your actions, that he understands that whatever happened, you’re here. You sigh a breath of relief when he lifts his head, gazing into your eyes. He sighs, asking if the two of you can talk about it in the morning. You agree almost instantly, telling him to not worry about it. And you sit there with him in silence, simply basking in the presence of each other until you fall asleep.

–

You wake up to find yourself in a room with no one besides yourself. Rubbing your eyes, you walk into the kitchen to find him washing dishes, back facing you. You walk forwards, standing next to him in a silent way of saying good morning. He turns the water off and sighs, not knowing where to start. “Yesterday… I was at work when…” He stops in his tracks, rubbing a tired hand across his face. You could tell he was getting frustrated, so you don’t say anything, only looking at him while he tries to formulate his words. “While I was patrolling yesterday, some shit broke out outta nowhere, and this kid ended up dying.” He pauses, groaning at the memory. “I was with him the whole time, and he was talking about how he couldn’t wait to see mom because they were supposed to watch a movie together when she picked him up. He couldn’t have been more than six, and he just… bled out, right in front of me. And what hurt the most was that I couldn’t do shit about it, and I just had to tell him that it was gonna be okay when he knew it wasn’t. He knew I was lying, but he had a smile on his face the whole time. ” A tear slips down your cheek, and you rush towards him. “I am so sorry Kat.” You say, and he knows you mean it. 

You hug him, and he hugs you back. And he hurts, he hurts so bad. But he feels as though he can feel better in your embrace. It doesn’t make him nauseous to feel your body on his anymore, and it makes the pain a little bit better. You make him a little better.

-Nene

[cozzzynook]

Hiii cozzzyyyy

What do we think about Rodimus adopting a lil human in secret on the LL, but Drift discovers it and tells Ratchet? And all three o them just look blankly at the human (that doesn't understand what's going on ofc ofc)?

Thank uuu <3

Hi Bee,

Hear me out.

The human he brings aboard the lost light that doesn’t know whats going on is actually cyberronian and a baby.

The found them crying next to their offline creators and couldn’t just leave them there. He was going to tell police officials but when he picked the fresh bitty up and they stopped crying. Reaching out and gripping his chassis and digit whimpering for him, he just couldn’t bare to part with them.

Sooo he snuck them on board and let the ship take off.

Of course he told officials about the bitty’s creators and told Prowl in secret what he’d done and that he wasn’t giving the bitty up. Prowl can honestly say he’s never actually heard Rodimus sound threatening and he admired it before putting official documents in stating Rodimus was the sparklings caregiver now before sending them to him and hanging up.

Rodimus was entirely pleased with himself and more than happy to get started on bathing the dirty bitty that wasn’t old enough to have plating on their exposed protoform. He learned the bitty was a little mecha and so as he had them wrapped in a soft warmer against his chassis he had to figure out a name and get a bitty berth installed.

He wasn’t entirely out of his league here since he used to caretake for orphanages on Nyon. He knew what sparklings needed and their development. So he knew this was a fresh spark that wouldn’t be able to be away from him for a long time since the connection with his creators was severed so early in life.

Of course..in all his plannings he forgot to tell his crew and co captain…who just so happened to walk into his hab with Minimus and stare at the sparkling with open jaws and he immediately had to explain the situation.

“So you weren’t carrying this whole time and popped out a sparkling on a dangerous mission?”

“No I’m not an idiot!”

He looked extremely offended and felt it too which upset the sparkling almost pulling them from recharge if it weren’t for him calming them down.

“I got the paperwork and everything. I got attached…don’t look at me like that Mins! I’m not popping out a sparkling!”

The smug look on the mini turbo fox face plates and his co captains was pissing him off.

Just because he was a carrier mech did not mean he would go following his coding and pop out bitlets.

He was destined for greater things than being a broodmare! He said as much too.

“Rodimus its not meant like that. Carriers just-”

“I don’t wanna hear it,” he was genuinely upset but trying not to take it out on them since they didn’t do anything wrong. He was just sensitive about his coding and frame.

“I’d like some time off from being in public to get a better bond with them and get all the supplies I need. I’ll do all my paperwork here. I’ll keep my comm open as well.”

He ushered them out after letting Minimus hold his sparkling who began to fuss but didn’t cry.

“Lets get you some panel wraps and bottles annndd I’m gonna need to find you a crib…and a name.”

The bitty just kept sucking on their hand and he was off to find such things in the storage rooms while the dead shift was at its quietest time.

He managed to luck out on getting multiple blankets and an abundance of reusable panel wrappers. He’d brought those things back to his hab and set them on a gentle wash in his cleaning closet before heading back out to find a crib and clothes and some bottles.

He was yet again lucky in his search. Finding bottles, clothes and even a few pacifiers along with a stuffed fox that looked suspiciously like Minimus handy work made him smile. He’d have to thank his friend for leaving this here for him.

He was bummed he couldn’t find a crib but he had everything else he needed and he decided to enjoy the win. He’d gotten everything clean and settled when the bitty began to fuss and he knew immediately what time it was.

“I’m gonna fix a bottle. I know, I know. You’re hungry its okay,” he soothed to the upset sparkling.

He felt his chassis growing tight and he groaned looking down at the shifted plating to the still unfinished diluted energon meant for sparklings. He wasn’t about to make his sparkling wait an hour for fuel that wouldn’t be half as good as what his frame decided to make against his wishes.

So with a final groan and a hope for his luck to continue and his sparkling not getting attached to this form of feeding, he unclasped his chassis and let his breast mesh free. They were already filling with milk and he grimaced at how natural it all felt.

He didn’t like being a carrier but he wasn’t going to let that get in the way of feeding his sparkling.

With that line running through his mind, he held his sparkling up to his nozzle and allowed them to turn their helm crying until eventually they smelled him and the energon his frame was building before opening teary optics and latching on.

The first few suckles felt weird but eventually he felt the milk begin to release and his sparkling was greedily suckling blinking the tears from their optics.

Rodimus didn’t want to admit how close and connected he felt to the fresh bitty letting them drink from him.

He’d always had a problem with being a carrier and few mechs knew that he was and all that did knew by accident. It was something he liked pretending he wasn’t but that was extremely hard to do when a bitty was nursing from his mesh.

He sighed and looked to the bottles on the drying rack and figured he might as well try organizing his hab and bitty proofing it.

By the time he was done, the bitty was finished nursing and he was burping them. They’d fallen to recharge immediately and he smiled looking down at them. They were tiny, even for a new sparkling they were tiny. He was going to comm First aid to come to his hab in the morning so he could get them fully examined.

Carrier instincts would’ve alerted him if something was wrong with a sparkling even if they weren’t his own. But he wanted to be completely sure.

He laid the sparkling on his lap and began squeezing the rest of his milk into a bottle.

He’d have to find a crib and milk pump the next time he went to the storage rooms.

He stood and held the sparkling to his breast mesh that was still too tender to close his chassis over. He really hoped his bitty would take a bottle and not his nozzles and that his milk could be turned off when he called First aid.

He laid in his berth, nest fresh courtesy of Ratchet and Drift who were on took an extra, with a servo on the bitty thinking of possible names when he felt his optics almost slip closed until panic gripped him.

“Frag I didn’t tell them I adopted a bitty…”

Recharge was not exactly restful due to his nerves and waking a few hours later to the bitty whimpering wanting milk was something that stole his attention from Drift and Ratchets reactions.

He’d tried getting the bitty to take the sparkling fuel he’d put on earlier but the bitty hollered energon murder and he sighed lowering his helmet trying to suppress tears.

He’d lowered them to his nozzle and they immediately gripped on. He looked to the warm energon bottle and picked it up slipping it into the bitties mouth only for them to spit it out and spit up the milk.

It took over ten minutes to calm them down before deciding never to do that again and just accept he would have to feed from his nozzles.

The bitty gave a little glare at him with blue optics that looked so much like Drift and Ratchets when he did something to endanger himself he smiled a little making the bitty giggle.

It was spark warming and asserted that he made the right decision in keeping them.

“Your gonna be trouble aren’t ya lil mecha,” he cooed, cleaning himself and the bitty while allowing them to drink. He’d put the sparkling energon by the door and thought of how he was going to tell Drift and Ratchet.

He went through the motions of burping the bitty and soothing them to sleep before starting on paperwork. By the time he finished he leaned back in his chair and looked down at his breast mesh and the bitty sleeping on them.

He maneuvered the bitty and tried to put his breasts back into his chassis only to wince and hiss in pain.

‘That won’t work. Damnit. I’ll have to get a new chassis supporter.’

He looked down at the bitty and couldn’t find it in himself to blame them or really be upset. He was still pushing off the mental breakdown at succumbing to his carrier protocols. But looking down at the bitty he found it a tad easier.

Things didn’t feel so bad…until he heard the hab door open.

He stiffened in his seat and slowly turned his helm to see Drift and Ratchet staring at him and their hab.

He tried to smile but it came off wobbly and afraid and the sparkling made a whimpering noise that pulled his attention.

He shushed them gently with a small bounce and they nuzzled into him.

He looked back up to see the spot by the door empty with Drift and Ratchet right in front of Rodimus staring shocked at the fresh bitty in his arms recharging on swollen exposed breast mesh.

“Hehe. Surprise? Funny story here.”

“Roddy were you sparked and didn’t know it?! Did you emerge our sparkling on a mission?!”

Drift was seething with a myraid of emotions but not one was anger. He was thankfully whispering as he did so and was visibly checking him over before getting closer only to stop so Ratchet could begin scanning the sparkling and Rodimus.

“No I wasn’t sparked! And no I didn’t emerge a bitty! They don’t even look like us!”

He whispered venomously before pausing. They all stopped for a moment before Rodimus apologized.

“I’m not getting sparked. Ever,” he spoke, looking them in the optic before motioning for Ratchet to keep working.

The mech gave him a look he didn’t want to see so he turned his helm and let Ratchet work.

“The sparkling is fine,” he stood, looking at the fresh sparkling still sleeping on Rodimus who had an arm covering his nozzles.

He refused to move it because he didn’t want them seeing.

He knew they knew. They had since before they got together. He’d blown up almost saying some really nasty things when they revealed to him they knew by his scent, nest, clingy behavior he thought he shut down and the way he’d act around sparklings. Of course having this revealed made him all but destroy his carrying instincts and reject anything remotely like it.

It hurt. Physically and mentally to do so but he did it anyway and rejected any advice on not doing it. Of course he took it a step further and took preventative pills that kept him from going into heat and added an extra spark baffle. He really hated being a carrier and how it made him look to other mechs and femmes. He was not weak. He was not some birthing machine and he was not going to degrade himself by popping out sparklings and prove them all right. He was more than a carrier mech. He was a living being. He wouldn’t succumb to code.

Of course doing all this and having no heat put him in danger and made him sick but he truly would rather get sick than suffer another heat and possibly get sparked.

It took passing out after throwing up energon for his own medical right to be snatched away. He was taken off heat suppressants and his spark baffles were removed leaving him with just one.

He’d rode out his heat painfully by himself and left the medical center before they could try talking him into something he didn’t want. He ignored his teammates outside of battle planning for a long time. He ignored Ratchet and Drift, at the time Deadlock, for even longer since they just didn’t get it.

As much as he butted helms with Optimus the mech understood but still didn’t want him endangering his life. The only medic he really trusted was First Aid who admitted he didn’t understand but tried to give him the best option instead of getting snippy with him or pushing carrier scrap at him.

He’s pulled out of his thoughts when he feels Ratchet put a servo on his breast mesh and feel around it. He knows he isn’t being a perv but he still hates it. He’d never exposed his breast mesh to them before and hadn’t ever planned to.

“Well?”

He was getting more impatient and uncomfortable by the moment and Ratchet gave him a look that he returned with the beginnings of a snarl that he restrained.

“Milk won’t stop till the kid doesn’t need it anymore. You’ll need a new chassis plating. I’ll get to working on one-”

“I’ll have First aid make me one. Its fine. You both should rest. I’ll explain everything when you wake up.”

He was standing before either could get a word in. Was it fair? Not at all. But he really didn’t want this conversation nor the carrier slag they’d throw his way.

“Kid, get back here. This is a conversation we’re having now.”

He glared but didn’t go any further.

“I didn’t purposely attach the sparkling. It just..happened. I saw them crying near their creators when I went down to the lab. They were already gone and gray.”

“I wasn’t even thinking when I took them and decided to keep them. I’m sorry I didn’t ask first or tell you. You don’t have to care for them, I can do that on my own.”

He’d done it with sparklings at the centers and they’d recovered until they found a proper home during the war. So he knew he could.

“I’m not asking either of you to do anything and if they are a crying sparkling I’m going back to my hab.”

“Rodimus!”

Drift had yelled his name a little too loud to stop him from spiraling and putting distance between them. The mech was holding his arms on both sides and he wasn’t aware he’d been venting hard.

“Stop,” Drift vented hard, looking at him with his finials back and fangs poking out.

“You’re not going to your old hab. You’re staying here with us, where you belong,” Drift told him. “We’re not angry and we don’t blame you for getting attached. We just..”

“We’re surprised kid. Shocked really,” Ratchet came close and he felt crowded. The sparkling was picking up on his emotions and while that made him happy because it meant a bond was in place, he didn’t want them exposed to painful emotions or his cluster of feelings so he vented and bounced them. Keeping his gaze on the sparkling, trying not to notice how their gazes stuck to him and the longing in their optics, he started speaking again.

“I have the papers that say he’s mine already..Megs and Minimus know already because they came by unannounced.”

“Only yours?”

Ratchet was the one to ask and he felt bad that he didn’t think they’d want their names on the papers as well.

“I didn’t think you’d want your names on it. I didn’t think about anything other than your reactions honestly and I wasn’t fair in those thoughts either. I’m sorry.”

He owed it to them to at least get their frustrations out so he looked them in the optics expecting glares only to feel sadness and that was so much worst.

“Roddy…we aren’t..give us the papers.”

He went over to his desk and situated the sparkling while covering his nozzles and pulled the papers out handing them over.

They both signed it.

And he was both relieved and guilt ridden.

Both wanted a sparkling and were even partners with a mech who could carry by tank and yet…

“Why isn’t his name on here?”

“I couldn’t think of one…so I guess..as his sires, you can name him. If you want.”

They looked at him as if he’d revealed the secrets of Cybertron and he might as well have. Naming was a huge deal in their culture and for a carrier to completely allow the sires full handle of it meant a lot.

He looked down at the sparkling and stood beside them, “here, hold him.”

It was Ratchet who gently took the sparkling which made the bitty wake up looking confused. Their optics nor senses were actually developed but they could tell the difference between stranger, carrier and sire. They could smell that he was near but couldn’t feel him. And yet the sparkling didn’t cry which was a good sign. They did sneeze and Ratchet melted at the sight with Drift not far behind and he hadn’t even held the bitty yet.

It made Rodimus smile but the guilt ate away at him.

Truth be told, he really did want sparklings, but he hated the stereotypes, prejudice and weakness being a carrier brought on. He never wanted to be weak or seen as weak and he hated how he would be viewed if he were to get sparked. So he denied and rejected it and in the process, he denied himself and his partners something they all wanted. Its one of the reasons he wasn’t conjunxed with them while the two were. It was usually a guarantee a carrier would get sparked once they conjunxed. His fears greatly outweighed the speak of what if he still felt.

He was also certain they would one day tire of him and leave when they realized they could do better.

‘I sprung a bitty on them that isn’t even ours by emergence and they still want me,’ he let a few tears fall silently. ‘I’ve been unfair to them…’

He watched as Ratchet gave the bitty to Drift and how the mech melted completely with tears in his optics. Their bitty still didn’t cry which was also a very good sign he felt a connection to the two. He quietly bent down and grabbed a blanket to cover his exposed nozzles. He should let Ratchet make him a new chassis cover.

The feelings were overwhelming and he felt less of a warrior and solider and more the code he tried to reject for millions of years.

He..hated the vulnerability still and tried to quietly shift into the other room for a moment to gather himself but the two held him on both sides of his arms.

“What? Is he hungry?”

He didn’t want to make optic contact and tried to play off his sniffle until Ratchet pulled him in. He tried to move back but neither mechs allowed it.

“Kid..for once..don’t fight it..it doesn’t make you any less and it’s not a bad thing. Just for now..let it out..don’t reject it. Don’t reject us.”

The dam burst and he was sobbing with his intake covered by his servos to keep from being too loud. He kept his face plates hidden and felt Drift hug his back with their sparkling secure in his hold. Their arms tightened around him. He felt all the things he never allowed himself.

Safe. Vulnerable. Secure. Open. Tender. Exposed and held together as he mended himself whole with their comfort.

It felt as good as it hurt and by the end of his tears he felt raw and their nest had never felt so good to slip inside. He felt Drift and Ratchet pressed on both sides of him after giving him their sparkling when he whined for him.

Their sparkling nuzzled into him and made cooing noises, trying to fight their sleep but Drift wouldn’t let them. His humming was infectious and it was hard for him to stay awake but the plating that remained on his upper frame left him so uncomfortable. He knew what that meant but he wasn’t sure he could handle accepting it.

“It’s okay, Roddy,” Drift whispered in his audial, slowly taking the locks off his tank and back strut plating with Rstchets help. He felt pure relief at the metal being removed allowing his belly and wide hips room to breathe.

Accepting the sparkling as his own, his frame producing milk and allowing his emotions freedom in the presence of his partners triggered his body to go into a pseudo heat that was brought on from denying his code all these years.

“Let us take care of you,” Ratchet kissed along his neck cables, servos rubbing the chub along his belly, sending butterflies bursting within him at the love and comfort freely given.

Drift rubbed his palms along his hips and bit into his neck, hands making their way up to his sensitive breasts where he tensed and Ratchet cooed at him, reassuring him as he too cupped Rodimus breast. Both slipping the blanket free and wrapping the sparkling inside it.

The bitty inhaled the pheromones in the air and began to fall into recharge. What smelled of heat to adult mechs smelled of sleep pheromones to sparklings.

They placed the bitty on the edge of the nest yet still within close servo and optic contact.

Laid out bare for them to see, Rodimus tried to cover his nozzles but the two stopped him. Both Drift and Ratchet pressed a kiss to his nozzles before licking the dark milk duct and kissing the tender mesh again.

They enjoyed the way they bounced heavily and how his belly followed suit.

“You make an amazing person and carrier, sweet spark,” it was Ratchet who always spoke sweet words while taking them apart in berth. The medic popped his panels open and let his spike free, Drift followed pressing kisses to Rodimus’s belly, servo rubbing the chub as he worshipped it with kisses making Rodimus array snap open and lock.

Drift placed a kiss on his soaking valve before moving to let Ratchet do the same.

“You’ll look even more beautiful growing, swelling full with our sparkling. You already look so beautiful caring for our first one,” Drift soothed into his audial. They both were lining up to meet at the entrance of his valve, both their spike heads bobbing together before slowly slipping inside.

They all groaned together in unison until Drift and Ratchet nipped at his nozzles pulling them. Their servos resting interlocked over his belly as they rubbed the soft flesh stimulating his nerves. Bobbing their throats to a wave beat as they drank from him while fully sheathing their spikes deep inside him.

They left him a silent screaming, back arched mess that could do nothing more than cry and whisper his begging for their soft loving touches that left him exposed emotionally and a soaking, valve squelching mess that tried to cycle and lock down on their raw spikes that were struggling to keep from bursting inside him.

He felt their grip on his belly tighten and they rubbed his flesh as if he were already accepting their loads for a new spark when he felt their chassis open and his spark thrum to life.

Three different hues of blue made the dark room glow. Spike and valve bio lights pulsed and grew vibrant while Drift and Ratchet lifted themselves to hover and look down at Rodimus who looked up at them.

“We aren’t letting you go, Roddy. Not now, not if we never got to conjunx and spark you,” he leaned down, kissing the sobbing mech who gazed up at him before Ratchet leaned down capturing plump lips that quivered at his bite. “But now that we have, no more running and hiding from us. We love you Rodimus and we know you love us too.”

Rodimus sobbed even harder.

Feeling their sparks glow and leave their chambers to meet between them and merge making them all conjunx and completing the connection.

They overloaded together, squeezing each other, Rodimus’s valve clamping down on their spikes that buried within his soft tank lining spilling into him. Their sparks dancing getting lost in each other until none could be distinguished and they all held a large piece of each other once their sparks returned to them.

Rodimus was enternally grateful to have Drift and Ratchets servos in his belly as he felt the flesh stretch and grow heavy at all the transfluid that sloshed and flowed inside him. He felt his valve and cheeks grow hot all over again and he moaned, rocking into them.

“Please,” he cried, feeling them rub his distended belly full of transfluid, valve throbbing hot as his tank wanted more. “Please,” he begged again, seeing the two smirk.

“We’ll give you everything you want and need, sweet spark,” his medic promised.

“We just hope you don’t mind carrying two or three by the time we’re done with you.”

“Although, it’d be nice to see you so round and full of three while feeding our first,” Ratchet chuckled.

“Maybe we aim for three next time?” Drift kissed along Rodimus’s face, nuzzling into his olfactory sensor when the mech needed the reassurance and care.

“We can discuss that later. For now,” Ratchet pulled Rodimus close, washing his em field over the mech who needed their affection they were more than happy to give, “lets focus on mending him. He needs our love first, we can think on that later.”

With a nod from Drift and a quick check on their sleeping sparkling, they made love to their conjunx.

-

My mind…went elsewhere..anyway if anyone wants to tip me the link to my kofi is on my pinned post.

[lees-chaotic-brain]

I am in the mood for some angst/comfort for Gojo Satoru. So I will like to request Gojo being unsealed but being in the box managed to break him (mentally and physically). Reader (you can choose if platonic or romantic) nurses Gojo back to health and promise to help him become the person he used to be.

WC: 2.2k

CW: SPOILERS, major manga spoilers, mentions of character death, swearing, non sexual nudity, surviving unrealistic periods of time without eating or drinking, reader makes korean food (sorry this is the only type of food i know how to make), atrophied muscles

Note: thank you so much for this ask nonnie!! it's been a little while since i've written some good angst/comfort for gojo, which was what initially got this blog started!!

Taglist: @ponderingmoonlight

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The first time you saw Gojo after he had been sealed your heart broke. His usually vivid and bright eyes were dull and lifeless, deep purple bags marring the pale skin beneath them. You’ve known him for over a decade, but for the first time since you met him he looks…mortal. Forcing a grin that was clearly meant to look cocky, he staggered over to you.

“Hey guys!! What’s up? Bet you missed me. Where’s everyone else? I thought you guys would at least have the decency to throw a massive party for me when I made my return.”

Despite his lighthearted tone, you could see the fear he was so  desperately trying to hide lurking in his eyes. Unable to say anything, you gave a miniscule shake of your head, your own eyes filling with tears. If his appearance broke your heart, then his reaction to you shaking your head stomped on the remaining fragments.

His carefree facade dropped, and bone-deep despair replaced it. Gone was the happy go lucky man known as the strongest jujutsu sorcerer in the world, the man who loved kikufuku, the man who enjoyed messing with his students just for shits and giggles. In his place stood a man who had lost more than he could afford to, a man who was weary, too tired to go on.

He had been alone for so long and unable to allow him to be alone for any longer, you took a deep breath and walked up to him. He didn’t even react, just staring blankly at the ground before him as you stopped in front of him. Reaching up, you cupped his cheek in one hand, stroking his cheekbone with your thumb.

“Gojo.” No reaction, not even a hint of recognition towards you. “Hey, Satoru.”

He still didn’t react, and you could sense the agitation growing in the people assembled behind you. No longer caring what they thought, consequences be damned, you firmly grabbed his face between your palms, and pulled him down until his forehead rested against yours.

“Toru. My love. I missed you so much. Please come back to me.” His breath hitched, and the tears on your cheeks began falling faster. “Baby. You’re not alone anymore. I’m here. I’m not  going anywhere. So please, come back to me.”

His eyes shifted, settling on yours. The fog in them cleared a little and he quietly said your name, relaxing a little into your touch. 

“That’s right. It’s me. Let’s get you home, okay?” You paused, giving him a moment to respond. Once he had made a small noise of agreement you pulled away and took his hand, guiding him to your car. 

Helping him into the passenger seat, you couldn’t help but notice just how much his muscles had atrophied when you gripped his arm. While somewhat lanky, he had always been well built, with defined muscles and a solid body. Leaning across him to buckle his seatbelt, you noticed the way his once snug uniform bagged around him concerningly. Just how much had he been through since you last saw him?

The car ride to your shared apartment was silent as he leaned his head against the window and watched the world blur by. From time to time you glanced over at him, unable to comprehend how much he had changed. Pulling into your usual spot, you parked and turned the car off, watching him carefully. Continuing to stare blankly out the window, he gave no sign that he recognized where you were, or that he knew you had arrived at your house. 

Disappointed but not discouraged, you got out and walked around the car to help him out and into the building. As you walked him through the lobby and into the elevator he remained unresponsive, merely trailing after you as you led him by the hand. He showed no emotion until you punched in the code to your front door and led him inside.

The instant the door clicked shut behind you he leaned against it, sliding down until he was sitting against the door. Pulling his knees up, he buried his head in his arms and just sat there, not making a sound. Seeing the man you love sitting there so broken nearly broke you as you crouched in front of him.

You reach out to touch his shoulder, but pause before you make contact. “Can I-is it okay if I touch you?” He doesn’t respond, so you take his silence as a yes. Squeezing in between his side and the wall, you sit beside him and wrap your arms around him the best you can. You sit there for a long period of time as you rub comforting circles on his back, reminding him of your presence. 

Eventually the silence is broken by a loud gurgle from his stomach, reminding both of you that it’s been seventeen days since he last ate anything. Pulling away, you stand up. 

“Love. Let’s get you something to eat, okay?” You help him to his feet, and get him situated at the kitchen counter wrapped in a fuzzy blanket. Turning on the kettle for tea, you open your refrigerator and survey its contents. Seeing as it’s been weeks since you went shopping it’s practically empty. After hunting through your freezer and pantry you find a frozen pack of beef and the rest of the ingredients you need to make miyeokguk. 

Once the kettle goes off, you make him a cup of green tea with three massive spoonfuls of honey; just the way he likes it. Leaving him to nurse his drink you run to your room and change out of your filthy uniform into a pair or sweatpants and a t-shirt, throwing your hair up in a messy bun before returning to the kitchen.

You get to work, leaving the seaweed to soak as you cut, and brown the beef in a large pot. Going to the seaweed, you scrub, wring, and cut the seaweed and add it to the pot. After adding water, garlic, soy sauce, and sesame oil into the pot, you measure out some rice and wash it before starting the cooker.

You weren’t the best with emotions, or knowing how to comfort people, but to you there was nothing more intimate than taking the time to prepare a warm meal for someone you loved. If you didn’t know how to express what you wanted to say through words, you would express it through a warm bowl of soup.

When the soup was done, you ladled him a big bowl, and got out a small plate to put his rice and white kimchi on. Murmuring that you would be back, you jog into your bathroom and start running a bath for him for once he finishes eating. When you reenter the kitchen, he’s quietly scarfing down the food you made for him. Finishing the first bowl in record time, he sets it down and you refill it without him having to ask. Three large bowls later he’s done eating, and you ask him if he wants to take a bath.

He nods, and you walk with him to the bathroom, not bothering with the dishes or cleanup. That can wait. You help him pull off his uniform, and step back so he can climb into the tub. As he moves, you can see each vertebrae in his spine shifting between his skin and count each of his ribs. It pains you to see him like this, to imagine how much pain he must have endured. 

Once he was comfortably submerged you sit on the bench behind the bathtub and wet his hair. Pouring some of his expensive purple shampoo into the palm of your hand, you begin washing his hair, feeling his body relax as you massage his scalp. 

The echoing silence of the bathroom is only interrupted by the quiet splash of water and the sound of your breathing. As you gently rinse the soap from his hair, he speaks for the first time since getting home.

“Suguru?” You know exactly what he means. “That was Kenjaku, he possessed Suguru’s body after he died.”

“Ah.” Gojo leans back more and closes his eyes. “I knew it wasn’t him. What about…everyone else?”

You take a deep breath, aware that he needs to know what happened, and that you can’t coddle him, no matter how much you may want to. “Yaga, Yuki, Nobara, Nanami, Tsumiki, and Megumi.” You watch as grief contorts his features. “How?”

“Yaga was sentenced to death and killed by Gakuganji. Yuki sacrificed herself to kill Kenjaku. And Mahito got both Nanami and Nobara. Although there is a slim chance that Nobara survives.” You stop, needing to steel yourself.

“And what about Tsumiki? Megumi?” The pain is his voice is overwhelming, silent tears streaming down his face as he mourns his mentor, student and friends. “What about our kids?”

You swallow a sob, unable to stop your tears from falling. “There were these culling games, and Tsumiki became the host of Yorozu, who took over and challenged Sukuna to a fight. Sukuna, he-”

You break down in tears, needing a moment before you continue. “Sukuna used Megumi’s body to do it. Sukuna has Megumi now.” The weight of your words linger in the steamy air.

“I failed them.”

Gojo’s words were so quiet you almost missed them. “What?”

“I failed them. I was supposed to take care of them, to protect them. I’m supposed to be the strongest sorcerer in the world. Yaga. Yuki. Nanami. Nobara. Tsumiki. Megumi. It’s my fault all of them are dead. I was a damned idiot, let myself get distracted by an imposter of my dead best friend, I-”

“Shut up!” Your words ring off the tiled walls.“Just shut up!.”

“No!” He yelled, suddenly angry, although he was unsure why. “I failed them. Me. It was my job to-”

“Shut the fuck up.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, but the quiet fury in it brooks no room for argument. 

“You did the best you could. But you were trapped in a cube. What were you supposed to do? You couldn’t even be there. I but I could, and I was. So hate me. Scream at me all you like. Tell me it’s my fault and it should have been me. I can take it. I deserve it. But don’t you ever blame yourself. You’re not a god. Some things are out of your control. I-I should’ve-”

Sobbing into your hands, you’re aware that you should be the one comforting him, but here you were, crying instead of making anything better. Sloshing water tells you that he’s moving, and you’re only given a second’s warning before you’re being tugged into the tub, clothes and all. Long arms wind around you and crush you into a warm chest, water lapping up at your neck. 

In the arms of the man you love, you finally take the time you need to grieve. You cry into his chest, feeling his body shake with the force of his own sobs. Together you cry, mourning the loss of those you love, and the children you raised together. The two of you become pruny, and the water becomes cold, but neither of you move. 

“It’s not your fault.” His words drown out the sound of your cries. “It’s not. And I would never blame you, or wish it was you. I couldn’t live without you.”

“I’m going to end this.” You speak, lip brushing against his damp chest. “I swear. I’m going to save Megumi and kill him before he kills another person. I won’t let him take another person.”

“I believe you.” He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “I’m useless now, but I’ll do everything I can to support you.”

“What do you mean you’re useless?” You pull away so you can look into his eyes. “You’re not useless.”

“Baby, look at me.” He lets out a dry chuckle. “Have you seen me recently? I’m pretty sure a light breeze could take me out right now.”

You frown. “Satoru, you didn’t eat, drink, or move for seventeen days. Of course you’re a little weak right now. But don’t worry. We’ll get you back in shape in no time.”

“We’ll?” He asks, vulnerability shining in his eyes. 

“We will.” You confirm, locking eyes with him. “I’ll make sure you get good food in you and I’ll work out with you. We’ll start small, but pretty soon you’ll be back to normal. Just stay with me.”

He nods. “But what about you? Do you promise to stay with me? No matter what? I meant what I said. I can’t lose you. Losing you will kill me.”

“Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll stay with you.”

And curled up in his arms, you meant it. Fate be damned, you were going to stay by his side until the end of time.

[doodle-pops]

Turn Back the Sands of Time

Feanor x daughter!reader

Request: Can I request a fic for Feanor, coming back to Valinor after hia death, finding out Nerdanel had been pregnant when he left and she gave birth to a daughter. And if possible, this daughter has Miriel's sewing gift. – anon

A/N: I took a different route to how their interaction would occur and made this quite sentimental than I intended :)

Warnings: female reader, soft angst, softness and comfort, reconciliation

Words: 2.4k

Synopsis: With the return of your father to the Blessed Realm, an attempt at rekindling what was never forged, is pursued.

“Leaving so early?”

Your mother’s voice reverberated through the morning air, clear yet carrying a stern undertone. The sun had ascended over the hills and forest, casting its benevolent warmth upon the damp, fertile earth, coaxing the crawlies to retreat to their hidden abodes.

Startled by her sudden intrusion, you jerked in surprise, twisting your neck to find your mother positioned in the doorway. Her hands firmly rested on her hips, already adorned with small flecks of clay and dust. A hasty bun confined her hair, and she wore the familiar work coveralls that marked her dedication to the tasks at hand. “Oh, you gave me a fright!” you awkwardly chuckled, your attention momentarily diverted from the contents of your basket. “I’m... heading out.”

Her bare feet made no sound on the polished floorings as she traversed the distance, positioning herself beside you. With keen observation, she watched as you hastened your packaging, attempting to conceal the contents within the basket. Despite your efforts, you weren’t as clever as you believed. However, she remained silent, extending her left hand to rest against your waist. Leaning in, she placed a tender kiss on your cheek.

“At least be safe on the road. You can borrow a few of my cloaks, they’ll keep you warm, and good luck. I cannot tell you how to decide, but when you do, know that it is something you will have to live with.”

Suddenly, she vanished through the backdoor, setting you on the arduous path to Formenos after brief stops at Tirion’s market to procure supplies. Pastries, breads, salted meats, and fruits were gathered in an attempt to ease any potential awkwardness.

Alone on the road for five days, you revisited regions where you had once stealthily ventured. The surroundings were steeped in familiarity as you leisurely strolled by. The rhythmic clopping of your horse’s hooves on the gravelled road, the subtle rustling of trees and bushes, vast open fields where the wind hummed its tune, and the delightful symphony of birdsong and frog croaks accompanied your journey. Small creatures scurried at the feet of your horse, some perching on your shoulders or head. Nightfall descended, only to be swiftly replaced by the break of day, marking the conclusion of your expedition.

As you arrived at your destination, the wear and tear on the landscape became evident. Paint had faded, stones were missing from pillars and posts, wood showed signs of decay, and windows lay shattered. Face-to-face with the relentless march of time and the scars of neglect, you confronted the tangible evidence of one’s transgressions.

Dismounting from your majestic stallion, you carefully secured him to an apple tree before continuing on foot. The path led you through a gateway and into a garden adorned with a subtle array of colours—some signs of life still blossoming. Your keen eyes noticed the adjustments since your last visit, becoming attuned to the intense presence and weight that the surroundings now bore.

With each step, the gravel and dust beneath your sandals resonated against the cobblestone, creating a symphony of soft crunches until you abruptly halted before the colossal red door, proudly displaying the house sigil in shimmering gold. Tightening your grip on the basket and assuming a more composed posture, a sense of tension gripped your throat, akin to barbed wires constricting around it.

Summoning your courage, you knocked on the door, the sound echoing three times in tandem with the palpitations of your heart.

Initially, it seemed like no one was home, but an imposing presence lingered in the air, prompting you to raise your hand for another attempt. However, before your knuckles could make contact, the hinges groaned, and a towering figure emerged. A giant of an elf with fiery red hair and silvery eyes loomed before you, meeting your tentative gaze. While a hunch suggested his identity, he was not the person you had come to meet. An acute observation of his appearance left you trembling at your core.

His features were the same as the portraits hung in your mother’s workshop, a stark difference to the descriptions your uncle Arafinwë explained. There were no scars, missing ligament or whitening of his hair, but it was still enough to elicit fright in your bones. The stories were enough, running their course to remind all of his actions.

“No trespassing, this is private property. Whatever business you are conducting, take it elsewhere,” he muttered under his breath with emptiness in his eyes before shuffling to slam the door in your face.

Luckily, you stuck your hand out. “Wait, please don’t! I uh…” you fumbled and exhaled, “I came to speak with Lord Fëanáro. Is he in?”

“If you are here to lay blame on him for his actions, I would suggest that you get in line—”

Waving your hands frantically in his face, you panicked. “No, no, no, no! You have it all wrong. I’m not here for that; I’m here to simply speak with him.”

“Speak with him?” Maedhros meditated. “Did King Arafinwë send you?”

Your eyes widened in disbelief at the surprising intensity with which your own brother reacted to your simple desire to speak with his father. It was truly perplexing that, despite all that had transpired, he continued to share living quarters with Fëanáro. Your assumption that their relationship had soured after recent events was swiftly proven incorrect.

Clearly, his perspectives on Fëanáro differed significantly from yours, and he held personal convictions that he preferred to keep to himself. The intricacies of their business remained shrouded in mystery.

“Uncl—King Arafinwë did not send me, I sent myself,” you stated with pride, straightening out any fears in your posture and stretching a confident smile across your lips. “Can you tell him that a…a Lady Y/N is here to speak with him?”

The moment your name fell past your lips, you saw the micro-expression of your brother’s eyes widening before composing themselves. His stance changed from no longer blocking the entire doorway to standing aside and granting you a peek inside. You were half expecting him to make a scene, yet he proved otherwise.

Maedhros’ eyes fluttered and flickered around your frame, contemplating on his next decision. Exhaling, he stepped outside, shutting the door behind and ushered around you figure to the left of the house. “He’s situated on this side of the house. It’s quicker and less…obstructive. Follow me.” And you partially understood what he meant—the bloodstains from where your grandfather was slain, still staining the floors. However, it was the unwarranted meet-and-greet of the rest of your brothers.

You weren’t here for them, and Maedhros was kind enough to spare you.

The journey unfolded in a discomforting silence, compelling you to tighten your grip on the basket as the minutes passed. Your elder brother guided you through a labyrinth of twists and turns, eventually leading to the distant sounds of a babbling stream and the faint rustling of paper being crumpled. As you approached an archway, entwined and covered in an overgrowth of vines, the scene unfolded before you—Fëanáro, seated on a bench, holding a charcoal, and engrossed in fervent scribbling on parchment, an expression of exasperation etched across his features.

Despite the openness of the surroundings, the air felt stifling. The heavens above offered a solution to wash away the lingering muskiness, and yet, it persisted. How could anyone discover peace or find reprieve in such conditions?

“I’ll leave you to speak with him.” He offered a polite smile, and with a bow of his head, Maedhros departed, leaving you to face his father in privacy.

Acknowledging the bow with a graceful return, you redirected your attention towards the man seated on the weathered wooden bench. His appearance had undergone a noticeable transformation since your initial encounter—his once neatly tied hair now cascaded loosely, and his attire, less polished, resembled something reminiscent of what your mother wore when she was in her element. Absent were the ornate rings that had adorned his fingers, and there was a notable absence of any jewellery embellishing his clothing. In this particular moment, he existed simply as Fëanáro, the man who had seemingly returned from the realm of the deceased. The elf who had…

“How long will you linger in the shadows, child?” came his soft voice. It was much mellow that the confrontation shared with your mother.

Taking a large gulp of air, you crossed the archway, entered his space to stand at the entrance and called out. “Greetings Lord Fëanáro.”

A resounding cry escaped his lips the moment his eyes fell upon your timid figure. Joy and agony intertwined in his heart as he realized that his child had come to visit him. With a swift, almost spring-like motion, he abandoned his seat, forgetting the letter that lay there, and hurried over to stand before your magnificence. It was the first time he had a clear image of the daughter he had denied himself the knowledge of. In your features, he saw not just you but also your mother and the reflection of his eldest.

An intense yearning surged within him, a desire to reach out and grasp you, to finally experience the touch of a creation that bore no marks of his mistakes. However, hesitation gripped his mind, as the unexpected loomed overhead like ominous clouds threatening to unleash a storm. The uncertainty lingered, questioning whether the rain would be cold or warm, if it would bring wrath or peace—or perhaps an outburst of everything.

“You…” He laughed breathlessly with disbelief at the tip of his tongue. “You’re all grown up. I was told about you during my return, unsure if a meeting would occur. I had glimpsed you at your mother’s, hoping to be acquainted. Unfortunately, I had not been blessed.”

“Hm, I decided to come see you on my own after…” your voice trailed off, indicating his reunion with your mother. “Well, she had the inclination that I was coming to see you, yet she did not stop me. I wanted to hear from you on my own.”

His facial muscles engaged in a silent struggle, battling the instinct to react to every nuance of your words. His hands, twitching with the desire to pull you into a comforting embrace, held back, understanding that such a gesture might inflict more harm than healing. Your perceptions of him were coloured by his transgressions. You possessed ample reasons to maintain a distance, not just from him, but also from your own brothers.

“What is there for me to tell you when you are aware of everything, my child?” he responded with reservation.

“Why?”

Your question lingered in the air, a stain that defied any attempts at removal; not even the heavens’ rain could cleanse it.

One question. Millions of reasons. One answer, and yet, he chose to walk away with his back turned and head hung in shame. His body collided with the bench with his head in his hands facing the floor.

“What answer might I give to you that would satisfy your perspective of me?” he uttered. “You’ve heard it all; I chose the Silmarils over my family… Why you ask? Pride, maybe arrogance or my blind foolishness. I led my children into death and one by one I watched them succumb to the same madness as me.”

“But you have me who was spared from the doom. I exist, someone you can change for. Someone who can be the answer to why.” Were the words wanting to spill from your lips, however, now was not the time. There was much to be possibly kindled to know how much your words weighed.

Stepping closer to where he sat hunched, you placed the basket beside him and knelt. Your hands were hesitant to touch his, but you managed to pry them off his face. “You know, there’s a saying that ammë says,” you whispered akin to the wind, “it’s something along the lines of, ‘second chances don’t come around often, but when they do, they appear in mysterious ways. It’s only if you desire it, then possibilities will arise’. If you want forgiveness, you can start with me. Show me the you who wants better.”

Fëanáro lifted his head, his mismatch teary eyes locking on your compassionate ones. He was stunned at your sympathy when his wife would not spare him the chance. If only he had not been so foolish, the family he desired would have existed before his very eyes. “You do not truly mean your words? Your mother would not pardon me—”

“I am not ammë; your quarrel with her is between you both. I am Y/N and this is between us. I choose to try building this relationship so long as you work with me,” you corrected with confidence laced in your voice. Your eyes were stern, filled with assertiveness and the reflection of faces you’d never met. “You have to want this.”

He considered with sorrowful eyes, too fearful of repeating his past and ruining his last blessing. With deliberate actions, he shifted to sit upright and meet you head-on. “Then I make no promises...no oaths.”

“Good, because I was prepared to convince you anyway possible since I brought treats for us to indulge, and I would hate for them to waste.” Your eyes darted to the basket filled with delicacies for you both to snack on during your formal meet-and-greet. “Imagine how awkward it would be had you rejected, and I had to return with a filled basket of treats.”

“You could have left it with your brothers. I’m sure they would be thrilled to learn their sister brought treats for them.” Fëanáro felt a surge of pride at the flow of your interactions, lacking awkwardness and tension. It gave him a sense of purpose to understand that all good things were not lost.

Though his refusal to utter the words of “Thanks” remained in his heart, for he knew Eru had heard and seen his gratitude.

Snickering as you reached for the basket to produce a blanket, you threw him a whimsical side eye. “I doubt that. You should have seen how the giant redhead was staring at me. I thought I was about to be thrown like a javelin out the yard,” you giggled.

“Maitimo?”

“Ay, I thought he was going to toss me out! Though it seems that the others are here as well?”

“Would you be willing to meet them?”

“Maybe another time, I only came with enough energy to deal with you.”

Masterlist

Taglist: @lilmelily @ranhanabi777 @mysticmoomin @rain-on-my-umbrella @asianbutnotjapanese @batsyforyou @sakurayaxd @ladyenchanted @involuntaryspasms @stormchaser819 @aconstructofamind @addaigio @lamemaster @hermaeuswhora

[theidiotwhowritesthings]

Okay so like, I’ve never requested anything so I don’t really even expect you to see this lol. But likeeee, can I possibly request a Din Djarin x reader, where neither the reader or Din know Grogu has the armor under his robe that the armorer gave him, and something happens where Grogu gets hurt and they both lose their minds before getting to him and realizing little dude is just fine. Please and thank you 🥹

Ooooh this is a good prompt. Speaking of, if you've asked for one then it's probably on my to-do list, but i am slow🤡. plus, updates of AFS and a couple other things come before random drabbles.

Din Djarin x Female!Reader

Word Count: 1.7k (i dont think I'm capable of writing less than a thousand words apparently smh)

AT FAULT

"don't let fear make your decisions." -Michael G. Manning

The quarry was laid on his back as a pool of purple blood began to settle in the sand under him. The twi'lek was motionless and your breathing was finally starting to calm. In one arm you held Grogu who seemed nonplussed by the violence at hand and in your other you held the still smoking blaster. When you managed to tear your eyes off the quarry's body they lifted to land on Din who stood stiff on the other side of the body.

"What the kriff was that?" Din snapped. His entire body was drawn taut like a wired rope pulled to tight. He was nearly vibrating in place and the anger that leaked into his voice was palpable. "Karking⏤ what the hell do you think you're doing out here!?"

His tone made your already irritable mood worse. You stuck the rarely used blaster back into the holster at your thigh. "Apparently, saving you! Maybe show a little gratitude!"

"Grati⏤” The word wasn’t even able to leave Din’s mouth. He stormed forward, boots passing the dead quarry, until he stood right in front of you. Close enough that the Mandalorian was forcing you to tilt your head up to look at him. You knew he stood that close on purpose⏤ he wanted to tower over you right now. “The two of you could’ve gotten killed! I told you not to leave the Razor Crest!”

“We’ve been on that ship for two weeks straight, Din!” You argued. “We just wanted a little fresh air⏤”

“I told you this quarry was dangerous, I said⏤”

“All your quarries are dangerous, Din. You⏤”

“When I tell you to stay on the damn ship,” Din grabbed your by the arm not holding Grogu, “I expect you to kriffing listen. Dank farrik, cyar’ika.” The way he spat out your usual nickname made you wince. “I told you this quarry was bad news⏤”

“And I told you that you shouldn't have taken the bounty!” You yelled and tried to yank your arm free. Din held on tight, and Grogu began to babble worriedly in your arms. “I told you we should take a break! Take a breath! We all need it, even you. Especially, you!”

You yanked your arm back again and this time it broke free. Din settled on placing his hands on his hips, but you could still feel his anger radiating off of him. Tempers had been running high the last few weeks, stuck on a close quarter ship while stressing over the Empire being on your heels, and it seemed the two of you were finally letting it come to a head. 

“It’s naive of you to think we have the time for a break.” Din seethed. “I take bounties so we can afford fuel to run, food to eat, and⏤” He shook his head, taking in a sharp breath before continuing. “You tell me to show you gratitude? Gratitude because you risked yours and Grogu’s life for me?” Din took one step toward you and you took two steps back so he stayed a foot or so away. He pointed to himself. “Everything I do, my only priority, is keeping you and Grogu safe. Away from the Empire. So, how about you show a little gratitude and stay on the damn ship when I tell you to.”

Grogu whined in your arms and you shifted him to the other in a poor attempt to console him. You weren’t ready to climb onto the Razor Crest quite yet. You weren’t done with this fight. Din’s anger and words only spurring you on further.

“You think I’m not grateful for all you do?” You spat. “Of course, I am, you ass! I just hate watching you burn yourself into the ground for us. You need to take care of yourself too, Din. That involves taking a break now and then! That’s why I suggested leaving this bounty untouched. I just want to help.”

Din nodded once then tilted his head. “Right. Yeah. Putting Grogu and yourself at risk was a lot of help. I feel much better. Thank you, cyar’ika.”

You scoffed, “You know what, Din? You are⏤”

The sound of an unfamiliar chuckle and your eyes snapped from the dark t-shape visor to the quarry sitting up with a menacing grin. It took less than a second. It happened so quickly that your mind couldn’t register the movements fast enough.

A blaster raised.

A blaster fired.

And, you didn’t have the time to spin away. The force of the blaster bolt knocked you right off your feet and onto the ground. 

You heard Din scream, the sound hoarse and raw and broken, then you heard another blaster go off. As you laid on your back, you realized you weren’t hurting. Your back was a little sore from landing on it, but you didn’t feel the sharp burning pain of a blaster scorching through your skin. That’s when your brain finally clicked. That’s when you realized. Grogu. Oh, Maker. Grogu. Grogu, baby⏤ Your eyes snapped down to see the little boy’s eyes closed and the front of his robe was blackened from the blow.

The scream that filled the air this time was yours. You felt the sound reverberate in the base of your throat, it rattled your chest, but the only noise you could hear was the racing heartbeats that pounded in your ears. You sat up, cradling him to your chest, and you could feel gloved hands pawing at your arms. Someone was trying to take him⏤ someone was trying to take him from you. You screamed once more, your body shook, and a gloved hand cupped the side of your face. Nothing registered until you saw Grogu blink his big eyes open. Your breath caught in your throat. That same gloved hand pulled aside Grogu’s ruined robe and the telltale shine of beskar stared back up at you. A mudhorn adorning the plate that Grogu wore at the center of his chest.

Grogu let out a soft mumble and smiled up at you. 

“Oh, thank the Maker.” Din breathed. “Cyar’ika. Cyar’ika? Cyari’ka!” A hand titled your face up, tearing your eyes away from Grogu who was wiggling in your tight grip. You met the dark t-shape visor of Din’s helmet. “Are you okay? Did it clip you? Are you hurt?”

You shook your head and opened your mouth, but all that came out was a ragged sob. Even after Din pulled you both into his arms, you continued to cry against his silver beskar plated chest until your own chest ached from how badly each sob racked your body. Grogu seemed content to be squashed between you and Din. 

Hours later, in the quiet of hyperspace, Din sat in the pilot’s chair with you on his lap, cradled against his body, while you held Grogu tight to yours. It seemed since the incident Din refused to let either of you go, and you had no desire to complain. Having his arms wrapped around you while you watched Grogu sleep was the safest you had ever felt.

“I’m so sorry, Cyar’ika.” Din whispered. His unmodulated words were muffled by the way he rested his face at the top of your head⏤ buried his lips into your hair to continue peppering light kisses anywhere he had access. In this position, your head tucked under his, you couldn’t see his face. “I am so, so sorry.”

You shook your head lightly. When you spoke, your voice was ragged from screaming earlier, “No, I am. I should’ve listened to you, Din. I should’ve stayed on the ship.” Your eyes began to water again. “I almost got Grogu killed.”

“No. No, that wasn’t your fault. Ner mesh'la cyar'ika, ibic hara cuyir pal'vut.” Din mumbled the end of his sentence in Mando’a. “You were right. I shouldn’t have taken that bounty. I can’t lose the two of you and I’ve grown… obsessive in trying to protect you.”

“It’s worked. You’ve kept us safe. If I had listened to you⏤”

“You’re not prisoners. I can’t lock you away from the world because of my fear.” Din cut in. You let your free hand trace down the small bridge of Grogu’s nose and he scrunched it up at the contact while staying soundly in his sleep. Nothing Din would say could rid you of this guilt entirely. If he wanted to claim the mistake he could, but that didn’t make it any less your fault as well. “Please speak to me.”

You closed your eyes and lifted your head so you could press a kiss against Din’s throat. He shuddered and sighed at the touch. “Can we just agree that this is both of our faults?”

“We can.” Din shrugged, his arms tightened around you. “But I'd rather you not take any of the blame.”

“Yes, well, unfortunately as we’ve learned, I’m not good at listening.” You mumbled.

Din chuckled. “Good. I don’t want you to blindly listen to me. Your ideas are equally as good as mind, if not occasionally better.” He closed the space to press a soft kiss against yours. It was sweet and tender. Not a declaration of lust or desire, but a reassurance that you were there. Din broke away to whisper. “But if you could at least let me know when you are leaving the ship, I’d appreciate it.”

“Only if you promise to take us somewhere pretty soon.”

“I’m already ahead of you, cyar’ika.” As he spoke, his lips brushed against yours and you had no desire to lean back away from him. Din moved his hand and you could feel his hand brush against the side of your arm every time he soothingly rubbed Grogu’s head. “Crest is on route to Naboo.”

You pressed another light peck of your lips against his before leaning your head back down against his chest. Din settled his head back on top of yours, and you felt the soft caress of his thumb against your arm from the hand that was wrapped around you. Din pulled you and Grogu a hair closer, and you reveled in the silence of hyperspace.

"Also, when did Grogu get a mudhorn beskar chestplate?"

"Your guess is as good as mine."

mando'a translations

Ner mesh'la cyar'ika, ibic hara cuyir pal'vut. [My beautiful darling, this sin is mine.]

[ch0k3herwithaseaview]

@jegulus-microfic | march 25 eyeliner | words: 819

tw: child abuse, blood, mentions of violence in the past

James was going mad, and it was all Walburga’s doing.

It all started when Regulus finally got out of this horrible imitation of a home. The boy was barely past his sixteenth birthday at the time; when he fell out of the Potters' fireplace, Regulus looked even worse than Sirius did the night he ran away. The older brother has been beaten up badly but could manage to stand on his own; on the other hand, the night the younger brother got out, he was fighting for a breath like a man drowning; his whole face was swollen and covered in blood.

When Regulus appeared in their living room, only James and Sirius were home. At the sight of him, they both panicked to the point where they forgot how to think. All Sirius could do was turn Regulus onto his back and hold his head so the younger boy wouldn’t choke on his own blood while crying and begging anyone who would listen to keep his baby brother alive. At the same time, James was running around the house, looking for something—anything—to help his best friend’s brother.

Thankfully, Effie and Monty arrived only a few minutes after Regulus, and as soon as they processed what was happening, they took all three boys to St. Mungo’s.

Not even a week later, Regulus looked like nothing had ever happened to him. At first, all he did around the house was eat, sleep, and argue with Sirius, but as time passed, the arguments turned into talks and helping each other. James didn’t have to ask to know the Black Brothers were trying to fix their relationship; he saw it in the way Sirius talked about Reggie and how he started bringing the younger boy with them on nights out and letting him into his own world. The change was noticeable in Regulus, too; he opened up a little, spent time with James’ parents, and started trying out muggle stuff like records, Polaroid, or cigarettes. Maybe James didn’t know him well, but he understood that those little things were important both for Sirius and Regulus.

In the first half of August, when Regulus was at their house for a little over a month, James found him sitting on a bench in their backyard. He was reading ‘Crime and Punishment’ Effie gave him, while James’ own copy waited to be read under his arm.

“Do you like it?” the Gryffindor asked, taking a seat next to Regulus.

The boy raised his head slowly, evidently reading the last few words on that page. When their eyes met, James literally lost his mind. Not only that, he also lost his ability to hear, feel, and think—everything except for seeing—because right there in front of him sat the boy he always found beautiful, yet at that moment James couldn’t come up with anything as mesmerising as Regulus’ silvery eyes outlined with heavy black. This mix must’ve outshined the star Regulus was named after. James felt like he could fly just by looking into those eyes; he started thinking of a son-

“Potter? Are you quite alright?” A gentle hand on his shoulder pulled James out of his haze. He blinked once, twice, and a third time for good measure before he closed his mouth (When did I even open them?), swallowed thickly, and mumbled something unintelligible. It was Regulus’ time to blink. After a second, the boy burst out into a loud laugh. “Oh god, Potter, come on! It’s just a little bit of eyeliner; Sirius wears it all the time!” Reg kept laughing, still holding James’ shoulder.

“Yeah,” the older boy managed to spit out when the other started calming down. “But he doesn’t look half as good as you do.” Regulus froze, the grin on his face turning into a sheepish little smile, a pretty pink creeping up his pale cheeks. “Oh,” James started, wondering why he’d said that. “I—I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable; I’m so, so very sorry, I—"

“That’s alright, James. I’m-“ The younger boy cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair nervously. “I’m glad you like it,” he finished, biting his lower lip and still smiling a bit.

James, whose smile was normally big and bright, smiled shyly at Regulus.

“Do you mind if I-?” he pointed at his book. The younger Black looked over at him and shook his head slightly.

“Not at all; we can discuss the story later, if you’d like?” It came out as a question more than a statement, so James nodded once and started reading from where he finished last night.

The silence surrounding them was comforting—just a little buzz of bugs flying around and wind rustling leaves on an apple tree a bit ahead of them. Surrounded by all of it and still slightly nervous from earlier, neither of them noticed the glances they were stealing at each other.